by Dora Hiers
“That was awesome.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her head, and then his hands loosened their grip from around her arms.
She nodded, not trusting her voice, but he’d already skated back to the cluster of kids he’d been working with.
It was just a friendly kiss, but it was a start. She’d take it.
“One more time, then it’s a wrap.” The quiver in her voice echoed through the rink.
Five more days until the recital. She had five days to make him see that they made a great team both on the ice and off.
****
Conner switched on the lights in the dark house and dropped his keys on the counter. He slipped out of his work boots, leaving them by the back door, and flicked through the mail on his way into the kitchen. Nothing of importance. He tossed the envelopes on the counter and opened the pantry, hunger pangs eating away at his stomach since he’d skipped lunch to make up for the time he’d lingered at the rink.
A couple boxes of cereal. A can of spaghetti. A jar of peanut butter and one of pizza sauce. Loaf of bread.
Nothing caught his interest. He really needed to go to the store again.
He scanned the contents of the fridge. A ball of dough caught his eye. He’d never been able to stomach frozen pizza, preferring fresh. He scrubbed his hands, and started layering the ingredients.
The early mornings spent with Chaney and Annabelle were sweet torture. And every afternoon, the pull of the rink had been so fierce, the joy of witnessing ten or twelve kids so enthusiastic about learning, and the thrill of being back on the ice, especially with Chaney, so intense yet so soothing. Skipping lunch on the days he was scheduled to work at the shop was a no-brainer. But all that excitement, all that stimulation, made coming home to a silent house just about unbearable.
He finished layering and switched the oven to preheat, catching sight of the boxes lined up along the back door to take to the local charity. He folded his arms and nudged a hip against the counter, scanning the nearly bare family room, sparse except for a threadbare couch, the antique nativity scene, and that crazy silver tree.
He didn’t have much sorting and packing left before the realtor would list the house. The recital was only two days away, and then Chaney wouldn’t need him anymore.
Then what? Could he really consider staying in Evergreen Peak again? Did he even want to? Could he face the stares and pointed fingers, the hushed incriminations about the Olympic hopeful who’d deserted his partner and the entire town? His brain said no, but his heart was singing an entirely different tune.
Being back on the ice, feeling the breeze caress his cheeks, Chaney’s scent wrapping around him as comfortably as she fit in his arms, he hadn’t felt this free, this light-hearted, or experienced this sense of peace and rightness, in…forever.
The preheat indicator dinged. Humming the strains of the song he’d played for Chaney the other night, he slid the pizza in. He closed the oven, and the doorbell chimed.
Who could that be? He’d managed to keep a low profile so far. He hadn’t had any visitors except Chaney, but she hadn’t mentioned stopping by. Grabbing the dishtowel, he wiped his hands on the way to the door. A blast of frosty air whirled inside, and he caught his breath. Not from the frigid gust, but from the person standing on his porch.
“Chaney?”
She looked adorable in that cherry red beret and matching scarf. She brushed loose strands of hair away from rosy cheeks and held out a rubber container, her voice coming out hesitant. Were her teeth chattering? “Mom and I baked cookies. I—”
“Say no more.” With one hand, he accepted the container while the other pulled her inside. He pushed the door closed.
She shrugged her arms out of her coat, tugged off the beret and scarf, and hung them up on the rack by the door. “I hope you don’t mind me just barging in like this.”
He leaned into her scent that drifted into the family room and settled, as if it belonged. As if she belonged here. “Mind? I’m thrilled. I don’t get too many visitors, and I especially appreciate the ones bearing goodies.” He brandished the container towards the kitchen. “Come on in. I was just getting—”
“I smell pizza.” Her button nose scrunched, and dismay crossed her face. “Did I interrupt your dinner?”
“Nope. You’re right on time.” He hesitated.
The old Chaney never ate pizza, claiming that she had to stay trim and fit for the camera, as if she wasn’t beautiful just the way she was.
“That is, if you’d like to join me. For pizza.” He managed to get the words out.
“Sure. Pizza sounds great.”
It did? Pleasure that she’d thought of him and the thrill of her company raced through his veins, adding a little spark to his steps. He hadn’t been looking forward to a long, lonely evening. He set the container on the kitchen counter and lifted the lid. “Wow! I’ve never seen so many colorful cookies. Annabelle must have helped you decorate.” He snatched a sugar cookie lathered in red and white frosting. “Santa Claus?” He took a bite.
She chuckled. “How could you tell?”
He grinned. “Where’s your little sidekick?”
“Mom took her to see Santa.”
“Really? I’m honored.”
“Why?” She tilted her head, a quizzical expression on her face.
“That you chose to visit me over Santa.”
She gave him a playful swat on the arm, smiling, and then nibbled on what he thought was a reindeer.
“You didn’t want to go?” He shoved the last of the Santa into his mouth and brushed the crumbs off his hands. “These are delicious.”
“I would have, but mom said she wanted…” her voice trailed off as her brows narrowed. She tapped an index finger to her lips.
What had Carole said that gave Chaney pause?
He waited for her to continue.
She gave her lips one last tap, and then planted her elbows on the counter. “She wanted some bonding time with her granddaughter.”
“As if she doesn’t get enough bonding time living in the same house?”
“Yeah. Strange.” Chaney’s brows lifted. “But then, our situation is a little unusual.”
The oven timer blared. He grabbed a couple hot pads and pulled the pie out. Steam poured out of the oven, and he breathed in the combined smell of dough, pepperoni and melted cheese that filled the kitchen.
“Yum. Smells delicious,” Chaney said, pivoting to open a cabinet.
“Plates and cups are in the one next to the sink.” He flicked his head in the general direction. Not that she could see him.
She closed the cabinet and swiveled to see where he’d indicated. “Gotcha.” She moved over to the right one and pulled down the plates and cups. When she set them on the counter, her brows arched. “That looks like a real pizza.”
“And you’re surprised?”
“A little.”
So she’d mistaken him for a frozen pizza kind of guy? He liked that he’d surprised her. “Yeah, well, I would have starved if I had to live on frozen pizza.” He scowled, sprinkling parmesan over the top. He dug the pizza cutter out of the drawer and sliced the pie into wedges.
She filled the glasses with iced tea while he loaded the plates.
“Couch or bar?” he asked.
Her gaze flitted to the family room. “It isn’t often I get to eat on the couch anymore. Not with a little one around.”
“A treat, eh?” He scooped up some napkins along with the plates and led her to the couch. “Glad to oblige.”
They sat on opposite ends.
Chaney crossed her legs under her rump, facing him. She took a bite, moaned. “Oh wow.”
“Like it?” Not that pizza making was a big deal, but—OK, it was a big deal. He didn’t have much to offer her anymore. Not like before, when their dreams of winning a medal hovered in front of them like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
“I love it. You can invite me over for pizza anytime.”
�
�You never used to eat it.” He studied her expression.
She nodded, thoughtful, then said, “A lot has changed since then.”
“Don’t I know. From Olympic hopeful to auto mechanic.” The pizza dough felt like cardboard in his mouth.
“Why do you say it like that?” Her face tilted, twin vertical lines creasing her forehead.
He sighed. “Chaney, I’m sorry for stealing your dreams, for altering the course of your life, all for—”
She set her empty plate down and pressed a hand to his arm. “Hey.” Her voice was soft, husky.
He didn’t trust himself to speak, knowing in his gut that they were at a crossroads.
“Stop it right there.” Dark lashes fluttered over creamy cheeks, and then back up, revealing gorgeous, expressive eyes. “Your leaving crushed me, and I won’t deny that it took years to get past my disappointment. But, Conner, I wouldn’t change a thing about the path I’m on. I’m raising my adorable niece. I’m helping kids reach their potential and putting them in a position to achieve their dreams. Without the constant pressure of competing and medals dangling on the horizon, I’m free to be me, exactly who God intended for me to be, and exactly where He wants me to be. Can’t you say the same?” Her question pinned him to the sofa.
A glob of emotion crawled down his throat. “I-I’m not sure.”
“Really? What would you do different?”
“Skate. Write more music.” Marry her. Raise more Annabelles. No question. Those were the things he should have said, but he didn’t.
“You’re making progress, then.”
“Yeah.” His head whipped around to make sure he hadn’t said that last bit aloud. He scrounged up the courage to explain why he’d abandoned them. “Chaney, if I had stayed, my dad was going to force me to give up skating.” And, by default, her.
“From what you’ve said, it sounds like you did that, anyway.”
Yeah. He did. He breathed deep, regret welling up. He stared at the hand that still rested on his arm. Was God giving them a second chance? “After Mom died, I lost it, Chaney. Lost the will to keep bucking my dad.”
“He didn’t like you skating, did he?”
“No. He abhorred it. Constantly ridiculed me while Mom was alive, but afterward…” He shook his head, the memory of their last fight swirling around his brain in slow motion. “Afterward, he absolutely forbade it. His criticism and our constant fighting over it took all the joy out of skating.”
“I’m sorry he died before you had a chance to reconcile, Conner. Maybe you both could have found a certain measure of peace together.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” He hadn’t thought so when he’d first rolled into town, but truly, he was now.
“So let’s just say you hadn’t left Evergreen Peak.” Chaney’s gaze flitted to the silver tree, and then back to him, as if she were considering her words. “That doesn’t mean that things still would have gone according to our plans.”
“What do you mean?”
“God determines our steps, Conner. Maybe you needed a season away from the rink.” Dark brows arched high on her smooth forehead, and her lips curved in a smile, but more from sorrow than humor. “Who knows? Maybe you needed time away from me.”
“Ha!” He scoffed and stretched out his arm to tug her closer until she snuggled against his side. He settled his chin on her head, the silky and sweet smelling strands of hair tickling his cheek and soothing his agitation. “Not a chance. Thinking of you during all those deployments overseas was the only way I kept my sanity.”
It was her turn to scoff.
With his other hand, he dug out his wallet and flicked it open, revealing a worn-out, faded picture of them from their last competition, Chaney’s hand pressed against his heart, her head angled up towards him. Adoring, her face alive with joy and hope and laughter.
He’d stolen it all from her.
“Oh.” Chaney’s hand covered her mouth. “I remember this one. It’s the last one your mother took.”
“Yeah.” He flipped the wallet closed and slid it back in his pocket. “The memories of you and me, of us, kept me out of some pretty dark places.” Places and spaces some of his friends had crawled into, and never managed to come out of.
She gulped and leaned back into his side, hiding her expression from his view. Her palm reached up to cover his heart, just like in the picture. Could she feel his pulse thundering under her gentle touch?
“I’m just saying, Conner, if your father didn’t instigate you leaving, something else would have, I’m quite sure. But if the smile lighting your face when you’re on the ice helping my students with recital practice is any indication, it looks like you might have rediscovered your joy.” Her voice was muffled against his shirt.
Conner sucked in a breath. He had reclaimed his joy, hadn’t he? All because of Chaney. Being with her again. On the ice, off the ice, it didn’t make any difference. He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm.
She pulled back slightly, only as far as his arm allowed, silky strands of her hair sticking to the stubble on his jaw. Enough that he glimpsed the questions in her darkened irises, the rounding of her bow-shaped mouth, and the rapid pulsing along her smooth, creamy throat. “Conner?”
7
Conner’s face drifted just inches from hers, his expression earnest, seeking, as he slid some of her hair back behind an ear. “Do you believe in second chances, Chaney?” His voice rumbled near, tickling the bare skin on her neck.
Was he referring to them? Or to his skating career? The air compressed from her lungs, but somehow she managed to squeeze out a raspy, “Yeah.”
His gaze never left her face, but his fingers moved to toy with the ends of her hair. Sliding the strands through his fingertips, a tic tightened his jaw and his lips firmed into a straight line.
Of its own accord, her palm reached up to cover his cheek, his whiskers scratchy against her skin. It wouldn’t ease the pain or regret over his past choices, but perhaps she could offer small comfort now.
“Do you think we might have a second chance?” His lashes dipped to hide his expression from her. She almost missed the naked vulnerability, the loneliness.
“A second chance at…” She held her breath, waiting, hoping he wasn’t referring to their Olympic dreams.
“Us.” His lips covered hers, gentle and tentative, soft and tender. When her hand curled around his neck and dragged him closer, he deepened the kiss and slid one arm around her waist while the other cupped her cheek.
Oh, dear God in heaven, I love this man. What will I do if he leaves again?
****
“Like this, Conner?” Annabelle’s palm displayed the tiny clump.
They’d just finished skate practice, and all the students had disappeared, quickly shuttled away to school. Conner had convinced Chaney to allow Annabelle a few minutes playing in the snow before Chaney took her to daycare.
“That’s it. Just like that, Annabelle.” Conner knelt next to the little girl, smiling at her awkward efforts as her mittened hands patted a snowball tight. More flakes fluttered to the ground than stayed on the ball.
She was so cute, all dressed up in tights and boots and a winter coat.
He stole a sideways glance at Chaney. Her arms wrapped around her waist, humor lit her face, and cloudlike white puffs came from her smile. The early morning sunbeams spotlighted her frame, casting her in an almost ethereal glow. His pulse rocketed. Cute didn’t even begin to describe her. More like angelic.
“I’m done, Conner.” Annabelle’s voice snagged his attention. That, and an impatient tap on his forearm.
“Good. Now, put it on the snow very carefully.” He waited.
The snowball plopped onto the snow and broke in half. He covered it with his hands and quickly patted it back into shape. “Great job. Next, you roll it like this.” He demonstrated, and then stepped back to allow her the pleasure of creating the bottom third of the snowman. “Keep rolling until I tell you.” He stood next
to Chaney.
“You’re so good with her, Conner. Did anybody ever tell you that you’ll make a great daddy one day?” Chaney asked, her tone more statement than question.
“Can’t say that they have. You’re the first.” He grinned. “I hope to make a good husband, too.” He tried that on for size, carefully gauging her reaction.
Red crept up her neck, and she dipped her head to her chest.
His arm snaked around her back. He tugged her against his side and pressed a kiss to her beret-covered head, breathing in her spicy vanilla scent, which was becoming as familiar and alluring as the pine scent drifting in with the cool mountain breeze.
“Done, Conner.” Annabelle stretched to her full three feet and dusted off her mittens, the snowball still only palm-sized.
Grinning sideways at Chaney, his arm dropped to tug her hand into the action. “Come on, Aunt Chaney. Don’t think you can avoid getting your hands dirty. Time for some fun.”
“All right. All right. If you insist.” She chuckled, following him.
“You roll out the middle one, and I’ll make the bottom. Then we’ll be ready to put this all together.”
“Bossy, aren’t we?” She picked up a wad of snow, a mischievous glint in her eyes,
“Coming from the woman who arm twisted me into helping her students prepare for their skate recital. Hmmm.” He narrowed his brows, but couldn’t stop the grin from sliding across his face.
“Arm twisted?” she sputtered.
Grinning, he sank to his knees in the snow next to Annabelle. “I need your help, sweetheart.” Together, they focused on making a giant sphere, his hands covering her smaller ones as they rolled the glob through the snow, her oohing and ahhing the bigger it got. OK, so maybe he wanted to show off his snowman making skills. But it was also the most fun he’d had in years. “There. I think that’s—”
Something smacked his cheek. Something cold and wet. He swiped at his face, his hand coming away…white.
A snowball.
He flicked the snow off his hand and his head whipped around towards Chaney. She was doubled over, her arms clutching her waist, convulsing with laughter, the hearty sound making his heart somersault. He scooped up a glob of snow and pelted it at her, aiming for her lowered head. It hit the mark.