My Mistletoe Truce

chapter 6: The Unstable Surface

Chapter 6: The Unstable Surface

The town of Hollybrook’s public ice rink was an antique, perpetually half-frozen rectangle nestled between the old library and a perpetually closed antique shop. It was currently packed with giggling children and parents sipping cocoa—a perfect storm of noise and normalcy Elara had longed for.

**Item Four: Re-learn how to ice skate and fall down at least five times.

Elara was bundled in the wooliest clothes she owned, including the ridiculous, antlered hat Rhys had given her. Rhys, predictably, looked like a professional athlete. He wore a streamlined, charcoal-gray coat and moved with an air of controlled, easy grace even while lacing his skates.

“Your technique is atrocious,” Rhys stated, watching her wobble precariously just trying to stand up on the thin blades.

“My technique is determined,” Elara retorted, clinging to the wooden barrier. “I haven’t skated since I was ten, Carroll. The goal isn’t grace; it’s falling.”

“The goal is to not end up in the emergency room,” he corrected, adjusting his own skate laces with focused precision. “If you’re going to fall, you need to learn how to do it without concussing yourself. Safety, Elara. We can fail spectacularly without incurring medical debt.”

“Look at you,” she scoffed, pushing off the barrier with terrified momentum. “Mister Safety. You sound like my grandfather’s legal team.”

She took two jerky strokes and immediately lost her balance. She pitched forward, arms windmilling.

Instead of crashing onto the ice as planned, she felt a powerful, stabilizing hand clamp around her upper arm. Rhys had effortlessly glided from the barrier and caught her, his motion swift and practiced.

“Rule one,” he murmured, his breath a plume of white smoke near her ear. “Keep your knees bent. And stop looking at your feet. Look where you want to go.”

His closeness sent an unwelcome jolt of heat through her. She could feel the solid warmth of his body through their layers of heavy clothing, a stark contrast to the unforgiving cold of the rink.

“You’re cheating,” Elara accused, pulling away slightly but remaining within the safety net of his reach. “The point is to fall.”

“And the point of the truce is that you don’t break a limb while on my watch,” he countered, his expression unyielding. “I refuse to report to my grandfather that I was seen carting an Everett off to the hospital.”

He started to glide backward, pulling her along with gentle but firm pressure. “Now, look at me. Trust the blades. Push from the side.”

Reluctantly, Elara obeyed. Looking at him was easier than looking at the slick, terrifying surface. Rhys's face was concentrated, his brow furrowed with focus. He wasn’t looking at her romantically; he was looking at her like she was a complex problem he was determined to solve.

With his steady guidance, she managed to complete a hesitant lap. It wasn't graceful, but it was successful.

“See?” Rhys murmured, a flicker of genuine satisfaction in his eyes. “You’re not totally incapable.”

“Don’t look so pleased,” Elara warned, finding her footing and pushing off slightly harder. “I still have three falls to go.”

She took her chance on the far side of the rink, away from his stabilizing hand. She pushed off too hard, straightened her knees, and let her weight shift drastically. The ice rushed up to meet her.

THUD.

She landed hard on her padded rear, the shock momentarily stealing her breath. She lay there, stunned but grinning.

Rhys was beside her instantly, his cool competence dissolving into irritation. “Elara! What was that? That was reckless!”

“That was Fall Number Two!” she announced triumphantly, sitting up and brushing the ice off her coat. “It was beautiful. I felt the cold air rush past me. Now help me up, Carroll. I need a third.”

He stared at her, utterly bewildered by her determination to embrace pain and failure. He offered his hand. When her glove met his, the warmth was immediate and surprising. He helped her up, their bodies brushing close as she regained her balance.

“Why do you fight so hard to be reckless?” Rhys asked, his voice low, no longer just talking about the ice, but about her life.

“Because I spent too long fighting to be perfect,” Elara admitted, her voice catching slightly. She pushed off before he could respond, determined to land the next fall before he could stabilize her again.

She managed two more clumsy but safe, falls within the next ten minutes, each one earning a frustrated sigh and a quick, stabilizing hand from Rhys.

By Fall Number Five, she was exhausted but triumphant. She lay sprawled out near the center of the rink, laughing weakly up at the ceiling lights.

Rhys skated toward her, his grace undeniable. He stopped and knelt beside her on one knee, his face close to hers. The air of corporate aloofness was finally gone, replaced by a deep concern.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice laced with exasperation and something close to tenderness. “The list item is complete. You are done falling, Elara. You’ve used up your quota.”

“I’m happy, though,” she insisted, pushing herself up onto her elbows. “I feel lighter.”

He reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead, a slow, intimate gesture. His eyes were dark, searching hers for something she couldn't name.

“You scare me,” he admitted, the words barely audible over the faint sounds of the holiday music. “The way you embrace disaster. It makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” she whispered, leaning into his warmth. “I don’t have time to be afraid of falling anymore, Rhys.”

The moment was charged. They were kneeling on an unstable public surface, but they were the only two people in the world. Their hands brushed against the ice, and the cold was instantly forgotten. Rhys was the anchor, the one stable thing in her chaotic, ticking life.

She moved her hand, touching the line of his jaw—a gesture he didn't pull away from this time. His eyes fluttered shut, and the silent, unresolved tension from the flour fight returned, hotter and stronger.

Before they could close the final distance, a burst of high-pitched laughter cut through the moment. A cluster of children whizzed past them, spraying ice chips.

Rhys visibly flinched, pulling his focus back from the precipice. He stood up abruptly, offering his hand to pull her up.

“Hot cocoa,” he said, his voice firm, the moment already receding into the practical. “We earned it. And then I need to get back to verifying my grandfather’s accounts. We have a truce to maintain.”

Elara didn't argue. She took his hand, accepting the sudden shift in emotional temperature. Their mission and their family curses had pulled them back from the edge.

As they slowly skated toward the exit, Rhys kept a hand gently pressed to the small of her back, a non-negotiable anchor. Elara knew she had officially fallen for the enemy, not just on the ice but in the most dangerous way possible. And she only had one perfect, heartbreaking Christmas left to explore the consequences.