9. Harlow

CHAPTER 9

HARLOW

T he last thing I see before Teddy’s mouth collides with mine is how his eyes soften and darken at the same time.

We’ve spent countless hours talking, but this is an entirely new form of communication. Turns out he’s really good at it and has a lot to say.

The kiss starts with a gentle brushing of our lips. A quiet curiosity. I give back, inviting him in. Mere seconds pass before our sweet smooch shoots past simplicity to something else. What I can only describe as a kiss filled with fervent passion. I didn’t want to reveal the mood ring’s meaning, yet here we are.

Never imagined he felt the same way.

I’m not typically the touchy-feely type, but my skin tingles wherever Teddy makes contact. The pads of his fingers trail the column of my neck. They trace their way toward my back. Slide down and then his hands encircle my waist.

He’s a firm core of muscle, like mining to the middle of a pint of ice cream where there’s a vein of fudge, only better.

He’s solid on the outside, but not frozen. No, very, very warm. He’s also tender, but there’s nothing mushy or soft about his middle.

He’s all man, encased within clean cotton and a distinct scent that’s all his own.

The kiss deepens, stretches wide, and spans time. I have the vague sense the fire dies down, but I’m no longer cold. Kissing Teddy warms me in a way I never thought possible.

His lips on mine send my heart racing. Our chests rise and fall. His stubble brushes my cheek. He buries his hands in my hair.

It’s even better than I’d imagined last night.

I suck in a breath because I really like this new language we share.

He pauses, drawing back. Our gazes meet, and I want nothing more than to stay in this snow globe forever.

My fingers brush his chiseled jaw as I study his sculpted features, appreciating them in a way I never before have. His smile is still carefree, but I see something else there—a combination of longing and affection. Has that been the case all along and I never noticed?

A whisper escapes, “Where have you been all my life?”

He kisses my forehead and then presses his to mine. “Right here.”

I lean into him, realizing this is exactly what I’ve always wanted—my entire adult life has built to this moment because the look, the feel, the experience makes me feel deeply, madly loved.

Teddy’s arms wrap around my lower back and he leans away slightly. His lip curls with a flirty smile and his gaze locks on my lips. But before giving me what I want, what I need, he kisses my dimples, one lingering caress on each cheek. Then he moves to my chin then leaves little nippy kisses along the underside of my neck.

But I want more and I want it now. I tip my head and kiss his pouty lower lip before our makeout session resumes, full steam.

As we explore this new terrain, I become hyper-aware of his breath, pleasantly warm on my skin as he makes little X’s like in the permanent marker when we played tic-tac-toe. Only this time the X’s signify kisses and they’re on me.

This second wave intensifies.

I’m the subject of his desire. His focus. This is a different side of Teddy. He’s not only a goofball. He’s tough as he takes what he wants, tender as he gives me what I want. I want to hang on to how good this feels, but my thoughts begin to spiral.

He said that he was falling. Did he mean he’s falling for me? Falling in love?

The signs blink like neon in the night. It all becomes so obvious. Teddy has felt something that goes beyond the bounds of friendship for a while now.

The thoughtful gestures like dinner from My Big Fat Burrito, lavishing me with goofy gifts—speaking to me in his love language—and the way he always makes sure I’m comfortable, have what I need, and am cared for.

He told me Chad-Phoenix wasn’t good enough for me.

He is.

Meanwhile, I’ve been scurrying away and acting disinterested .

But am I?

Drawing a deep breath, I gently pull away. “We should slow things down.”

Teddy, eyes heavy, rests his forehead against mine as if he needs a moment to catch his breath. Me too.

The moment stretches between us and my eyes close. My lips buzz. My skin blisters. We could kiss again, but questions about what just happened flurry in my head. What if this kiss ruins everything? I cannot imagine a kiss that amazing toppling what we have, but romantic entanglements have taken down empires. Could be my mind that needs to slow down. I try to draw a breath, but it sticks in my chest.

As if finally ready to reply to my comment about slowing down, Teddy says, “If you wish.”

My eyes crinkle at the corners as I smile. “You quoted The Princess Bride .” He’s said that phrase numerous times recently. Maybe we’ll survive this.

He wears a shy smile in response and turns to tend the fire, igniting my curiosity. That’s our movie, but it’s a comedy. Not a kissing book, er, movie. We focused on the fight against the bad guys, revenge, how good triumphs, and truly enjoyed the giant, the close scrapes, and of course, seeing Humperdinck get his.

We know all the quotes, but “If you wish” has a specific meaning. It’s Teddy’s very own variation of what Westley spoke to Buttercup with a particular subtext.

“We should watch it, for old time’s sake.” Teddy disappears for a moment and then returns with a slim laptop.

We both drop onto the couch and he props it on his knees as I scoot closer.

The familiar opening scene plays, and I should be tired. After a long day, this ought to make me doze off, but I don’t. Instead, I rest my head on Teddy’s shoulder and we spontaneously quote the movie, laugh at the same time, and cringe at all the usual moments.

And all the while, I’m hyperaware of Teddy's presence. The placement of his arms against mine. The way he breathes, the warmth radiating from him like he’s his own thermonuclear plant, only it’s me that’s having the meltdown. We should probably discuss how we crossed a line from friendship to more. What’s he thinking? How will this change things? Will we be awkward and thumby or can we be normal and not like we only have thumbs instead of regular fingers? My mind travels circuitous routes like this until the movie is over.

Teddy closes his computer.

“We should go to sleep,” I say if only so I can get out of my head.

But we don’t.

Instead, we remain in front of the fire, talking all night like we’re afraid to miss a moment together. Like if we sleep, whatever this is will be but a dream.

As our conversation carries us into memories, sails into the future, and coasts over every topic in between, our fingers lace together. His thumb softly rubs my wrist. I study the calluses on his other hand. When our palms naturally fall apart, Teddy wraps his arm around me. I’m glued to him, staying warm, remaining close because I don’t want to face reality and what the kiss might mean for our friendship.

It’s like this weekend opened a door we were both too afraid to pass through. We balance on the threshold. Everything is the same, yet nothing is .

At dawn, I yawn but am wired and wouldn’t be able to sleep if I tried.

“Want to watch the sunrise?” Teddy asks.

I recount several times in college when we’d study all night—and let’s be real, watch movies, talk, and hang out, but not kiss—then sneak up to the clock tower on campus to see the sun wake up the world.

We both freshen up and bundle up. Outside, the air is crisp, but not as cold as I expect, considering the freak storm. Everything is quiet, nestled under a snowy blanket, as we leave Cagle’s Heart Haven Cabin, only interrupted by the occasional sound of a plow truck in the distance.

Teddy matches our palms together. His are much bigger. Then he folds his fingers over mine. It fits perfectly inside and I can’t help but wonder why we haven’t done this before. Oh, right. Our very real and very wonderful friendship. I push away the thoughts of what this could mean. Where this will inevitably go. I want a few more minutes in my fantasy snow globe.

My phone beeps, buried somewhere in my coat. I check it and my brow instantly furrows. I contemplate not telling Teddy because it’s sure to burst this little bubble we’re in, but I’ve always been honest with him.

I flash the screen in his direction, revealing his brother’s name. I don’t know much about Tim’s life after he was let go from the AHL except that he’s gotten into trouble a few times with some shady characters. Teddy is always there to bail him out.

“The only reason Tim would call is if he’s looking for you,” I say.

Teddy’s eyes shadow for a split second before returning to their normal bright teddy bear shade. “Which means he’s in trouble or wants pizza money.”

“There are a few slices left in the fridge.”

“He thinks pineapple on pizza should be outlawed. Ironic, considering this is Tim we’re talking about.”

“Is that why you never protest when I ask for it on my half?”

Just like everything about Teddy, his laughter is big. Larger than life. Fills a room. Fills the valley. Fills my heart.

The fresh snowfall over Maple Falls sparkles as the sun rises over the brow of the hillside.

The scent of freshly baked pastry and coffee wafts from Maple Grounds Coffee Shop & Bakery. We step inside, but instead of merely being friends, we bring an undefined element. Is this a squish situation? Do we have crushes on each other? Something more?

Even though we can sometimes finish each other’s sentences and have been told at times that we share the same brain, I don’t know where he stands. Or where I do, for that matter.

What is this? What do I want it to be?

With warm drinks in hand and extra baked goods for later, we stroll down Main Street and reach the park where I ran into Willa before. Someone came early and shoveled a path so we follow it to the edge of a stream. A layer of fallen leaves dam against fallen branches crisscrossing the water, painted white with snow in some places.

A ripple forms followed by a soft plop. Teddy points to the far bank and two otters tumble together, holding hands—paws? They drop into the water and then surface, eyes expressive, whiskers twitching, and then dive under again. I can practically hear them laughing as they play. One of them flicks snow at the other, then he rolls on his back and she clobbers him.

Our gazes meet. We’re both grinning widely.

“They’re kind of like us, huh?”

I giggle, nuzzling Teddy as we watch the otters sliding on the barely frozen stream before they disappear from view.

“The Ice Breakers’ mascot, Otto the otter, is supposed to get everyone riled up during intermissions during games,” Teddy says, humming the team song, “Ice Ice Baby.”

My thoughts abruptly detour elsewhere, diving into the dark depths of a place I’d rather not visit.

As if sensing this, he squeezes my hand. “We should get you on the ice.” His head jerks in my direction as if realizing how that might sound. “Not on the stream. That’s not safe. On the rink.”

Teddy turns to face me. He gently tugs on a curl that sprung loose from my knit hat. “Harlow, you are the bravest, strongest, most amazing woman I know. You had a bad experience, but you can’t let it keep you from living.”

“Says the guy who claims hockey is life.”

The corners of his lips twitch toward a smile. “The trauma has kept you stuck, held you back from following your dreams.”

“I’m not sure what they are.”

“I know what they aren’t—working at the Preston & Lemieux office.”

My breath is shaky and my knees get weak. It’s not because of everything that’s happened between us in the last twenty-four hours, but how close he skates to the truth.

“It’s like you’re afraid that if you step into something new, that it’s going to split and crack and fall out from beneath you.” Teddy’s tone is gentle.

My defenses rise and I grit my teeth. But he’s not wrong.

When I don’t respond, he slides his hand back in mine, gripping it snuggly. Before I know it, we’re at the arena and it is Olympic-impressive with its vast concourse, the roof that’s so high it makes me almost feel like I’m outside, and the hint that goals are conquered and dreams are fulfilled. But right now, it’s a Sunday morning kind of quiet.

My breath comes short, and we’re only in the lobby. I know what’s coming. What I must do.

And I have to get on the ice. Not because Teddy is persuading me, but because just as our kiss opened a door, this is one that I have to close.

It’s time for me to let go of the past. I know this. Teddy too. If I don’t, I’m not sure what it’ll mean for my future.

As for ours, that’s not something I’m going to think about just now. One step—er, slide, glide?—at a time.

Teddy grabs me a pair of skates and kneels in front of me. After removing my boots, he slides one on and then the other before lacing them up.

I’m wobbly all over, but not because of his proximity or his touch. No, that’s pure comfort, a natural extension of our friendship.

“We’ll go to church after,” he says.

“I think it would be more useful to pray first.” A vibration works through me and I can’t tell if it’s excitement or trepidation.

Hand in hand, we walk through the warm room toward the rink. There is nothing stark about Maple Falls except for this sheet of ice. It’s different from when I was here on Friday, watching Teddy and the team practice. The ice looks the same, yet the air and everything below it is denser. I know all too well how gravity works, but I also know there’s no way I could drown on the rink. It’s shallow, frozen, and won’t melt anytime soon.

Logically, I know on the other side of facing my fear, I’ll be a bit freer. Some of the burden of the accident will be lifted from my shoulders. Yet my breath sticks in my throat. My brow beads with nervous sweat. My skin feels charged like I accidentally touched a light socket.

Teddy opens the half-door, revealing the freshly groomed ice like a red carpet. His carefree smile gives me courage, but his eyes tell another story. This man doesn’t want me to love hockey the way he does . . . he wants me to love my life the way he does. To break free from the shackles of the past.

“You’re like a gateway drug,” I mutter.

He chuckles. “I doubted my charm, but I prefer to think of it as me being irresistible.”

He’s got that right.

Like the professional iceman he is, Teddy slides onto the ice and spins in a circle before gliding back to me, hand extended for me to take as if he’s inviting me onto a dance floor.

I eye the frozen liquid, knowing that I can’t fall through. It’s impossible. But rational thought doesn’t always subdue fear—the terror of falling .

“Try a toe,” Teddy says gently, sweetly, lovingly.

My chest heaves and I struggle to catch my breath even though I haven’t yet moved.

He takes my other hand, sliding backward so I have no choice but to step forward. However, I trust him—with my life, as it turns out.

“You can do this,” he whispers.

I can. I must. For me. For us.

“I won’t let you go,” he says, voice strong and steady.

As if I were on an amusement park ride coasting down a dip, my stomach flips, but as I glide forward, it smooths out. Teddy holds my gaze as if gauging how far to go. Measuring how I’m handling it.

The pools of his eyes aren’t scary. They’re welcoming, comforting.

He’s my river otter. This is a daunting experience, but I could be like the otters. It could be more like playing. Teddy and I are good at that.

With that thought, my inhales come easier.

He links his finger through mine, drawing me near, and then plants his hand on my waist. We slide from side to side, front to back. Our eyes lock and hold.

“I’ll protect you. I won’t let you fall.”

What if I already have?

Then without another word, he lets me spiral away like we’re doing a waltz or a mamba or some other formal choreography, only we’re on skates. He spins around me, twisting in a game of peek-a-boo.

My laughter twirls as I do, matching him in this flirty dance.

“So far so good,” he says, effusive .

“It’s not so bad,” I demure because roller skating is fun but ice skating with Teddy is the best.

Teddy whoops, and it echoes in the empty arena. I race toward him and he spins me around, sending up ice chips. His smile is buoyant. His long hair is floppy in a way that would make any hockey player proud and puck bunny whirr. His eyes land on me and flicker something fierce. He’s probably not thinking of the kiss last night. I’m certainly not.

But if I were, it would feel a lot like this—full, passionate, happy. My mood ring is very purple right now.

These are just your standard heart flutters. Nothing to see here. But have I been lying to myself about my feelings for him? I don’t need to look at the mood ring for an answer. I love Teddy as a friend and as something more. Or have I loved him all along?

The early morning sounds of the arena coming to life break our little bliss bubble. A figure skating couple confer with their coach. They’re probably not going to be happy that we carved up their ice. Thankfully, they’re not as cutthroat as in roller derby.

We go to the warm room and take off our skates, then Teddy shows me to the lounge area before disappearing for a moment. I figure he’s reaching out to his brother after the early morning call. But moments later, he returns with two cups of hot chocolate. He takes our extra pastries out of the paper bag.

Teddy taps his cup against mine. “Let’s celebrate. I’m proud of you, Shorty.”

“Thanks for your help, Hot Shot.”

“I think it’s time we break the ice. ”

I snap my head in his direction. “In this context, that seems extraordinarily ill-advised.”

“I mean between us.”

“That would imply we just met,” I counter.

“In a way. This is new for us.”

“Jill, Willa, even Elvaira, and everyone I’ve ever talked to say you can’t just be best friends with a guy. They were right. Mostly,” I add the last part, uncertain now.

“Because we’re friends . . . and something more?” He waggles his eyebrows.

I survived the ice and my fears aren’t entirely resolved, but I can breathe again. Then I’m submerged in a new reality as Teddy’s playful comment catches up with me.

“But what if—?” My thoughts cascade with all the ways this could go wrong. How every previous relationship I’ve ever been in has failed. My team stats are abysmal.

Teddy wears a flannel shirt. I didn’t know I had a hockey player lumberjack thing, yet here we are. But I also thought I had a Scottish accent thing until I learned that Liam’s was fake. Then there was Jason’s texting to make sure I got home safely, which turned into round-the-clock contact. Oh, and let’s not forget Roy’s backward hat thing, until he refused to take it off, even at my grandmother’s funeral.

They’re no longer part of my life. They were placeholders … for Teddy.

“And what if they don’t?” Teddy asks as if reading my mind.

I shake my head. “Teddy, we can’t. We’re friends. This was—” I lift my hands and then they flop into my lap.

He smolders. “That kiss was life-changing. ”

“But we don’t want it to be friendship-changing.”

He opens his mouth as if to push back, and I plow ahead. “I don’t want to lose our friendship. We have to stick to what works. Plus, we made our vows.”

“Vows?” Teddy asks, eyes wide.

“The pledge.”

“Vows?” he repeats as if he has cold feet and not from ice skating. “I’ve had some late nights, but I’d remember that.”

“Not those kinds of vows. Remember the time we had to pick your brother up at the airport and my sister insisted on coming? Then she flirted with him the entire time and he crowed about his hockey career. Then you said something, and they teamed up and turned on us, claiming that there’s no way we’re just friends.”

Teddy nods as if the memory slowly sifts back. “My brother flirted with you.” His voice is one decibel of a growl.

“He flirted with anything that walked.”

“Tim would’ve snatched you up in a hot minute.”

“He couldn’t handle me. My sister on the other hand . . .”

“You have a point.”

“We agreed that I’d never date your brother, and you’d never hook up with my sister. And that we can just be friends and prove to everyone they’re wrong.”

Teddy’s expression craters before he quickly replaces it with his smile. “Yeah, you’re right. Totally.”

“We know what works and we should stick to it. Just friends.” My voice strains against these words, this hard line, but I know it’s for the best .

Puffing out his cheeks, he adds, “What were we thinking?”

My gaze flits from the hockey poster on the wall to a notice about league events. It goes everywhere but to Teddy, because the glimpse I got of his hurt is crushing, but it would be worse if we let this go further and then lose each other entirely.

I say, “We hit the reset button. That’s all. Go back to what we had.”

“Yeah. Sure. That makes sense.”

But it doesn’t. Not at all. These are things I’d talk to my bestie about, but I can’t because I’m head over heels for him. I don’t want to risk losing him, so I’ll force myself to forget all about it.

And just like that, fear of ruining my friendship with Teddy replaces my fear of falling through ice and being submerged in water in general. And I feel colder than ever.