Chapter 7

Noelle

I can’t believe that really just happened. The entire car ride home is a blur, my mind replaying the moment over and over again, like a favorite song on repeat. York’s lips crashing against mine—it's a sensation that keeps echoing in my thoughts, vivid and unforgettable.

I remember the way his touch felt, warm and urgent, pressing against me with a force that seemed to pull me into a world where everything else faded away. The feel of our breaths coming together as one, the mingling of our exhalations in the crisp winter air, was intoxicating. Each time I close my eyes, I can almost feel the soft brush of his lips, the electricity that sparked between us.

The magic of it all still lingers, like a fairy-tale moment that’s too perfect to be real. It’s strange how a single kiss can shift everything, changing the way I see the world and my place in it. York’s touch, the intensity of his gaze, and the way he held me close—it felt so genuine, so far beyond the facade of our staged relationship.

As the car moves along the snowy streets, the gentle hum of the engine is a soothing backdrop to the whirlwind of emotions inside me. My heart is still racing, caught between exhilaration and a tinge of uncertainty. I keep wondering if this feeling will last, or if it will fade as quickly as it came. But for now, all I can think about is the kiss and how, despite everything, it felt so real and so right.

I want it to happen again. Desperately. The taste of York’s kiss lingers on my lips, and the sensation of his touch haunts me, making me yearn for another moment like it. But as soon as we pull into the driveway of my parents’ house, reality sets in. There’s no time to dwell on what just happened. Instead, we dive into the hustle and bustle of hauling the tree inside and getting it decorated, the festive chaos demanding all of our attention.

The warmth of the house greets us as we enter, and the rich, comforting aroma of hot cocoa wafts from the kitchen. My mother has already prepared a pot, and soon we’re gathered around the newly decorated tree, our fingers sticky with pine sap and glitter. The tree sparkles with an array of ornaments and twinkling lights. As we sit back to admire our handiwork, the sight of it brings a smile to my face.

My father is sprawled on the couch, engrossed in his phone. His expression is one of satisfaction as he scrolls through the latest tabloids. “You two look like you’re really in love,” he says, his voice full of pride and amusement. His eyes twinkle as he looks up at us, clearly delighted with how the media is portraying our staged relationship.

York chuckles and glances at me, a teasing glint in his eye. “Your daughter’s quite the actress,” he says, and I can feel my cheeks flush with a deep pink hue. The compliment is playful, but it sends a flutter of heat through me, and I can’t help but blush.

As we sip our hot cocoa, I steal glances at York, my mind still swirling with thoughts of that kiss. It’s hard to reconcile the intense feelings I have with the reality of our situation, but for now, I focus on the comforting familiarity of my family and the festive cheer surrounding us.

“What’s next on the agenda?” my mother asks, her eyes bright with anticipation as she looks around the room. The festive atmosphere is still buzzing from the excitement of decorating the tree and enjoying hot cocoa.

York and I exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between us. I offer a shrug, unsure and a bit lost in the whirlwind of events. “I don’t know,” I admit, my voice trailing off. Truth is, I’m not entirely sure what’s planned next. I’m just trying to go with the flow, letting the moments unfold as they come. But my mind is abuzz with thoughts of York, and the yearning for another kiss is almost overwhelming.

Before I can voice any of this, my father leans forward, setting his phone aside. He seems to be considering something. “There’s a sleigh ride downtown tonight,” he suggests, his tone casual but with an underlying excitement. “Maybe you two should do that.”

The idea seems to catch both York and me by surprise. I glance at York, seeing a flicker of interest in his eyes. The thought of a sleigh ride—snuggled together under a blanket, the crisp night air rushing past us—sounds both enchanting and fitting for the evening.

York nods, a smile tugging at his lips. “That sounds like a lot of fun,” he agrees, his voice warm and genuine.

I nod too, trying to mask the thrill that the idea stirs within me. “Yeah, that sounds perfect,” I say, even as my heart races at the thought of spending more time with York, and hopefully, sharing another kiss under the stars.

With the suggestion of the sleigh ride hanging in the air, I can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement.

“Let’s do it,” York says, sealing our fate.

I smile wide, and try to hide my excitement. “Okay,” I answer back.

York and I are nestled together under a thick, warm blanket, being gently pulled through downtown in a beautifully decorated sleigh. The crisp night air bites at my face, causing me to burrow deeper into the blanket’s cozy embrace. The jingle of the sleigh bells and the soft crunch of snow beneath the runners add a magical touch to the evening.

“This is nice,” I whisper, letting out a small sigh of contentment despite the cold nipping at my cheeks. I shift closer to York, savoring the shared warmth and the intimacy of our close quarters.

York turns to me, his face etched with concern. “Are you cold?” he asks, his voice tinged with genuine worry.

“Just a little,” I admit, though the cold seems more a minor inconvenience compared to the pleasure of being so close to him.

As I sit here, I can’t help but reflect on how my romantic fantasies of this sleigh ride didn’t quite match up with reality. I had envisioned us sharing kisses and stolen moments, like teenagers sneaking away to be alone. Instead, I’m feeling like a block of ice, trying to ignore the chill and focus on the heat between us.

“Sir, you can let us off up here,” York calls out to the driver, his voice carrying over the gentle clatter of the sleigh.

The sleigh slows to a stop in front of a bustling ice rink, where couples and families glide gracefully across the ice under the twinkling lights. The sight of it brings a spark of excitement to my eyes.

“What are we doing here?” I ask, puzzled but intrigued.

York’s smile widens. “Care to ice skate with me?” he asks, his tone light and inviting.

My eyes widen in surprise. “I haven’t done that in years,” I say, a hint of apprehension in my voice. The last time I tried ice skating, I spent more time flailing than actually skating. The thought of slipping and sliding across the ice now makes me a bit nervous, but the idea of spending more time with York, laughing and enjoying the night, outweighs my hesitation.

York’s grin remains, his enthusiasm infectious. “That’s okay. We can help each other out,” he assures me, his gaze reassuring and warm.

With a mixture of excitement and trepidation, I nod. “All right, let’s do it,” I say, determined to make the most of this magical evening, even if it means risking a few wobbles on the ice.

The fact that York is a pro skater shouldn't intimidate me at all. Nope. Not one bit. I tell myself this as we head over to the ice rink, the cold air making my cheeks flush. We rent our skates, and after a few moments of awkwardly lacing them up, I catch sight of York gliding effortlessly across the ice.

“Showoff,” I call out with a playful tone, watching as he skates circles around the rink with the ease of someone who’s spent a lifetime on the ice.

York laughs, effortlessly spinning to face me. “Oh, come on. I thought you’d be the one leading us out here. I’m just following your example.”

I shoot him a skeptical look as I carefully step onto the ice, immediately feeling my balance waver. “Leading? More like stumbling. You might need to catch me a few times before the night’s over.”

“Don’t worry,” York says with a teasing grin, gliding closer to me. “I’ve got you. Just try to stay upright and maybe, we’ll both make it to the end of the night without a trip to the ER.”

I snort, grabbing onto the edge of the rink for support. “Great. That’s exactly the kind of confidence I need. I’m sure this will be a disaster.”

“Hey, think of it as fun,” York encourages, extending a hand toward me. “We’ll take it slow. You’ll be skating like a pro in no time.”

“Famous last words,” I mutter, but I take his hand anyway, letting him help me glide forward. My first few steps are wobbly, and I cling to him more than I’d like to admit. “So, Mr. Hockey Player, do you have any tips for a klutz like me?”

York chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Keep your knees slightly bent, look straight ahead, and remember, if you fall, it’s just part of the fun. And if you really want to impress me, try not to fall for at least five minutes.”

I laugh despite my nerves. “Deal. But if I end up face-first on the ice, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair enough,” he replies, his voice warm and encouraging as he helps me find my rhythm. “But just so you know, I’m only responsible for your graceful falls, not the ones where you try to show off.”

As we glide slowly around the rink, York’s presence is reassuring, and his teasing remarks help ease my nerves. The ice might be slippery, but with York by my side, it feels like the night is filled with endless possibilities.