Big Boss by Cassie Mint

Three

Daphne

“We used to come here all the time when I was little.”

Kate’s sitting on a bench beside me at the edge of the rink, strapping on a gorgeous pair of snowy white skates. They match her dark red sweater dress perfectly—her outfit is like something off a holiday postcard.

I tug at the strap of my battered blue rental pair, their toes scuffed and their blades dull. I don’t know what I’m more jealous of. The stories of her happy-families childhood or those freaking skates.

Oh, I know it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Kate told me in one of our late night library confessions how she wasn’t planned. How she was a surprise baby after a casual fling, her parents barely out of high school, and how her mom didn’t stick around to see her first birthday.

“But I have Dad, so who cares?” she’d said, shrugging breezily, but her voice was too bright. She does care.

She’s right about her father though. I can’t imagine anyone better than Mr Callahan.

He strides over now, a gray scarf wound around his neck and a black coat buttoned over that huge chest. The frosty morning breeze tugs at his black hair, and the other skaters scuttle out of his path like elves fleeing from a giant. The rink is mostly empty still, puffs of white cloud drifting overhead, and green treetops sway all around.

“Bad news.” He’s hiding a smile. “There are no boots in my size. I’ll watch from the side.”

“Oh no!” Kate whips her head around, like she might spot a pair of boat-sized skates casually strewn on the floor. “Oh, that sucks. Sorry, Dad.”

“It’s fine.” He’s keeping a straight face, but I can see the sparkle in his brown eyes. He catches me looking when Kate ducks back down to tie her laces, and throws me a wink.

My stomach flip-flops.

I smile back, fumbling with my ankle strap.

I’m not graceful on solid ground. But on ice? Forget about it. Once we squeeze through the rink gates, I wobble around the edges like a baby deer, my cheeks burning hotter and hotter with embarrassment as Kate whooshes past, whooping and yelling encouragement. My arms are rigid, stuck out in front and flapping every time I nearly fall, and I must look awful.

Mr Callahan’s gaze burns into my back. So humiliating.

“You can do it, Daphne!” Kate spins around and skates backwards, giving me a thumbs up.

A stream of kids zooms past me, jostling my legs. I whimper.

Oh my god. I thought ice skating was supposed to be fun. People like this? They like balancing on blunt knives and falling on their asses every three steps? My hands are balled into such tight fists I can’t feel my thumbs, but I’m scared that if I fall down, someone will skate over my hand and slice off my fingers.

I mean, I play piano. My fingers are my best bit.

“Please. Oh my god. Please, please, please.” I mutter to myself as I complete my first lap, already sweating like a furnace under my thin winter coat. My black wool hat is jammed over my ears, but right now I wish I could pull it over my whole face. Tuck it right under my chin and wait for this to all be over.

“Having fun?” I don’t turn my head. I’d probably lose my balance, and besides—I’d know that rumble anywhere.

“Yes,” I lie. I inhale sharply as my right skate skids to one side. I save myself at the last second, arms pinwheeling, then remember my manners. “Thank you for bringing me, Mr Callahan.”

He huffs out a laugh, then a dark glove thrusts into my eye line. “Perhaps I can help.”

I snatch for that hand like a life jacket on a sinking ship. He holds steady, not bothered by my sudden body weight, and his big fingers curl around mine.

“I, um.” I lick my lips. They’re drying out from the cold. “I guess I don’t have Kate’s knack for it.” As if to prove my point, I stumble, gripping him tighter. But Mr Callahan holds me up, walking slowly around the rink’s edge, one arm stretched over the barrier to reach me.

Wow. This will definitely feature in my next daydream. I’m already trying to commit it all to memory—the minty freshness of the wind, the strength in his grip, the scrape of blades over ice. If only it wasn’t all so embarrassing.

“Kate had lessons for years. It’s not a fair comparison, Daphne.”

Daphne.

I love the way he says my name. Like he’s telling me a secret.

“I actually had a lesson once too, when I was a kid. For someone’s birthday party. But I guess I—” I stumble, then recover, gasping out a laugh “—I guess I forgot it all.”

Mr Callahan hums. My insides sparkle and wink like the lights on the rink’s Christmas tree.

“Yeah. I forgot all the life skills I learned at birthday parties too.”

Oh, crap. We’ve never spoken this much just the two of us, and now it turns out he’s kind? Funny and sweet and a knight in shining armor?

I bet they never made armor big enough to fit someone like Mr Callahan. They’d have run out of steel.

“I bet you’re so sad you can’t skate.”

There’s a smile in his voice. “I’m crushed.”

“You’re lucky you’re so big.”

It takes a few seconds, but my words catch up to my brain. Heat prickles over my skin, and I wish the ice would crack open and swallow me whole.

Who says that?

“Your feet,” I stammer. “I mean, you’re lucky you have big feet.”

There’s a long pause, where there’s only the whisper of skates and bursts of distant laughter and the rhythmic creak of the rink walkway as Mr Callahan keeps pace by my side. Then Kate’s bursting into view, all bright, freckled cheeks and eyes damp from the cold, her smile so wide.

“Come on, Daphne! Do a lap with me.” She tugs me away before I can say anything else, before I can apologize for being such an idiot. Mr Callahan’s hand slips from mine, and I can’t look back or I’ll fall.

“Holding hands, huh?” Kate whispers in my ear, giggling. Her arm is looped through mine, keeping me upright. “Anything I should know about?”

“Hardly,” I grumble. We’re going faster now, and even though it’s easier to balance, I’m not sure I like it. The back of my neck itches where he’s watching us.

“When you’re my new stepmom, you’ll have to buy my love. I’m serious. I want a pony, and a bicycle, and a chocolate fountain—”

“Shut up,” I hiss, even though we’re too far away for him to hear. She’s joking, but I don’t find it funny. I know that it’s a ridiculous idea, but that doesn’t mean I want to laugh about it.

“You’re doing great.” Sensing my mood, she slows down, cupping my elbow. “Really, Daph. You look good.”

It’s a huge lie, but I love her for saying it. And when she deposits me at the side of the rink after three laps, I pull her in for a hug before she dances away.

I scan the length of the barrier, biting my lip, hoping. But he’s not here.

No more knight in shining armor.

I sigh and wobble towards the gate.

* * *

“Get off me, you piece of—”

“Everything okay?”

I pause in wrestling my ice skate, blinking up between the hair falling over my face. My wool hat is balled in one fist; my cheeks are flushed and I’m breathing hard. There are wet splotches on my jeans from where I fell over so many times, and my fingers are numb and clumsy from the cold.

“It’s perfect,” I snap, before my brain comes back online and my mouth rounds in horror. I can’t believe I said that. Can’t believe I got grouchy with him. The man who’s taken me in for the holidays. Who haunts my dreams every night.

“I, um—I’m so sorry, Mr Callahan—”

I start to choke out an apology, but he’s chuckling and dropping to one knee. Even kneeling down, he towers over me, and when he nudges my hands out of the way, he dwarfs my clunky boot in his grip.

“These things are tricky. I remember from Kate’s lessons.”

“Uh-huh,” I manage. I feel so tiny perched on the bench in front of him. When he leans forward slightly, his belly brushes my knee. I suck in a breath, and he stiffens. Straightens up.

I want him to lean back down again. No: I want him to lean all the way forward, until he’s crushing me flat to the bench.

“You fell over a lot, huh?” He nods to a wet patch on my thigh, working my boot straps loose with expert flicks of his fingers.

“Yeah. Good thing I’m made of rubber.”

He chuckles again, and I think I’d say anything, do anything, to hear him make that sound a few more times. One of his hands is wrapped around my ankle, and he wriggles my foot, working the boot free easily.

My fluffy sock is bunched around my toes. I reach to tug it back on properly, but Mr Callahan beats me to it, sliding a thick finger along the arch of my foot and pulling the sock back in place.

“Sorry,” he grunts when he glances up and sees the stricken look on my face. “Force of habit. From Kate’s lessons.”

“Right,” I whisper. The arch of my foot is tingling.

He stays kneeling. I hesitate, then offer him my other boot.

I never had this growing up. Never had someone… tending to me. Fussing over me; taking care. Kate is so lucky. His grip is firm but gentle; his movements are sure. All I have to do is perch on the bench, trying not to melt clean through the slats, and Mr Callahan takes care of everything.

Over his shoulder, Kate whooshes past on the ice.

She doesn’t see us. I’m glad about that.

When my second boot comes off, that sock is rucked up too. Mr Callahan leans back, expectant, waiting for me to fix it myself, and I stare at him. Bite my lip.

It feels brave, somehow. Like I’m telling him something. Confessing a secret without words.

The moment he realizes I’m waiting for him to do it, he glances up at me quickly, and his eyes meeting mine is like a power surge. I sit straighter on the bench, nerves zapping like live wires, and he shudders out a heavy breath.

His pulse taps in his throat, just below the line of his beard.

I want to touch it. Feel the texture of those glossy dark hairs beneath my fingertips. Rub my cheek on it. Put my nose against his neck and inhale.

Mr Callahan reaches for me slowly. To give me time to pull my foot away, maybe, or to drag the moment out. I hope it’s the second one, because I could live in this moment forever. Hit replay over and over, with him kneeling so close, his heat seeping through my jeans, and his big hands taking my foot. His thumb slides along my arch, almost rubbing me there but not quite, and then his hand shifts and my sock is back on.

He lets go of my foot.

We both breathe out.

It’s cold, away from his touch. I pull my own boots back on myself, staring at the cement floor.