I clutched the railing, my breath coming out in little puffs as I tried to steady myself on the ice. Atticus glided past me effortlessly, his skates slicing through the smooth surface like it was second nature.

"Come on, slowpoke," he called over his shoulder, a teasing grin on his face. "You’re gonna get left behind if you keep holding on like that."

I scowled, giving him a look that was half annoyance, half admiration. "I’m not as good as you, Mitchell," I shot back, my voice betraying my growing frustration.

Atticus circled back, skating backward now, still with that easy confidence. "That’s because you’re not trying," he said. His voice was light, but there was something in his eyes that made me pause. It was like he was waiting for me to take a leap—literally and figuratively.

"Fine," I muttered, pushing off the railing and carefully gliding forward. My balance wavered, but Atticus was there, his hand outstretched to steady me.

His touch was warm, and for a moment, I forgot about the ice beneath my feet, caught up in the feeling of him so close. His grip was steady, like he always had me.

"You got this," he said softly, his voice suddenly more serious.

I looked up, meeting his eyes. For the first time, the playful teasing was gone, replaced with something deeper, something more. I didn’t know if it was the moment or something else, but suddenly everything felt different—like the ice was just another thing I could fall into, and he would be there to catch me.

I gave him a small smile, my heart racing. "I’m not falling for you," I teased, but the words felt almost too real.

Atticus smirked, his grip tightening just a little as he helped me glide forward. "We’ll see about that," he said, a teasing glint still in his eyes, but something more in the way his hand lingered on mine.