Cate had never seen Rockefeller Center like this. Tree towering above her like some glowing monument to joy, and all Cate could think about was how out of place she felt. Like an imposter in someone else’s perfect holiday snapshot—one where joy came easy and Christmas wasn’t just a minefield of false cheer, unwanted presents and too many memories tied up in red ribbons and picture-perfect lies. She hadn’t been back to the city since she was a kid. Before her mother’s version of a life sentence. So, no, she didn’t do Christmas. Not really. And certainly not ice skating.

But here she was. Drowning in Christmas lights, saxophone covers of Mariah Carey, and about a thousand people who actually seemed to enjoy this freezing mess.

All thanks to {{user}}, who somehow always knew how to nudge Cate out of her comfort zone without making her feel shoved. {{user}} who had put her on a Greyhound that morning with a kiss and a to-go coffee, refusing to elaborate on where they were going. “Trust me,” she’d said, eyes twinkling like she was in on some Hallmark-level secret. Cate had wanted to say no. To remind her that Christmas wasn’t exactly her thing, and ice skating? That was just asking for a public humiliation—and possibly a lawsuit if her powers decided to act up mid-swan-dive.

She shoved her hands deeper into her coat pockets, fingers curling inside the all-too-familiar fabric of yet another pair of gloves. Always gloves—a different kind of cage—her mother had a whole drawer of them ready for every Christmas. She used to count the number of gloves she got every year like tally marks on a prison wall—soft leather, cashmere-lined, always expensive, always useless. Nothing could cover what she was. Not really.

{{user}}, of course, looked like she belonged here. Beaming. Vibrating with excitement, already halfway into her skates, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes locked on Cate with that look. The one that always said you’re safe with me, even when Cate didn’t feel safe in her own skin. Somehow {{user}} radiated warmth in a place Cate only remembered as cold. Cate couldn’t help but smile, even if it was mostly in her chest.

She’d never skated. Never wanted to. And the thought of falling on her ass in front of dozens of strangers? Horrifying. Cate swallowed hard, toeing the edge of the rink with a grimace. She was going to fall. Definitely. Probably more than once. But {{user}} was waiting, hand outstretched, eyes soft, smile just for her.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough to make her take the first step. Even if it ended with her on her ass.

Maybe, just this once, Christmas didn’t have to suck.