Written in response to this prompt on tumblr: minervadeannabond said:Mary/Charles, blue and silver, Rockefeller Ice Rink at Christmas, "the cold never bothered me anyway." I hope you enjoy it!
Why in God's name had she allowed Sybil to talk her into this?
She hates ice skating—she always has—but Sybil had been so keen on Mary coming along with her and Tom that she had finally given in just to make her sister shut up.
"Mary—let go of the rail!" Sybil calls out as she and Tom glide by gracefully. She shoots them a dirty look, tightening her grip on the cold metal she can feel even through her gloves. She is then pitched forward with brute force as a teenaged boy crashes into her from behind, pushing her into a congested line of traffic skating in the opposite direction.
She braces herself for impact as a large group speeds towards her, only to feel herself gripped firmly around the waist and maneuvered quickly to safety.
"Are you alright?"
Her breath is far ahead of her voice, and she stares up mutely into dark eyes gazing back at her in concern. She nods, watching as he leans in closer.
"Are you sure?" he continues, cupping her chin as if checking her for bruises. God, he smells good.
"Yes," she sputters, irritated to hear her teeth chattering like a frozen chipmunk's. "Just terrible at ice skating."
He then grins at her, revealing dimples that make her legs unsteady for reasons unrelated to the skates on her feet.
"Care for a partner?"
She eyes him with hesitation, torn between the desire to get off of the ice entirely and to hold on to this man she who looks good enough to eat.
"I might make you fall," she warns, the flick of his brow letting her know he has accepted her challenge.
"I'm pretty steady on my feet," he muses, offering his arm. "Besides, the cold never bothered me, anyway."
She guffaws quietly, and he laughs with her as she accepts his offer, her feet moving in opposite directions almost at once.
"Steady," he cautions, helping her regain her balance before leading them away from the rail.
"So you're a Disney fan?" she questions, clutching his arm for dear life.
"Yes," he answers, working his other arm around her waist for support. "But I've almost had enough of that movie. My daughter has it memorized."
Daughter. Is he married? She can't tell with the thick gloves covering his hands.
"How old is she?" Mary asks, not wanting to sound too obvious right off the bat, wondering if her lips are turning blue.
"Five," he returns, holding her a bit closer. "Going on sixteen, unfortunately."
She bites her cheek, wondering how often she had heard her father say the same thing about her when she was growing up.
"Is she here?" Mary questions, afraid to search the rink, having no idea what the girl looks like, anyway.
"No," he replies. "She's with my parents for the weekend. She's very close to them."
"I'm very close to my grandmother," she states fondly. "I'm not certain what I'll do once she passes."
She notes a flinch in his cheek, his eyes focusing straight ahead.
"I'm glad Molly has them," he voices. "They give her a much needed break from Daddy, sometimes."
"And her mother?" she asks boldly, drawing his eyes back to her once they successfully maneuver the turn.
"Passed away," he answers, and she squeezes his arm reflexively. "Two years ago last month."
"I'm sorry," she gushes, wondering if she could manage to slide under the rail and vanish. "I shouldn't have asked."
"Why not?" he shrugs, his expression still somewhat distant. "I did ask you to skate."
"Wasn't that out of sympathy?" she inquires, finally seeing those dimples emerge once again.
"Only partly," he confesses, biting his lower lip. "Actually, that was just a good excuse." She feels her cheeks warm in spite of the heat, watching as silver crystals fly from the ice. "I suppose I should ask if you're married now that I've given myself away."
"No," she answers resolutely.
"Engaged? In a serious relationship? Searching the ice quickly for a man you can bribe to pose as your boyfriend to get me to leave you alone?"
She laughs openly at this, feeling his answering chuckle.
"No, no, and I think that man in the Bullwinkle hat will do nicely."
He pulls her a bit closer then, grinning as he guides them around yet another curve.
"I'm Charles," he offers. "Charles Blake."
"Mary Crawley," she returns, noting the way Tom and Sybil are staring at them as they pass. "My sister and her husband," she adds with a sigh. "They made me come tonight."
"Remind me to thank them," he states, and she watches as he clears his throat, suddenly sounding nervous.
"So, do you always pick up clumsy women at ice rinks?" she questions.
She hears his exhale as he slows their pace somewhat.
"I haven't had the urge to ask a woman out in two years."
His confession nearly makes her slip, and he guides them expertly to the rail, coming to a halt just in front of her.
"I'm flattered," she states, wondering if that is an appropriate response or not.
"I'm the one who's flattered," he returns, his eyes dropping to his feet. "That you actually agreed to skate with me."
"I was desperate," she teases, and he laughs again, the sound of it warming her insides like brandy.
"I don't suppose I could interest you in some hot cocoa?" he asks, making her ears feel suddenly hot.
"Only if there's food to go along with it," she returns, earning herself a genuine smile. "I'm starving."
"So am I," he notes, offering his arm yet again. "Shall I go and state my intentions to your sister and brother-in-law? Promise to have you home before midnight?"
"Only if you also promise not to let me fall," she muses, taking his arm once more, gliding back onto ice that suddenly feels less threatening.