***

Since Fleckney was the birthplace of an Olympic ice skating champion, everyone in the county skated. Private and public rinks could be seen on every street, and the three biggest ones were always cleared out on the river in Lower Woulds. This year, they opened the fourth rink, especially for the Winter Festival, on the meres, around and between the floating walkways, so that people could enjoy the view of the light statues while skating.

Viola sat down on one of Scarlet Benches - she'd quite forgotten their significance, but the wrought iron benches were part of the Fleckney heritage. Rhys came back from the rental shack with two pairs of skates and knelt in front of her.

"I've gotten you the ones with laces and buckles," he said, picking up her foot.

"Why?" she asked, watching him take off her Sorel.

He set her foot on his thigh, and Viola playfully curled her toes a couple of times. He chuckled and threw her a sardonic look.

"Because they give the best support."

He put a skate on her foot - his fingers brushed at her sole, and she giggled - and started tightening the lacing. A large wide buckle clasped securely around her ankle. He started on her second skate, while Viola wiggled her already shackled foot. The skate was heavy and reminded her of the brace she'd had to wear when she'd twisted her ankle.

"Alright, give me a mo," he said, quickly put on his own skates, and got up.

He moved in them just as gracefully as he would in trainers, and Viola wasn't sure whether to appreciate and ogle him, or to feel insecure. He stretched his hands to her, helped her to get up - and had to grab her around her waist because she wobbled precariously. She pressed into him flush and huffed.

"Alright, love?" he asked, and she nodded.

"I just need a moment," she muttered, unsuccessfully trying to find her balance. "How is this– So bloody slippery– We aren't even on ice yet."

Her body once again started sloping, and she jerked instinctively trying to even out, and he had to once again support her under her arms.

"It's alright, let's just try to make a few steps and get to the edge of the rink," he said softly.

"How am I–" she started saying, and then her 'favourite' left ankle gave way, and Viola frantically clutched handfuls of his sleeves.

He leaned forward and deftly picked her up bridal style.

"Rhys!" she exclaimed.

"What? Someone might see?" he drew out teasingly, walking confidently towards the rink.

"What? Don't be ridiculous!" she answered haughtily. "Just warn me the next time. You're so tall on these, I feel like I might develop the fear of heights!"

He guffawed.

"Are you sure it's not because half of the county is watching us right now?" he asked.

He was right, the rink and the mere were crowded, and she'd caught a glimpse of quite a few familiar faces.

"Oh I'm sure," she murmured and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck under his jaw, where the pulse beat under his warm skin.

His stride stuttered, and she grabbed at his shoulders.

"Don't drop us!" she gasped.

He chuckled again, turned his head, and kissed her lips. Viola's arms went around his neck, as if without her will, and she pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. His lips opened slightly, his movements became greedier, and then he caught her bottom lip between his teeth. A small moan trembled in her throat, and he moved away.

"Vi, you're–" He sounded choked, and then he shook his head and continued walking.

He lowered her on the ice, and she once again held on to his upper arms.

"Alright, I'll support you," he said, aligning his forearms under hers. "I'll go backwards, and you try to move, yeah?"

She'd been right: he was a good teacher. He was patient and calm - while she was failing at her lesson miserably. It was odd. Her body was rigid, and despite all her previous training - running, dancing, gymnastics at school, and martial arts - she just couldn't find her footing. She jerked, slipped, and he had to catch her again and again.

"Are you doing this on purpose?" he asked, laughing gleefully. "No way you're so bad! Is it just because you're trying to cop a feel?" he asked, when she once again wobbled and bent in half and grabbed him around his waist.

"No, I'm not!" she hissed, irritated, straightening up awkwardly. "I just– I don't know what's wrong with me! Everyone's doing it!" She threw an peeved look behind her shoulder, and just as if to rub it in, a preschooler rolled by her with ease, giggling. "I just– suck!"

"But you're so toned! And you dance!" he continued his frolics, and Viola pursed her lips, feeling sincerely vexed.

"I know," she gritted through her teeth - and then he scooped her, once again holding her under her arms like a kitten and snogged her.

She twitched in his grasp, painfully aware of the blades attached to her feet - but his lips were warm and soft, and he kissed so well! When he put her down, she had quite forgotten what she was so irked about - or where they were, to be honest.

"Don't pout, love," he said tenderly and cupped her jaw. He brushed his thumb to the corner of her mouth. "Not that I don't like seeing your sexy lips pursed like that. But you're missing the point. It's just for fun."

"I just don't understand why I can't do it," she muttered, and her right foot suddenly shifted. She sank her nails into his sleeve. "It's not rocket science!"

"It's not," he said. "It's not science at all. Not everything is about mastery. There are things you just won't be good at." He gave her another warm smile. "I keep telling it to my pupils. And let me guess, you're always good at everything, and this feels like a failure."

She looked at him shocked. It was easy to forget how intelligent and perceptive he was - because of his overbearing manners and his pig-headedness. He was no brute and barbarian, as she'd jokingly called him, and no village oik, the mask he liked to hide behind.

"Not 'everything everything,'" she pretended to grumble.

A couple of children whizzed by them, waving to him, and he nodded to them.

"You're an adult, Vi, which means you probably will never be good at this. It's too late for you, love," he said, and she gave him a fake sneer. "Which means you can just enjoy failing at this," he continued. "The pressure is off."

"That would be a new approach for me," she said.

He took a long step backwards, sliding effortlessly, pulling her after him - and she tensed, her knees shaking. He wasn't wrong, though. She just needed to accept her unexpected shortcomings. After all, it was a lovely Winter day, she was with Rhys, and she looked like a complete idiot in front of everyone! What's not to enjoy here? She snorted, suddenly entertained by her own internal ranting. You can be so silly sometimes, Viola. So, just be silly then!

"You're too rigid, love," he said. "Try–"

He didn't finish, interrupted by a loud scream 'Coach!' somewhere from the other end of the rink. He looked in that direction, Viola was focused on finding the grip on ice with her left foot - and suddenly he was gone.

Viola gasped, and flailed her arms, grasping at nothing but thin air - and she saw him skate away from her, at astonishing speed, which made him look even larger, like some sort of a missile. An astonished nervous laugh burst out of her - and then she saw where he was going.

On the edge of the rink, closest to the river, several people were moving, a child was screaming - and someone was floundering in water. Somehow, what Viola saw the clearest were the shards of ice around that person, jumping from under their grasping hands. A few metres away from the person, Rhys dropped on the ground, jerking his skates off. He then ran the rest of the distance.

Viola lurched forward, forgetting she was on skates, and then she froze, her body half-bent. She needed to move, and the only way was to do the same as him, except she didn't know how to go down! It took her less than a second to decide that sacrificing her arse was better than her knees, and she fell backwards. The pain shot through her pelvis, but at least she could unlace the skates now. She struggled with one of the buckles - but soon she was running the same way.

The man in the water was moving less now, but he was still on the surface - and she saw people pushing hockey sticks and throwing scarves and some other ropes towards him. The hypothermia data and prognosis ran through Viola's mind. And then Rhys lay on his stomach and slid forward, closer to the ice hole. Viola shouted a warning. The water, with sharp broken pieces of ice, was black and terrifying.

He caught the hand of the man in the water, and someone grabbed Rhys' feet. And then she realised it was Rhys' left arm, the one with the unstable shoulder he'd injured twelve years ago - and, just as she suddenly knew for sure, she heard Rhys scream in pain and let go of the man. He then lunged himself even closer to the hole, this time pulling with his right at the man's collar - and back, and out, with the help of two men, who were as if tearing at the bottoms of Rhys' jeans.

And when the man was out, ice started cracking, and the only thought in Viola's mind was the shock at how loud it was. And ice broke under Rhys - and his upper half dipped in, his arms and shoulders - and then suddenly they both were out, people grasping at them and pulling them back, onto the safety of the white snow.

Viola saw Fenton lean over the man Rhys' had pulled out. She rushed to Rhys, who half lay on his side, supporting himself on one elbow, gasping, his hair black and wet, and someone was pushing a jacket towards him. Viola dropped on her knees, and started jerking at the hem of his jumper. It was cold and heavy and wet, and clung to him. She managed to make him sit up, his massive body heavy and slanting on one side.

"Did anyone call an ambulance?!" she shouted over her shoulder. Several voices affirmed around her. "How is he, Alan?" she screamed to Fenton.

"Alright! Check Holyoake!" Fenton answered sharply, and Viola focused on Rhys.

He was quaking, and she saw his lips were blue. Water dripped from his beard, and there was snow in his hair.

"Moron!" she suddenly heard her own voice, angry and shrieky. "Bloody moron!"

His jumper was off, and she pulled at the bottom of his thermal shirt.

"Fucking idiot!" she continued screaming, lifting his hand, then another, pulling them out of his sleeves.

"I– I just–" he muttered, and she could hear his teeth chatter.

She blindly took a fleece sweater someone was giving her and shoved it over his head. She was cursing him and putting more and more clothes on him. He wasn't helping but neither was he resisting, and she started rubbing his torso. He hissed and moaned, and she told him she hated him and that he was the worst - and then she threw herself onto him. A sob tore at her, painful in her chest. His arms went around her, and she once again called him a moron, weakly thumped her fist to his nape, and buried her face into his neck. Someone covered them both with a blanket, and Viola cried.