WINTER’S BODYGUARD

Ayla “Winter” Harden | December 1

By six in the morning, I’d already cursed my coach, my left hip, and the woman who’d decided December was a good time to park in the spot I’d been using since September.

The woman didn’t know about the spot. She was visiting the rink, probably taking her kid to practice, so I couldn’t really blame her. I still stood in the parking lot staring at her silver SUV like it had done something personal to me.

The cold was biting through my coat. The wind off the lake had my eyes watering before I even made it to the entrance. I had my skate bag slung over one shoulder and my coffee tucked in the crook of my elbow, still too hot to drink but warm enough to make me feel like I’d made at least one good decision that morning.

My phone buzzed.

NIA: you there yet?

I shifted the bag higher.

Me: Been here.

NIA: You said that yesterday and you were still in the garage.

Me: Yesterday is not today.

NIA: That is not a denial.

I smiled and pushed through the rink doors.

A wave of cold air hit me in the face. Inside, it smelled like ice and wet gloves, coffee that had been sitting too long, and somebody’s body spray trying to cover up the first two. The sound of blades dragging over the ice came from the far rink. A kid laughed, then got shushed by a parent who had no idea what it was like to be awake this early.

“Morning, Winter,” the front desk guy called.

“Is it?” I asked, walking backward so he’d see my face. “I need to check. I feel like my alarm made that up.”

He laughed. I kept moving.

The rink had Christmas garland wrapped around the railings. Somebody had hung paper snowflakes from the ceiling too, all different sizes. One of them looked like it was about to fall directly onto the ice. I’d mentioned it to staff last week, but apparently it had survived this long, so maybe it knew something I didn’t.

I got to the changing area and sat on the bench, pulling my skates from my bag. My fingers were stiff from the walk in. I worked the laces loose and rubbed my thumb along the leather of the right boot. The toe was starting to wear down. I had a new pair waiting at home, but I liked these. They’d been broken in around my feet, and I knew exactly how tight to pull the laces to get through a long practice without cutting off circulation.

Nia called while I was tying the first one.

“Don’t call me before seven unless somebody’s bleeding,” I said.

“Good morning to you too.”

“I’ve been up since five.”

“You chose that.”

“My coach chose that.”

“You’re twenty-eight. You can tell Coach to meet you at a normal time.”

“I did. He said the ice is cheaper early.”

“Then you should tell Coach that your time is expensive.”

I laughed and pulled the lace tighter. “You coming to Mama’s tonight?”

“Yeah. She said she’s putting the tree up.”

“Putting up? She’s had it up since Thanksgiving.”

“She said she wants to redo it.”

“She wants an audience while she does it.”

“That sounds like Mama.”

The second skate was easier. I sat up, rolled my ankle, then stood to check the fit. My legs were already complaining about yesterday’s session, but the ache wasn’t bad. I could work through it.

“Did you bring your black tights?” Nia asked.

“I’m not skating in black tights today.”

“You told me you needed them.”

“For the sponsor event. They’re in the garment bag.”

“Okay, don’t get an attitude.”

“Then don’t question me about tights before I’ve had breakfast.”

“You had coffee.”

“That’s not breakfast.”

“See, you know better.”

I tucked the phone between my shoulder and ear and finished packing up my things. “I’ll eat something after.”

“You say that every time.”

“And then I do.”

“Two bites don’t count.”

“They count if I swallow.”

Nia sighed into the phone. “I’m not arguing with you about food before six-thirty. See you tonight.”

“Bring the little gold ornaments from your apartment. Mama wants them on the tree.”

“She has gold ornaments.”

“She wants yours.”

“Why?”

“Because you have them.”

“That woman has a whole basement full of decorations. She can buy her own.”

“Tell her that.”

“I will.”

We hung up. I put my phone away, lifted my skate bag, and walked out toward the rink.

My coach, Marcus, was already waiting near the boards with his clipboard. His face said he’d been standing there long enough to think about how I was going to annoy him today. His coffee cup said otherwise. He had a little cinnamon roll balanced on top of the lid.

“You’re three minutes late,” he said.

I glanced at the clock. “I’m two minutes early.”

“Compared to when I wanted you here, you’re three minutes late.”

“Then you should’ve said that.”

He looked down at his clipboard. “We’re doing your short program first. I want the combination cleaned up before the afternoon run-through.”

“I did it yesterday.”

“You fell yesterday.”

“I landed the second one.”

“After you fell.”

“I was already down there.”

Marcus looked over at me. “You ready to work or you ready to argue?”

“I can do both.”

He gave me a look, but there was a smile sitting at the corner of his mouth. “Get on the ice, Winter.”

I stepped over the boards and onto the rink.

The first push sent me sliding across the smooth surface. My body loosened as soon as my blades caught. I let myself take a slow lap, then another, getting a feel for the ice. It was empty except for us and the little kid practicing near the far end with a coach holding her hand.

I warmed up with edges, then crossovers, then a few jumps. On the first combination, I landed the opening jump but came out of the second one too close to the boards.

“Again,” Marcus called.

I glided to a stop. “I know.”

“You got too eager.”

“I know.”

“Then fix it.”

“I’m going to.”

He held up his clipboard. “I’m waiting.”

I skated back to my starting mark. The first jump was clean, the second was a little low, and I felt it as soon as my blade touched down. I stopped before the turn.

“Again,” Marcus said.

I looked at him over my shoulder. “You could say something else.”

“Like what?”

“‘You’re doing great, Winter. You’re beautiful and talented.’ Something encouraging.”

“You’re beautiful and talented.”

“That sounded mean.”

“Then do the jump again.”

I shook my head and skated back to the starting mark. I went through the entry in my head, checked my shoulders, and pushed into the jump. This time, I held my landing long enough to finish the turn.

“There,” Marcus said.

“I know.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting. I’m confirming that I did it.”

“You did it once. Let’s make sure you can do it again.”

We worked it until it felt right. By the time I got through the whole program, the heat had built in my legs and under my jacket. I was sweating, my braid had started to loosen, and my cheeks hurt from the cold.

On my last pass through the combination, I landed clean and let out a yell that bounced around the rink.

“Yeah!” I shouted, throwing one hand up.

The little girl near the far end looked over. I winked at her. She waved with both hands, nearly lost her balance, and her coach caught her around the waist.

“That’s enough,” Marcus said. “You’re going to tire yourself out before the run-through.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Your breathing says otherwise.”

“My breathing has an attitude.”

“Your breathing is tired.”

I skated to the boards and leaned my forearms on top. “I still have the sponsor thing this afternoon.”

“And you still have two hours before that.”

“That is plenty of time.”

“To do what?”

“Go home. Shower. Eat.”

He gave me the same look Nia had given me through the phone. “Eat a real breakfast.”

“Everybody’s worried about my breakfast today.”

“Maybe because you keep acting like coffee is food.”

“I never said it was food. I said it’s breakfast.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It makes sense to me.”

I leaned down to undo the top of one boot, then noticed a staff member waiting at the rink entrance. She was holding a slim white envelope. My name was written on the front in neat, looping letters.

I straightened. “What’s that?”

“Mail for you,” the staff member said. “They left it at reception.”

My stomach tightened before I could tell it not to.

Marcus noticed. “You want me to get it?”

“No.” I pulled my gloves off and stepped off the ice. “It’s fine.”

The envelope was decorated with tiny silver snowflakes. For Winter was written across the front. No return address. The handwriting was neat enough to look practiced.

“Probably a fan letter,” Marcus said.

“Probably.”

The staff member handed it over. I turned it around in my hands. My name was spelled correctly, but there was no address. It had been delivered to the rink directly.

I tucked it into the outside pocket of my bag.

Marcus watched me. “You’ve gotten a few of those, right?”

“A few.”

“What’s a few?”

“Three before this one.”

“Anything concerning?”

“I don’t know. They’re weird.”

“What do they say?”

“I’ll tell you after I read it.”

Marcus leaned against the boards. “You don’t have to open it right now.”

“I know.”

My words came out quicker than I meant them to. I glanced at the envelope again, then slid it deeper into the pocket.

“I’m going to go change,” I said.

He nodded. “Text me when you get home.”

“Marcus.”

“Text me.”

I gave him a look, but he didn’t back down. I took my bag and went to the changing area.

The envelope sat in my mind while I changed out of my skating clothes. I waited until I was dressed, my skates were put away, and my hands had warmed up before I pulled it back out.

The paper was thick. There was no message on the front besides my name. The envelope had been sealed with clear tape, as if somebody had run out of glue or wanted to be sure it stayed closed.

I took a picture of it and sent it to my manager before opening it.

ME: Another one.

The reply came back fast.

DANA: Did it come to the rink?

ME: Front desk.

DANA: Don’t open it alone. I’m calling you.

A second later, my phone rang.

“Hey,” I said.

“Are you somewhere safe?”

“I’m sitting in the changing room, Dana.”

“Is anyone else with you?”

“People are here. You don’t have to talk to me like I’m about to get jumped.”

“I’m not. I’m asking because of the letter.”

I pressed my thumb against the tape. “You said the other ones were harmless.”

“I said they didn’t contain a direct threat.”

“Right.”

“Can you wait until I get there?”

I paused. “You’re coming to the rink?”

“I’m nearby.”

“You’re not nearby. You’re in River North.”

“I’m in the car. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

I let out a breath through my nose. “You can’t keep dropping everything every time one of these shows up.”

“I can if I’m responsible for you.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“I know. Just wait for me.”

The call ended before I could come up with a response I liked. I stared at the envelope for a few seconds, then stood and walked back out toward the lobby.

The front desk staffer was helping a young skater with her jacket. I waited until they were done.

“Did you see who dropped this off?” I asked.

She shook her head. “It was in the mail bin when I came in. The morning guy didn’t know either.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

I sat in one of the chairs near the window and watched the snow blow across the parking lot. It wasn’t sticking. The wind kept lifting it from the pavement and sending it in little white bursts.

I had planned to go home, shower, eat, and get dressed for the sponsor event. Now I was waiting for Dana to arrive and feeling foolish for not opening the letter myself.

It wasn’t the first time somebody had sent me something strange. I had fans who knew where I grew up, fans who talked like we were friends, fans who sent me gifts and told me I was the reason they kept going. Most of it was sweet. Some of it was too much, but that came with being known.

At least that was what I’d told myself.

The first letter had arrived in October. It said the writer had watched me compete for years and that I was the only person who “made the ice look like home.” I’d thought that was sweet. The second one said the writer knew I was tired of being told what to do and would help me “get away from all the people who use me.” That one had felt strange, but vague. The third was shorter. It said the writer had seen me leaving practice and knew the back entrance was always unlocked.

That one had been taken seriously. The rink staff checked the door, changed the access codes, and increased the number of people working the desk.

I still hadn’t thought about a bodyguard. Not until now.

Dana arrived with a wool coat open over her blouse, cheeks pink from the cold. She spotted me and came over.

“Is it still sealed?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“I can open my mail, Dana.”

“You can. I’d rather we look at it together.”

“I’m not a child.”

“I know you’re not.”

She sat beside me and glanced at the envelope. “Do you want to go somewhere private?”

“This is private enough.”

“Okay.”

She took out a small pair of scissors from her purse. I looked at her.

“You carry scissors?”

“I work in management. You would be surprised what I need to cut.”

“Paper mostly?”

“Paper, tags, a loose thread on your dress last week.”

She slid the scissors across the table. I opened the envelope carefully and pulled out a folded sheet of cream-colored paper. There was a tiny Christmas tree printed at the top.

The handwriting inside matched the front.

Winter,

The season is changing. You keep giving all of yourself to people who do not know what you need. I see you when you leave. I see how you look when you think no one is watching. You deserve to stay where you belong. You don’t have to leave the ice if you don’t want to. I can make sure of that.

Soon, you’ll understand.

Someone who sees you.

I read it once, then again.

Dana took the paper gently from my hand. “You’ve read the others?”

“Yes.”

“What did they say?”

I told her. Not every word, because I didn’t remember every word. I explained the line about the back entrance and the message about being tired of people using me.

Dana’s expression tightened. She folded the paper back along its crease.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m concerned.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t know what it means yet. But it’s more personal than the others.”

“Maybe it’s the same person.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re looking at me like you think it is.”

“I’m looking at you like I don’t want to guess before we know.”

I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my palms together. “So what happens now?”

“We report it. We keep the letters together. I’m going to talk to the company’s security consultant.”

“I thought we had a consultant.”

“We do. I’m going to talk to them again.”

“Okay. What about my practice tomorrow?”

“We’ll arrange for someone to be with you.”

“Dana.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I have practice.”

“And you can still practice.”

“Alone?”

“No.”

“Who?”

“We’re working on it.”

I glanced at the letter in her hand. “Does the company know about the other ones?”

“They knew about the first two.”

“And the third?”

“I told them.”

“When?”

“Last week.”

“You told me you were handling it.”

“I was.”

“You told me they were probably harmless.”

“I told you there wasn’t a direct threat.”

I stared at her. “That’s not the same thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

For a second, the only sound between us was the scrape of skates from the far rink and the front desk phone ringing. I wanted to be mad at her. I was mad that she’d decided to manage what I knew instead of telling me what was happening.

I was also trying not to let my mind run too far ahead.

“I don’t want to cancel anything,” I said.

“I’m not asking you to.”

“I have a sponsor event this afternoon. A photo call on Thursday. The Christmas show rehearsals start next week.”

“I know your schedule.”

“I can’t keep rescheduling my whole life because somebody wrote a weird letter.”

“No one said you have to.”

“But you’re going to tell me to stop coming to the rink alone. You’ll tell me to use the front entrance and not the back. You’ll tell me not to get out of my car until somebody comes outside. I know how this goes.”

Dana rested her hand on the table. “I’m going to tell you that we should take precautions while we figure out who’s sending these and what they want.”

“That sounds like everything I just said.”

“It does.”

“Then you see why I’m annoyed.”

“I do.”

She didn’t argue with me, which made it harder to stay angry. I picked up my coffee. It was cold now.

“Are you going to tell the police?” I asked.

“We’ve already made an initial report. I’ll update it with this letter.”

“Do they even care about a letter when it doesn’t say anything clear?”

“They can document it. That matters.”

I looked down at the paper again. “It says I don’t have to leave the ice if I don’t want to.”

“That line bothers me.”

“It bothers me too.”

“Do you recognize the writing?”

“No.”

“Has anyone been asking about your schedule?”

“People always ask about my schedule.”

“Anything unusual?”

“I don’t know. I get asked for pictures, people ask when I’m performing, where the shows are. I don’t think about every conversation after it happens.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I’m not trying to be difficult. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to remember.”

“You’re not supposed to know that. We’ll go through it with the security team.”

Dana put the letter back in its envelope. “I’m going to have the company arrange protection.”

“Like a bodyguard?”

“If that’s what they recommend.”

“I don’t need a whole person following me to the bathroom.”

“I don’t think anyone is going to ask you to have someone in the bathroom.”

“Good, because that would be the end of my relationship with this company.”

“I know.”

The way she said it let me know she did know. She knew where my line was and wasn’t trying to push me past it yet.

“Go home,” she said. “Get changed for your event. I’ll call you before noon with an update.”

“I can open my own mail next time.”

“I know you can.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

I gathered my things. Dana held the envelope while I put my gloves on. I watched her slide it into a clear folder.

“I’ll take care of it,” she said.

“I know. Just don’t tell me something is harmless because it’s easier than explaining you don’t know.”

Her face shifted. “That’s fair.”

I nodded once and pulled my coat on.

Outside, the snow had started coming down harder. It stuck to the shoulders of my coat before I reached my car. I stood beside the driver’s door, watching the parking lot. The woman’s silver SUV was gone. The spot was empty.

The whole thing should’ve made me feel better.

It didn’t.

I got in, locked the doors, and called Nia.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“I’m coming over tonight.”

“You were already coming over.”

“I might need a plate.”

“You always need a plate.”

“I need one with extra food.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Winter.”

“What?”

“You don’t call me to tell me you need a plate.”

I stared at the windshield. The snow was collecting along the bottom edge, softening the view of the lot. “I got another letter.”

Nia went quiet. “The fan letters?”

“Yeah.”

“What did it say?”

“I don’t want to talk about it in the parking lot.”

“Are you at the rink?”

“I’m in the car.”

“Are you alone?”

“I’m in my car, Nia.”

“Okay, sorry. Where’s Dana?”

“She left.”

“You’re driving home?”

“I’m about to.”

“Call me when you get there.”

“I’ll text you.”

“Call me.”

“Nia—”

“Call me.”

I sighed. “Fine.”

“And don’t go anywhere else alone today.”

“I have an event.”

“Can somebody go with you?”

“I don’t know yet. Dana’s figuring that out.”

“Okay. Let her figure it out before you go.”

“I said okay.”

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“You sound mad at somebody.”

“I am.”

“Good. Be mad. Just don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“I know, but you can be stubborn.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“It is when you’re acting like you’re fine just because you don’t want us to worry.”

I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel. “I’m not doing that.”

“All right. Call me when you get home.”

“I will.”

I hung up and sat in the car another minute. Then I started it and pulled out of the parking lot.

My mother’s house was warm when I walked in. Warm enough that my glasses fogged for a second. The Christmas tree was already up in the living room, like I’d expected. It was tall, full, and covered in gold, red, and white ornaments. My mother had put a small Black Santa near the bottom, where my little cousins could reach him. The garland was looped around the banister, and a playlist was coming from the kitchen.

“Winter?” Mama called.

“In here.”

She came around the corner in a red sweater, holding a box of ornaments. “You’re early.”

“I had practice.”

“You always have practice.”

“I know.”

She looked at my face, then at my hands. “You cold?”

“Yeah.”

“Come here.”

She pulled me into a hug before I could make a joke about it. The scent of her lotion and the cinnamon simmering on the stove made my shoulders loosen. I let myself lean into her for a second longer than usual.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I got another letter at the rink.”

Her arms tightened around me. “From that person?”

“I don’t know if it’s the same person.”

“What did they say?”

“I’ll tell you after I change.”

“Do you need to sit down?”

“Ma, I’m okay.”

“I didn’t ask if you were okay. I asked if you need to sit down.”

I laughed under my breath. “No. I’m good.”

“Your sister called me.”

“Of course she did.”

“She said you told her about the letter.”

“She was on the phone with me.”

“She’s worried.”

“I know.”

“So am I.”

“I know that too.”

Mama touched my cheek. “I’m not trying to get in your way. I just want you safe.”

“I know. Dana’s dealing with it. They’re going to get me somebody to stay with me at the rink.”

“Somebody?”

“Security. Maybe a bodyguard.”

“A bodyguard,” she repeated.

“Maybe.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know yet. I haven’t met them.”

“You’ll meet them tomorrow?”

“That’s what Dana said.”

Mama nodded and rubbed my shoulder. “You can still come here whenever you need to.”

“I know.”

“And you don’t have to make it sound smaller so I won’t worry.”

“I’m not.”

She gave me a look.

I looked away first. “I don’t want this to take over my life.”

“Of course you don’t. But you can let people help you without giving up your life.”

I didn’t answer. I kissed her cheek and went upstairs to change.

My room still had the same pale-blue walls, even though I hadn’t lived there full-time in years. Mama had kept my old skating trophies on the shelf. The first pair of skates I ever wore sat on top of my dresser, too small now, their laces tied together in a bow.

I changed into a dark green dress and put on my earrings. The sponsor event was at a hotel downtown. It was a holiday reception for a sports foundation that supported youth programs, and they wanted me there for photographs and a short conversation with the host.

I checked my phone. Dana had sent a message.

DANA: I’m arranging for someone to attend with you this afternoon. We’ll talk more after the event.

I typed back: Okay. Please tell me who it is before they walk up behind me.

She sent a thumbs-up.

I laughed despite myself.

Downstairs, Mama had packed food into a container. She handed it to me with a warning to actually eat it, not bring it home untouched.

“You and Nia have been talking,” I said.

“Your sister has eyes.”

“So do I.”

“Then use them to look at the food you’re carrying.”

“I will.”

She straightened the collar of my coat. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“You know you don’t have to be strong every second.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

“I know. You just don’t like people fussing.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re going to have to get over that if somebody’s assigned to watch you.”

“I don’t know that yet.”

“Well, you’ll find out tomorrow.”

I hugged her again and left.

At the hotel, a woman from the event team met me near the entrance. She introduced herself as Camille and said my manager was inside. As we walked through the lobby, I noticed a man in a dark suit standing near the registration desk, talking quietly into an earpiece. He watched the entrance. When I glanced at him, his eyes moved to me and then away.

“Is that the security person?” I asked Camille.

“Probably. I don’t know who Dana arranged.”

I kept walking.

The event went smoothly. I took photographs, answered questions about skating and the foundation, and talked with a group of young girls who wanted to know how long it took to learn a triple jump. One of them had little pink braids and kept looking at my skates, even though I wasn’t wearing them.

“Do you ever fall?” she asked me.

“All the time.”

Her eyes got wide. “You do?”

“Every skater falls. The trick is not making a big deal out of it unless you really want to.”

She grinned. “I fall a lot.”

“Then you’re doing the work.”

The girl’s mother took a picture of us together. I smiled, leaned in, and let the girl hold one of my medals. I liked these events. They could be tiring, but it mattered when kids got to see somebody who looked like them standing in the room and doing something they wanted to do.

By the time the reception ended, I’d eaten half the food Mama packed and promised the little girl I’d come to her rink when she started her winter program.

I was near the coat check when Dana caught up with me.

“Can we talk for a minute?” she asked.

“Sure.”

She led me to a quieter part of the lobby. “I’m sorry this has been handled in pieces. The company has agreed to put a protection specialist with you starting tomorrow.”

“Who?”

“Sudan McKnight.”

I waited.

“He’s based in Atlanta,” she continued. “He’s been doing executive protection for several years. He came to the States six years ago. He’ll be in Chicago for the assignment.”

“So he’s flying in?”

“He’s already here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t have the final confirmation until this afternoon.”

“Is he in the building now?”

“No. He’s at the hotel, but he’s not working with you until tomorrow. I thought you’d rather have a proper introduction.”

“That’s probably true.”

“I’ll have him meet you at the rink before practice.”

“Does he know about the letters?”

“Yes.”

“What does he think?”

“He wants to review them and understand your routine before he makes recommendations.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it for now. He’s professional.”

“Professional is fine. I want to know what he’s planning before he starts changing everything.”

“I’ll make sure you’re part of that conversation.”

I looked down at the folded program in my hand. “Does the company think I’m in danger?”

“They think the letters are serious enough to take precautions.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

Dana held my gaze. “I don’t know what the person intends. Neither does the company. We aren’t going to wait for a clear threat before we act.”

I didn’t have a good answer to that. I rubbed my thumb across the edge of the paper program.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll meet him tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not saying thank you. I’m agreeing to meet a person who already has my schedule.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t like being out of the loop.”

“I know.”

“You keep saying you know.”

“Because I do.”

I let out a small breath. “Fine.”

Dana touched my arm. “Go home. Get some rest.”

“I’m going to Mama’s.”

“Good. I’ll text you in the morning.”

“I’ll text you first.”

“Okay.”

I walked outside with the security staff member a few steps behind me. The cold air grabbed at the bare skin on my neck. I pulled my coat closed and went straight to my car.

Nia had already sent a message.

NIA: Mama says you made it to the event. You coming over?

Me: I’m leaving now.

NIA: Good. Bring the container back.

Me: I’m eating it.

NIA: I’ll believe it when I see it.

By the time I got back to my mother’s, Nia was there. She was in the living room with a glass of wine and a box of ornaments, arguing with Mama about where the gold ones should go.

“You brought them,” I said.

“Your mother asked me to bring the ones she bought me.”

“You said they were yours.”

“They are. I’m lending them.”

Mama reached into the box and pulled out one of the ornaments. “It’s pretty.”

“See?” I said. “She has good taste.”

“I have better taste than both of you,” Nia said.

I set the food container on the coffee table and sat down. “You can have the first ornament.”

“I don’t want the first one.”

“Then don’t complain about where the rest go.”

“You always got something to say.”

“Because you always give me something to respond to.”

Mama laughed, and Nia threw a piece of ribbon at me.

For an hour, I let the conversation pull me away from the letter. We put ornaments on the tree, played music, and made a list of things we still needed to buy for Christmas dinner. Mama had already bought most of it, but she liked making lists as if the list was the part that made the holiday happen.

I ate my food while they argued about whether the tree needed more red ornaments.

“Your phone keeps buzzing,” Mama said.

I glanced down. Dana had sent a message with Sudan’s arrival time and the address of the rink. No photograph, no information beyond his name and job title.

I read it twice.

“Is that him?” Nia asked.

“The bodyguard?”

“Yeah.”

“His name’s Sudan McKnight.”

“Sudan?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Where’s he from?”

“London. He lives in Atlanta now.”

Nia’s eyebrows lifted. “An English bodyguard.”

“I’m not hiring him. The company is.”

“Does he have an accent?”

“I assume so.”

“Is he cute?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I’m your sister. I care about everything.”

Mama gave her a warning look. “Don’t make this harder for her.”

“I’m not making anything harder. I asked if he was cute.”

“I haven’t met him.”

“So you don’t know.”

“I know I’m not about to flirt with a man who’s been assigned to keep me safe.”

Nia tilted her head. “You can find him attractive and still let him do his job.”

“Can I finish one thing before you start making up a romance?”

“I didn’t make up anything. I asked a question.”

“Exactly.”

Mama leaned over and placed a red ornament on a branch. “Just meet him first. Then you can decide whether you like him.”

“I’m not deciding anything.”

Nia smiled into her wine.

I tossed another piece of ribbon at her. “Mind your business.”

She caught it. “You keep telling me that like I’m going to listen.”

I sat back and watched the tree lights flicker against the living room window. My family’s voices filled the room. The scent of dinner lingered, cinnamon and food and the orange oil Mama had used to polish the table. For a moment, it felt like a regular December night.

Then I looked at the message again.

Sudan McKnight. Meet at the rink, 6:30 a.m.

I’d spent the day reading words from a stranger who claimed to see me when nobody else did. Now another stranger was going to be close enough to see everything.

I set my phone facedown on the table.

“Are you okay?” Mama asked.

I looked up at her. “Yeah.”

She didn’t challenge me. She just reached over and squeezed my hand.

I squeezed back.

Tomorrow, I’d meet Sudan McKnight. Tonight, I wanted to sit with my family, listen to Christmas music, and pretend the letter was only paper.

For a little while, I managed.