Page 24

"Bend your knees," he announces to the general atmosphere of the festivities. "Someone. Anyone. I don't care."

He takes a long drink from the thermos, and I notice the label says THIS IS DEFINITELY NOT EGGNOG. Judging by the flush on his cheeks and the fact that he just called a passing six-year-old "champ, buddy, whatever your name is," the label is lying.

Then, just as I try and make my way across to say hello to Audrey in the safety of too many people, chaos arrives…

On four legs.

"DOG! WATCH OUT FOR THE DOG!"

A blur of black and white fur explodes from between two market huts wearing a glowing reindeer harness with felt antlers, dragging six feet of gold tinsel behind him like a comet's tail.

"TOES! TOES, YE WEE HAIRY DEVIL!"

Gus, the resort groundskeeper, comes barreling after the dog in an enormous green parka, his orange beard full of snow.

He hits the ice at full sprint in regular boots, which physics does not appreciate because his legs go six different directions. He stays upright through what I can only describe as furious Scottish willpower, arms windmilling, roaring something no one on this continent could translate.

Toes, meanwhile, is having the greatest day of his life.

The dog tears across the rink, antlers flashing, tinsel whipping, scattering a group of ten-year-olds who immediately start chasing him because obviously that's way more fun than chasing Dylan around in circles.

"Someone grab the dog!" Audrey yells.

"Someone grab GUS!" Dylan yells, because Gus has now grabbed the boards and is inching along them like a man on a cliff face, muttering what I'm ninety percent sure are threats against the entire country of England.

Nate makes a diving attempt at the tinsel and Eden's gran cackles so hard she has to sit down.

The dog finally surrenders to Aidan, who simply crouches, produces half a soft pretzel from his pocket, and waits for Toes to trot over, sit, and look up at him with adoring puppy eyes.

"That's it?" Nate says from the ice, flat on his stomach. "Food? That's the whole trick?"

"Works on most women too," Aidan winks.

While the circus resets and Gus retrieves the dog, the children's skate resumes some kind of normality. After a few minutes, I spot a little girl, maybe six years old, clutching the boards in the corner with a death grip on the rail.

She's wearing a bright pink helmet, but her skates are splayed, absolutely frozen. Her mom is trying to coax her out, but the kid's not moving, and about fifteen feet away, one of the camera crews is drifting closer, sensing content.

Nope.

I skate over, positioning myself between the camera and the kid, and lower down to her level. Down here I can see her problem—one of her skate laces has snapped, and the boot's flopping loose around her ankle.

"Hey, sweetheart, you okay?" I ask, kneeling down to her level and smiling. "That lace is broken. Would you like me to fix it?"

She looks at me with enormous wet eyes. "I keep falling."

"Anybody would fall with a broken skate. That's not your fault." I pull the spare lace from my jacket pocket. "Can I fix it?"

She nods and I thread the new lace and pull the boot snug.

"Do you fall sometimes?" she asks.

"All the time. There's a video on the internet of me falling into a net once. Two million people have watched it. Pretty cool, huh?"

She giggles. "Two million?"

"Yep. My brothers send it to me every Christmas." I tie off the lace and stand, offering her one finger to hold. "Move around the boards first, and take your time. Then we skate. Together."

We take it slow along the rail.