Ambrose:boo what use are you
Ambrose:have you boned him yet
Christopher:OK have to go now!I’ll check in later.
Just before he pockets the phone, Christopher gets a message from Shaz telling them she’ll be at the community centre in half an hour, and to meet her there.With a little time to kill, he decides to make a quick grab bag of useful things – the candles and matches he used the other night, his Swiss Army knife, a box of unopened table salt, and one of the couch blankets just in case.Perhaps Nash is rubbing off on him.
Nash appears, and peers into the bag as Christopher fills it up.‘What is the table salt for?’
‘The ice.’
‘Is there no team out gritting the roads?’
‘No, in Britain we prefer to be shocked by snow when it happens every single year.’
He’s about to pick up the bag, when Nash swings it up over his shoulder with ease.‘You drive.I carry stuff.’
‘A fair division of our talents.’He could almost swear that Nash flexes his muscles the smallest amount.‘Let’s go.’
It’s blisteringly cold outside, much colder than the day before.Christopher wraps his coat tightly around himself, as though that might make it keep the wind out better.Perhaps he needs to borrow some of Shaz’s knitted accessories.
Under the fresh layer of snow that fell overnight, the older stuff has packed down and frozen, creating a hidden slippy layer.Despite their good grip, Christopher’s walking boots slide on a steep bit of pavement.He waves his arms furiously just to keep himself upright.And yet, beside him, Nash walks with ease.
‘How are you doing that?I feel like Bambi on the pond.’
‘I’m sure that’s from having massive gangly legs.You must always feel like a baby deer.’
‘Oh, very droll.’Christopher windmills his arms as he feels himself sliding again.He can’t control what his body is doing, and he’s going to fall, he can just feel it.It’ll be just his luck when he lands solidly on his bum, or worse, his face.The last thing he needs is a trip to A&E, especially as he’s the only one who can drive.
But before he can hit the ground, Nash reaches out and steadies him on his feet.
‘Steady, Bambi,’ Nash drawls, and Christopher isn’t sure if the fluttering in his stomach is the leftover sensation of being completely out of control, or the way Nash is holding onto him.‘Canadian, remember?’
‘How could I possibly forget?You’ve never once mentioned it.’
‘To answer your question, I used to play hockey so I’m pretty familiar with getting around on ice, and this is near enough that.’
Given that his physical safety is literally in Nash’s hands, Christopher resists the urge to point out that they call it icehockey here to differentiate from the incredibly vicious version teenage girls play on land.
‘Here, lean a bit more forward.Your centre of gravity needs to be right over your feet, which should be easy because you’re practically Bigfoot.’
‘I’m six foot three.That’s not even that tall,’ Christopher mutters, leaning forward like Nash tells him to.
‘When you walk, try to put your whole foot down at once.Watch me.’He lets go of Christopher for just a second and shows him how to step lightly and evenly on the ice.‘See?’
‘Somewhat.’
‘Somewhat,’ Nash laughs in British, reaching out for Christopher’s hands.‘Come on, put those big feet to good use.You’re basically wearing snowshoes.’
They’re both wearing gloves, but when Christopher takes Nash’s hands, he feels fizzing heat in his fingers.
‘Do you always speak like you’re in a period drama?’
‘Well, yes because they’re just speaking British English, aren’t they?’Christopher huffs.
‘No, I think it’s more than that.Like, your whole vibe.It’s very—’
‘Please don’t sayDownton Abbey.’
