Previously…
– While Tempest was vocal about wanting to get married as soon as possible, Samantha confided in Elly that she feels things might be moving too quickly.
– Tori and Landon shared their first kiss and admitted their feelings to one another.
– Spencer continued to grapple with his complex feelings about Loretta’s murder and the possibility that Travis was the one who killed her.

The office on the second floor of Edge of Winter Arena overlooks the ice, but the rink is empty at this hour. The ice has been freshly resurfaced, and its smooth white expanse reflects faintly against the glass. Samantha Fisher stands just inside the office’s doorway, wearing a knee-length, purple puffer coat, while Tempest Banks sits at her desk, finishing up an email.

“Sorry, just wanna get this out before I forget,” Tempest narrates without looking up.

“It’s okay. I’m the one who dropped in on you at work.”

Samantha approaches the desk and seats herself in one of the chairs opposite the desk. Her purse rests in her lap, and her knee bounces anxiously.

Finally Tempest clicks her laptop shut and looks up at her fiancée. She smiles a warm, familiar smile, but there is something lurking just beneath it, a question: Why are you dropping in on me at work, and why are you acting so nervous?

“So what’s up?” Tempest asks. “I thought we were meeting at the restaurant.”

“We were. But I had time to kill, and… I thought maybe it would be good to talk somewhere private, not in the middle of a restaurant.”

Tempest’s eyes narrow. “You’re making me a little nervous here.”

“Don’t be. It’s just… I wanted to talk about the wedding.”

“We can talk about the wedding and eat that calamari they have.”

Samantha folds her hands together. “I’ve been thinking since my mom came to us with all those ideas for the engagement party–“

“You want an engagement party and a wedding? All, like, in a short time?”

“No.”

She sees Tempest’s shoulders lift. It’s an almost imperceptible movement, but it is still there, a sign of tensing.

“Okay, now you’re making me nervous,” she says.

“I just feel like everything’s happening fast. Really fast.”

Tempest studies her for a long moment. “So you want to, what? Slow things down?”

“Yeah,” Samantha says with a nod. She exhales, feeling relief for the first time in days. “Are you okay with that?”

“I mean… sure.”

Silence stretches between them, filled by the distant hum of the arena’s refrigeration system.

“I guess I thought we were on the same page,” Tempest finally says.

“We are.”

“Are you sure?” Tempest sits back in her chair, as if creating a cautious distance between them. “Or are you not sure you want to get married at all?”

—–

The holiday market vibrates with cheerful energy. Strands of white lights zigzag overhead, and vendors call out good-naturedly as steam rises from paper cups of cider and cocoa. Tori Gray tucks her hands into the pockets of her coat as she walks beside Landon Esco, their shoulders bumping now and then as they navigate the crowd.

“This is a lot more charming than I was expecting,” Tori says. “I was expecting chaos. Or at least a lot of those giant inflatable snowmen.”

“See? I have excellent taste,” Landon says. “And a deep, abiding distrust of any inflatable larger than me.”

Tori laughs, and they stop at a stand selling candles. Scents compete in the cold air: pine, cinnamon, something vaguely sugary. Tori picks one up and sniffs it.

“This smells like Christmas and…” She sets it down, making a face and grateful that the vendor is busy with another customer. “…and regret.”

Now it is Landon’s turn to laugh. “What a combination.”

She sets it down, and they quickly move away from the stand. As they stroll, they watch a group of kids spinning in dizzy circles near a small, lit-up tree. Somewhere in the distance, a group of carolers starts up, their voices imperfect but enthusiastic as they launch into “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.”

“This is really nice,” Tori says. “Just doing… regular date stuff. It’s been a long time.”

“So we’re officially calling this a date, huh?” Landon asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I think we can safely call this a date, yes.”

“Good. Because I very much want it to be a date.”

She grins. “Me, too.”

A moment later, he stops walking, and Tori follows suit.

“Would you look at that?” he says, and when he points upward, Tori follows the invisible line created by his finger to find an arch strung with greenery and red ribbon.

“Is that mistletoe?” she asks, amused.

“I think so? I’m actually a little unclear on what it looks like. You hear about it all the time, but you don’t really see it.”

“I feel like we can use our discretion here. And tradition is tradition…”

Landon doesn’t rush it. He steps closer, the space between them heating up even in the chilly winter air. Tori tilts her head up, one hand curling into the front of his coat.

The kiss is unhurried, comfortable, and it lingers, more an ellipsis than a question mark.

“Okay,” she says when they part. “That was nice.”

“Very nice,” Landon agrees. “What do you say about some cocoa?”

“And maybe something fried.”

“Now that is the most romantic thing you’ve said all night,” Landon teases. Tori slips her arm through his.

“And maybe we need to retrace our steps afterward,” she says. “Just to be sure that really was mistletoe.”

“I like the way you think,” Landon says, and they disappear into the glow of lights and laughter, the market buzzing around them on this cold but hopeful night.

—–

The Ragan house is quiet in a way that feels intentional. Most of the lights are off, save for elegant white glow of the Christmas tree in the formal living room. When Natalie Bishop returns home from dropping off Peter at a sleepover, she finds her husband sitting on one of the expensive couches in that front room, a glass of scotch in one hand as he uses the other to scroll on his phone.

“Peter was okay?” he asks as Natalie shakes the cold off her coat and hangs it in the entryway closet.

“The kids were already bouncing off the walls. And the amount of pizza and cookies Connor’s mom ordered — I don’t envy that woman having to deal with that circus tonight. But at least we get some peace and quiet.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says somberly.

She studies him and takes in the atmosphere of the house. “Rough day, or just brooding for the hell of it?”

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “No rougher than usual lately.”

“You want to talk about it?”

Spencer looks at her with surprise. For as long as they have been in one another’s life, the emotional intimacy that normally comes with marriage has not necessarily been a part of their relationship.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he admits.

“Then don’t push it. Just sit and think.” She perches on the arm of the sofa. He watches her carefully, as if expecting her to pull the rug out from under him at any second. But she simply sits, exhibiting an uncharacteristic patience.

“I feel like I’m living in this tornado that won’t let up,” Spencer finally says. “The more I try to wait it out, the wilder it gets. Now this trial is coming up…”

“Maybe that’ll bring you some actual answers.”

He sips the scotch, not so sure of that.

“Loretta was evil. Like, full stop. She kidnapped me from my real family when I was a baby,” he says. “I even think she would’ve snatched Peter and taken off that night, if she hadn’t…”

Natalie’s lips part, but she manages to stop herself before she finishes, Dropped dead. She slides off the sofa’s arm and onto the cushion.

“God knows I had no love lost for that woman,” she replies, “but she did raise you. There’s an attachment there.”

“Yeah.” He takes another pensive drink. “I don’t fucking know. She had it coming, the way she made so many enemies, but still.”

“Mm-hmm,” Natalie murmurs. She can remember all too clearly how oppressive it felt having Loretta under the same roof, ready to blow her secrets sky-high at any moment. Knowing the woman is neutralized forever brings an incredible sense of relief.

Spencer slugs back the last of the scotch. Natalie reaches for the glass, and their fingers brush.

“I was going to get you more,” she says.

“I’m okay.” He places the glass down on the marble coffee table. But their eyes catch, whispers of that brief touch now swirling around them. It isn’t new or unfamiliar, but deep and dangerous in its familiarity.

“I should head upstairs,” Natalie says.

“Yeah. Probably.” But he reaches out — not rushed or desperate — and lets his hand graze against hers again. Before she can stop herself, Natalie sinks into the touch, curling one finger between his.

“We probably shouldn’t…” she says.

“I know.” But their foreheads come together, touching lightly, and the world around them narrows. By the time they kiss, it starts off gentle, almost apologetic, but quickly mounts in intensity. Natalie’s hands tug at the bottom of his cable-knit sweater, and soon he is tearing at her clothes, stripping her down to her bra and panties as he pushes her back onto the sofa and climbs on top of her, hungry for this connection and relief.

—–

The arena feels eerily silent to Samantha as Tempest’s question presses down upon them like a sudden avalanche. Are you not sure you want to get married at all?

“I didn’t say that,” Samantha manages. Her mouth has trouble forming the words. “It’s fast, that’s all. I didn’t know we were getting engaged — obviously–“

Tempest’s palms hit the edge of the desk. “Now you’re pissed that I even proposed?

“I didn’t say I was pissed!”

Samantha raises her voice — something she seldom does — just enough to cause Tempest to stop. When she speaks again, it is softer, more measured:

“Then what’s going on?”

“It’s a lot to process in a short amount of time, that’s all. I’m still getting my head around being engaged — which makes me really happy — and suddenly I have my mom presenting multiple concepts for an engagement party, and you’re ready to skip the engagement party and get married immediately, and my head is spinning. I need to catch my breath, that’s all.”

“Okay.” Again Tempest sits back in the desk chair. “Getting married isn’t some symbolic, spiritual thing to me. It’s practical. If something happens to you–“

“You want to be able to show up,” Samantha finishes for her.

“Yeah.” Tempest’s voice tightens. “I want to be able to visit you, to make decisions, get information. Not just stand in a hallway waiting and panicking.”

“And that’s important. I agree with you.”

“But you don’t feel that same thing. Urgency. Maybe because you were the one with medical stuff happening, and I was the one waiting around.”

“That could be it, yeah.”

The refrigeration system continues to whirr in the background.

“How much time do you need?” Tempest asks at last.

“I don’t know. There isn’t a set amount, I guess. But I don’t want to begin a marriage feeling like I’m on a runaway train.”

“Okay.” Tempest still sounds reserved, even a little closed-off. “Then you tell me.”

“Why don’t we go to dinner and look at dates? Find something that makes us both comfortable?”

Tempest studies her, as if wanting to be sure that she isn’t pulling a fast one. “You’re sure? You’d set a timeline?”

“That’s all I want,” Samantha assures her. “To be an equal part of the decision-making.”

Finally, she sees something dissolve inside Tempest, a hard rock melting down into dust.

“Sounds good to me,” Tempest says, her voice more like the one Samantha hears every day, as she stands from the chair.

END OF EPISODE 1285

Can Samantha and Tempest find common ground?
Is this a turning point for Spencer and Natalie?
What do you think of Tori and Landon’s romance?
Discuss it all in the comments below!

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