I ignore it and keep filming.
Finn slides up to the rail and smacks it with his glove. “Get in here, Joy. Show us your legendary footwork.”
“I have actual work,” I say. “You have...whatever this is.” I wave at his obnoxious excellence.
Jessica glides over, cheeks pink. “Come out with us.” It sounds so simple when she says it. “I’ll keep you upright.”
Dmitri hears the worduprightand immediately yells, “JOY SKATE! JOY SKATE!” which the kids pick up because small children love a chant.
I reluctantly tug on my rental skates. “Fine,” I mutter. “Ten minutes.”
Jessica gives me her hand at the gate, and I step on. The ice is not a floor. It’s a trap dressed as entertainment. My ankles try to hold me upright. My pride considers options.
Wesley appears next to me. “Bend your knees,” he says, barely moving his lips. “Weight forward. Glide.” He takes my hands, spreads my arms a little, positions my hips. It takesapproximately one second for my entire body to announce that it knows exactly where his hands are.
“I don’t glide,” I say. “I lurch.”
“Not today.” He smiles. It’s quick, but it hits me in a flare. “You’re going to glide.”
We move. The ice feels less of a trap and more of a road when he sets the pace. Jessica carves backward ahead of us, calling out, “Knees! Don’t lock them. Good. Better.”
Dmitri passes with Ris, who’s executing a tiny spin. “Joy is doing it,” he declares. “No falls. I am proud.”
“Okay, you’re not terrible,” Wesley declares. A compliment? From him, yes. I hate that it’s a warm thread in my spine.
“Wow. High praise.” I carefully shift my weight. The skate moves. “Is this...gliding?”
“Now it is.” His fingers tighten at my waist for a second, steadying me. “You’re fine.”
Finn swings by, skating backward with obscene ease. “She’s got heart,” he declares to Jessica.
“She’s trying. Point for effort.”
“This is hazing,” I mutter. “I will inform HR.”
“It’s bonding,” Wesley corrects softly, and my composure unlocks at the same moment my ankle shakes and I pitch forward. He catches me effortlessly, his hands strong on my waist, pulling me into his chest.
For one long second, we are pressed together, breath to breath. His heart thuds against my palm where it’s landed. He smells of cold air and clean skin, warmed by snow and sweat. This close, I can see the gold flecks in his eyes, the way his pupils dilate slightly.
“Hi.” He grins, and it’s entirely unfair that he can sound amused and gentle at the same time.
“Hi.” On the other hand, I sound ridiculous. My face is probably the color of Dmitri’s Santa hat. When I realize mymouth is near his throat, I rocket backward in panic, flailing once, twice, and latching onto his forearms again. “I hate this.”
“You hate not being in control. There’s a difference.”
He’s right. I try to glare so he doesn’t get addicted to being right.
“I’m done,” I tell Wesley. “I could cause a scandal if I fall and take out a sixth grader.”
He laughs, guides me to the gate, and helps me off. When I unlatch the door and feel solid ground again under the mats, I exhale so hard my hair moves.
“Not terrible,” he says once more, testing the weight of the words. He’s close. The faint smudge of stubble on his jaw catches the light.
Don’t look at his mouth, Joy.
I yank off my gloves and pretend my hands aren’t shaking. “I’m never doing that again,” I announce.
Someone shoves a thin paper cup of hot chocolate into my hand. It tastes of sugar and comfort and exhaustion. A snow flurry starts, because of course it does. The universe is laying it on thick today.
