It didn't take much to coax the fire back to life. The lake water coffee was the best brew I'd had in years, and I work at a coffee shop with an espresso machine imported from Italy. We sat on the bench, a respectful foot of space between us now, dunking stale, sugar-dusted cookies into the black coffee.
"So," Beck said, looking at the cookie in his hand. “About last night."
"Yeah." I took a sip of coffee.
"I meant it, Clara. Everything I said." He unscrewed the whiskey and took a sip, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
I took the bottle from him and swallowed a big gulp. "I know."
"Do you believe me?"
I looked at him. His eyes told me he was sincere, but I'd been burned by them before. "I want to."
He finished his cookie and brushed the ancient icing sugar from his hands. "That's a start."
Sitting still was making me anxious. I couldn't stop thinking about how good it felt in his arms. The longer we sat in that hut, the more I wanted to shimmy closer to him, and this time, not for warmth. I stood up. "Come on. If we sit here any longer I'm going to finish that bottle and pick up one of Harry McNabb's fishing rods."
"What's the plan? Build an igloo?" He put the whiskey back on the shelf.
I opened the door and pointed to the rink. "We dig."
By the time we got to the rink I was sweating. Worrying about Dash running off again wasn't an issue, the snow was deeper than he was tall. Next to the time-keeper's hut we found their stash of shovels.
The snow was deep, but at least it was fluffy and light. After our night in the hut, moving felt good for my body, and even better for my mind.
We worked in silence, carving paths across the ice, pushing snow toward the edges. Dash got out some energy by zooming around the paths at top speed, launching into the deep snow to slow himself down on the corners.
"This is insane," Beck said, breathing hard.
"You're the one who wanted to impress me."
"Pretty sure I cried on you. I don’t think I can come back from that."
“You idiot. That was the most impressive thing you’ve ever done.” I laughed. It felt strange, but in a good way. “
"This is pointless," Beckett panted, leaning on his shovel. We had managed to clear a path from the rink to the trucks, and a small, jagged patch of ice near the boards. It was maybe twenty feet long and ten feet wide.
"It's exercise," I said, kicking a chunk of hard-packed snow. "You won't have to do leg day today."
Beckett looked at the patch of ice we'd exposed. "I bet I can still out-skate you."
In your dreams, Beck Shepherd."
"Prove it."
"Do you think Dash’s nose can find your skates?"
My skates.
"Shit!" The shovel clattered to the ice. "I think they're by the edge of the forest."
Dash whipped his head in response to his name. “I’m not sure, but we do know it can find a bag of unattended jerky."
"Come on, Dash.” Beck trudged through the snowbank and Dash followed in his tracks. He stopped and turned. "I'll get your skates, I have a pair of Logan's in my car. Meet me at center ice."
Before I could protest, Beck waded through the snow as though it was a training exercise, and the man was in shape.
Ten minutes later, we were laced up.
