I blinked. “A date?”
“Don’t sound so shocked,” he said, tossing his gloves over his shoulder and heading toward the exit. “Now come on, let’s go darling before you start asking too many questions and making a huge fuss about it.”
I followed him, my curiosity outweighing my skepticism.
The car was a pocket of warmth against the winter cold, the heater humming softly as Wynter navigated the snowy roads. Outside, the world was a blur of white and gray, the snowflakes falling thick and fast.
“So,” Wynter said, glancing at me with a sly smile, “how would you rate my coaching back there? Be honest.”
I pretended to think about it. “Seven.”
“Seven?” He shot me an incredulous look. “That’s it? A seven? Were we watching the same practice?”
“Fine,” I said, fighting a smile. “Seven and a half.”
“Ouch.” He groaned, leaning back dramatically against his seat. “I deserve at least a nine. Maybe even a ten. I was actually being lenient today.”
“You’re a solid seven,” I said with mock seriousness. “Maybe eight if I’m being generous.”
“Never heard that one before.” He commented and I rolled my eyes.
“You’re so cocky has anyone ever told you that?” I scoffed. “You’ve grown up far too pretty for your own good.”
“Maybe I just like hearing you call me pretty.” He swallowed gripping the steering wheel.
I made a mental note of that.
“Whatever.”
He glanced at me, his lips twitching like he was trying not to laugh. “You know, I could make you bend over backwards during training for this kind of disrespect.”
“I don’t even train with you and your students,” I shot back.
“Who said anything about skating?” He held my gaze and my mouth hung open in shock, he placed his thumb and pointer finger to my chin and laughed. “Kidding.”
“Ha ha..” I sighed.
“Exactly,” he said smugly. “So I’ll just put you on ice-duty—resurfacing, scraping snow, the whole nine yards.”
“You’re all talk,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.
“And you’re all attitude, always have been.”
“Isn’t that what you like?” I lifted an eyebrow.
We lapsed into comfortable silence for a moment, the kind that only happens when the company feels right. Outside, the snowy forest began to thin, giving way to rolling hills dusted in white.
The heater in Wynter’s car was working overtime, blasting warm air that fogged up the edges of the windshield. Afterwards Outside, all at once the snow fell steadily, turning the world into a soft blur of white. I leaned back in my seat, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I was on a date. With Wynter. Who apparently made executive decisions about these things without consulting me first.
“So,” I said, breaking the silence as I fiddled with the radio. “Is this where you reveal your master plan for the night? Or do I justhave to sit here and hope you’re not leading me into the woods to murder me?”
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, his expression cool and unbothered. “That’s Plan B. Plan A is more fun.”
“Comforting,” I muttered, flipping through static-filled stations before landing on one playing a cheesy holiday song.
“Leave it,” Wynter said, his hands steady on the wheel. “It’s festive.”
“Festive is just code for ‘annoying after five minutes.’”
