“Remember when Bae tried to charge people $5 for cups of lemonade?” I chuckled.
“Ah yes well she was adorable and surprisingly successful in her pursuit.”
“Do you miss it?” I couldn’t help but ask,
“Miss what exactly?”
“How things were, all those summers ago?” I clarified, and he glanced ahead almost as if he saw a vision of what was in the distance.
“I try not to.”
“I see.”
We walked on, laughing about other memories, the awkwardness from earlier easing with every step. After a while, I worked up the courage to ask something else I’d been curious about.
“So, Wyn,” I began, careful to keep my voice casual, “your past skating partner…I saw a few clips, was there ever anything more there?”
“Have you been stalking me, Yesoh?” he bantered.
Oh, he had no idea.
“I—uh was just there when Remi was,” I lied; she’d have to forgive me if that ever came up later.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because you seemed to have a strong connection on the ice, something that couldn’t be faked.”
He let out a soft laugh. “It’s part of the performance to make it look that way.”
“Oh, okay then.” I swallowed hard.
He paused, his gaze drifting to the snow-covered path ahead. “Katerina and I had a brief fling, well fling to her. It couldn’t work nor last.”
“Why not?”
“Because she issevenyears older than me,” he said so casually, and my heart sank.
“Woah, why would—never mind. I get it, I mean, Iwillget it,” I muttered, “So it was just a fling, did it um, get serious, did it go…far?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks tinting pink. “Don’t make me regret answering that, Yesoh.”
I laughed, nudging him. “Oh, come on! You’re always avoiding questions. It’s only fair you answer one for once.”
He chuckled, though I could tell he was still flustered. “Perhaps someday I’llsatisfyyour curiosity, Miss Yeo.”
“Oh, you’re definitely going to, Wyn,” I teased, feeling a little bolder. He rolled his eyes, but I caught a faint smile tugging at his lips.
We strolled in companionable silence, the cool evening air settling between us. But as we rounded a bend, Wynter suddenly stopped, his face going pale. Following his gaze, I saw a poster pinned to a tree, the edges curled and faded that read:
Two Year Anniversary of the Waverly Peak Tragedy.
Wynter’s gaze was fixed on the poster, his expression turning hollow, like the very life had drained from his face. The words Waverly Peak Tragedy seemed to pull him under, as though the poster itself was a haunting reminder, dredging up something dark and unresolved within him.
His breathing quickened, shallow and uneven. I watched his eyes widen, a flicker of dread overtaking the usual calm and stoic look he wore so naturally. He lifted a trembling hand to his mouth, and for a split second, it seemed as if he might double over.
“Wynter,” I said, stepping closer, feeling a pang of worry at how pale he looked. “Are you okay?”
He shook his head slowly, his gaze still riveted to the poster. A slight tremor passed through him, as though his whole body were reacting to some invisible weight pressing down on him.He closed his eyes tightly, his jaw clenched, and took a deep, shaky breath, but he didn’t seem able to pull himself from whatever memory had seized him.
