My word for the year was “rise.” Rise to challenges, rise above my fears, rise to become the person I’m meant to be. Someone Papa and Bibi would be proud of.
But I’ve been so busy protecting myself that I forgot the most important part. Sometimes rising means letting go of the ground entirely.
Rounding to one end of the rink, I take a deep breath and dig in, skating smoothly toward the center. I was never a figure skater, but I certainly learned a few moves. I’m nervous, but I’m going to do it scared. Hockey players don’t generally leap, but I wasn’t a cookie-cutter athlete either, even though I do love baking.
Pumping my legs, I lift off, twirl, and land with a gasp. My teammates always joked that the smooth and light-on-my-feet moves were my secret superpower. Turns out, I still got it.
When I land without even a wobble, I think about how Mya and Kai need stability. They need adults who choose each other and choose them, day after day, and who’re there to helpthem land when they need grounding and launch when they need to soar. They don’t need us tiptoeing around our feelings or retreating into separate corners to protect our hearts.
They need us to be courageous.
“That’s my girl!” Papa calls out, pride in his voice.
I’m working up to try again when I hear the sound of clapping from somewhere beyond the rink. I look up to find Lane standing at the boards, watching me with an expression that makes my pulse jump.
He’s not wearing skates, just his regular boots and a Knights sweatshirt under his open jacket, but the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like I’m flying even with my blades firmly on the ice.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, skating over to him.
But he’s looking past me, at my father. And then—impossibly—Lane nods at him like they’re old friends.
I look between them, confused. “Wait. Do you two know each other?”
“We’ve spoken,” Lane says carefully, his eyes not leaving my father’s face.
Papa skates over. “Got a phone call not too long ago.”
“You called my father?” I look at Lane.
“A few days ago. I wanted him to know my intentions,” Lane admits. “I figured if I was going to be married to his daughter—not just accidentally—I should probably introduce myself properly.”
“And clear the air, ask permission. I appreciated it.” Papa winks.
I stare at both of them. “So you’ve been having secret conversations about me?”
“About our family and making sure we do this right,” Lane corrects.
Papa extends his hand to Lane. “You’re a good man, Lane Sheridan Junior.”
Lane shakes it firmly. “I’ll spend every day proving it, sir.”
“Viggo,” my father corrects. “We’re family now.”
Standing there, watching my father and my husband shake hands on a temporary ice rink in the middle of Cobbiton, I realize Bibi was right all along.
Sometimes the best things in life come from the most unexpected places.
He bites the inside corner of his lip. “Oh, and Nina, I was standing here long enough to realize I’ve been an idiot. Standing still. Stagnant in my life. You were the one to lift me out of it.”
My eyebrows lift.
He reaches toward me. “Nina, watching you ... you’re incredible. You’re brave and beautiful, and you make whatever you do sweeter than you realize. It’s not a matter of you fitting into my world or me into yours. We’ll make our own.”
My father gives me another hug and then says, “I’ll leave you two to talk … and skate. But I expect adirektørsnegllater.”
I chuckle. “Definitely, Papa.” Of course, my my father would want the Danish version of a cinnamon roll because under his gruff exterior, much like Lane, is a soft and sweet center.
My father says he’ll see us later and waves goodbye.
