He hands me my waffle stick, and I dip it in the sauce and then raise it to my chin as I try not to get the sticky jelly paste all over me. When my teeth sink into the first bite, I can’t resist and I hum, “Mmm.”
“That’s good.” He takes the words right out of my mouth, and he motions to the bench off the path. “Should we sit over there?”
I don’t even reply because I’m too busy enjoying another bite. I simply walk forward and plop down on the bench. He takes a seat beside me and points to the jungle gym behind us. “Did you see that climbing thing over there?”
“Yeah?”
“I once got stuck on the very top of that thing. I kept climbing higher and higher, not taking the time to see how tall it was. When I reached the very top, I panicked and froze.”
“How was that for you?" I stare at him over the top of my waffle stick, not slowing as I nibble off another bite.
“Terrifying, actually. My mom tried to coax me down, but I was completely stiff. She eventually called the fire department. You’d think the near mention of having to call for emergency help would have scared me enough to try to come down, but nope. They came with a small engine. For a moment, I thought I would get to ride in the bucket ladder, but they didn’t need it. One of the men climbed up and carried me down under his arm. Of course, I cried.” He grins, pleased as he adds, “And I got ice cream.”
“Oh, you poor little boy,” I say, giggling. “I bet your mom was relieved though. Little boys are so much work.”
He shrugs his thick shoulders. “She probably was, but I think I was more relieved.”
We both bite off the last of our waffles, neither of us in a hurry to let the moment go. We linger side by side on the bench like something else is supposed to happen, but we just don’t know what yet. I’m not hungry enough for another snack, but I also don’t want to go home yet.
He crumples his napkin and stands, stretching his hands over head and walks a few steps over to a trash bin, tossing his garbage away with an easy flick of his wrist. I do the same, making sure to brush the stray crumbs from my coat and straighten my skirt. That’s when he holds out his hand.
Not for a high five like a good job on doing your part to not litter.
But an open palm of invitation.
“Skate with me,” he says, voice steady, like he already knows I’ll say no and has a solid plan to counter all my excuses.
I glance toward the small ice rink a few yards away, the edges lit up with string lights. It’s actually the same ice rink where they held Granite Ice tryouts, and where I first saw him. The memory alone is enough to make my heart ramp up, but someone’s playing old love songs through a portable speaker, and suddenly, I’m swooning.
Still, I shake my head. “You know, I haven’t been on the ice much since Noah was little, when I taught him how. I’ll likely get us both killed.”
“You’ll be fine. I promise to catch you if you fall,” he says, not dropping his hand. “Come on.”
I hesitate and turn to look back down the path to my car. I mean, we came for one snack. I held up my end of the deal. I could leave now and feel pretty okay about it. I shift my focus back to him waiting with his palm still open, gaze fixed on mine like I’m the only person here.
And for some reason, I give him my hand.
My fingers slide into his, and the moment we touch, something inside me stirs. We stride together to the icehouse, where we grab a couple of pairs of rental skates. My hands tremble as I lace them up. I’m not only terrified of skating, but of where this whole thing is going to take me with Bill, and not in a destination sort of way. I’m silent, allowing him to take my hand again as we step onto the ice, and we take slow, careful steps. I’m beyond awkward, trying to shuffle forward with straight knees, but he shifts his position, placing his closest hand around my lower back, and he holds my hand with his other hand, putting his side into a hip-to-hip lock that robs the breath from my chest.
Being in his arms is electric.
And terrifying.
It’s terrifyingly electric.
Or electrically terrifying.
I’m not sure of the proper order of words, but I’m positive those are the correct words.
He skates forward, but he has some superpower where he doesn’t actually have to watch where he skates because whenever I steal a fast side-eye, his gaze is on me. His hand presses firmly above my hip, just enough to remind me I’m not flying. Though now I feel like I am. Around us, the music plays, and we avoid a kid who whizzes around the rink, darting in and out of other skaters. Bill looks behind him, staring after the kid, and says, “He’s got wheels, huh?”
“He does. Reminds me of Noah at that age. He just never had any fear,” I say, as we finish our lap and start another one. A breathless laugh escapes me, and he smiles like he’s proud of making it happen. I feel like a teenager again, wrapped in a crush that’s quickly spiraling into something deeper.
His fingers tighten into mine, and my heart trips in my chest. We keep skating around the outside of the rink, locked in arhythm that isn’t perfect, but it’s working. We skate until the song is over, and I leak out the last of my nerves in a giggle and grab the wall, ready to breathe. “Don’t make me do that again.”
He places one hand on the wall, leaning in right next to me, but leaves the hand that was on my hip in place. For a moment, I check it, as it seems a little odd to have to hold me up, when my hands are both firmly on the wall. Then I turn my gaze back to him.
Before I know what is happening, his hand tightens even more, drawing me to him, and he leans down until our lips are only separated by a breath. I pause a second, maybe two. Just enough to feel his warmth.
