"You're not a lost cause."
"In hockey terms, I definitely am."
"I'll teach you."
She looks over, eyebrow raised. "You want to teach me to skate?"
"Why not? I'm a professional athlete. Teaching you can't be harder than dealing with rookies who think they know everything."
"I'm a biomechanics researcher who studies concussions. I'm pretty sure getting on the ice with me is asking for a head injury."
"I'll risk it."
We drive some more then finally turn off the main road onto a narrow lane bordered by towering pines. The pavement gives way to gravel then dirt. Ivy sits up straighter, craning her neck to see through the trees.
"Where are we?"
"Almost there."
The lane opens into a clearing, and Ivy gasps.
A small cabin sits nestled among the trees, rustic and perfectly maintained. There’s a lake stretching beyond it, morning mist still clinging to the surface, water reflecting the sky. Mountains rise in the distance, their peaks touched with early snow.
"Declan." Her voice is barely a whisper. "This is beautiful."
"I found it a few years ago, and I just had to buy it. The twins and I come here often." I park near the cabin, killing the engine. "Come on. There's something I want to show you."
We get out, and I lead her down a narrow path to the shore. A small wooden dock extends into the water. Tied to it is a rowboat, exactly where the owner said it would be.
"You rented a boat?"
"Yeah." I step onto the dock, holding out my hand. "Come on."
She hesitates only a second before taking my hand. I help her into the boat, steadying her as it rocks beneath her feet. Once she's settled on the bench seat, I untie the rope and push off, grabbing the oars.
"You know how to row?" she asks, watching me with fascination.
"My dad taught me when I was eight. Some things you don't forget."
I pull the oars through the water with steady strokes, moving us away from the shore. The morning is perfectly still. No wind. No other boats. Just us and the sound of water lapping against wood.
Ivy trails her fingers in the lake, eyes distant and thoughtful.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask after several minutes.
"Everything." She pulls her hand from the water, watching droplets fall from her fingertips. "Nothing. I don't know."
"That's specific."
She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.
"What would your life look like without pressure?"
For a second, I wonder why she asked the question.
"What?"
"If you parents were still here and you never had to take care of your siblings. If you had a trust fund and no care in the world… What would that look like?"
