"I'm laughing internally."
"Sure you are."
But I can see the tiniest smile tugging at her lips. Genuine. Unguarded. It disappears the moment she realizes I'm looking.
"One more lap," she says. "Then we're done."
"We've barely been here an hour."
"Contract says we need to complete the date. Doesn't specify duration. One hour is perfectly reasonable."
"You've really studied that contract."
"Of course I did. Never sign anything without reading the fine print." She glances at me. "Apparently you don't have that problem. You just throw money at things."
The accusation stings more than it should.
"Is that what you think? That I bought you to humiliate you?"
"Didn't you?" She asks.
"No."
The word comes out harder than I intend. We've stopped skating now, just standing in the middle of the rink while other people flow around us.
"Then why?" she demands. "Why bid on me specifically? Why one thousand dollars? Why any of this?"
Because I can't stop thinking about you.
Because two years ago, you saw right through me and I've never recovered.
Because I don't know how to fix what I broke.
But I can't say any of that. So I say nothing.
Isla pulls her hand from mine. The loss of contact feels colder than the ice.
"That's what I thought." She skates toward the exit. "I'm done. Date one complete. See you for date two."
"Isla, wait?—"
But she's already off the ice, unlacing her skates with quick, angry movements. I follow more slowly, my ankles aching from the unfamiliar exercise.
By the time I get my skates off, she's putting on her shoes.
"Let me drive you back," I try.
"I'll walk."
"It's freezing."
"I'm used to the cold." She stands, grabs her skates. "Thanks for the skating lesson, Thornhill. Next date, try picking something you're actually good at. If such a thing exists."
She walks away before I can respond, leaving me on a bench surrounded by other couples who actually look happy to be together.
I pull out my phone and check her Instagram post. It already has dozens of likes and comments.
Cutest couple!!
