My store is open on her phone. It’s still surreal a month after my launch, but my following is growing. I’m getting used to telling people I have a business when I receive complimentson my earrings or the stickers on my water thermos. Part of me worried no one would want to pay for what I make, but the loyalty from people around town touches my heart.
Sometimes the slow growth makes me impatient to be bigger and do more, but I’m so happy I started Sweet Luxe. I’ve never been more creatively fulfilled.
“Yes, I can do custom,” I answer brightly. “What did you have in mind?”
“These ones.” She shows me a set of my boho arch earrings. “I want to order ten for bridesmaid gifts for my sister’s wedding this summer. They’re too cute!”
I lace my hands together to keep from flailing with giddiness at my first big custom order, aiming to come off professional and collected. Inside, I’m totally screaming.
“Perfect. Send me a message and we can get that set up. Thanks so much for your order.”
“I want Miss Eve’s earrings,” her daughter says. “Can I get some, mommy? We can match.”
She laughs, hugging her. “You don’t have your ears pierced.”
“Oh, I think I have some clip-ons. It’s an easy swap,” I say. “They’ll be special ones just for you.”
“Hear that, Gabby?”
The little girl squeals in excitement. Her mom mouthsthank youwith a nod.
“See you at the next lesson.” I wave to them on their way out of the courtyard.
They’re the last to leave. I turn to find Cole watching with a soft smile. He still has his skates on and he steps back on the ice.
“There’s an hour before the rink opens up for open skating hours. Want to keep going?”
“Okay.”
The rink is empty and the lights come on just as dusk gives way to the inky winter night. It’s beautiful to see the outlines ofthe pine trees around the frozen lake. No one’s around to watch us skate laps.
Our hands keep bumping until he takes mine. I don’t pull away. It feels right to hold his hand, the only sound the wind in the trees and our blades carving the rink.
This almost feels like it could be a date. It hits me hard how much I want it to be.
“It’s nice being on the ice together again,” he murmurs.
“Takes me right back to high school and sharing the rink with you hockey boys.”
He squeezes my hand. “Yeah. I was thinking about that while you were showing off your moves.”
“Me too.”
The confession comes out soft, stolen away on the wind. He shoots me a crooked smile.
“You looked good out there. I always liked watching you.” His voice dips. “Those training outfits and sexy little leotard costumes helped.”
“Cole!”
I give him a light shove, fighting a blush. He keeps us balanced, releasing a laugh that echoes off the trees.
“I had fun, though,” I say. “It was nice to do it again. I haven’t figure skated in years.”
“Why’d you stop?”
“Honestly? I just lost the spark for it. One second it was there, and then it just felt like a chore that was suffocating me. I only wanted to learn how to jump and spin fast, so it was less—shiny, I guess, once I learned how. I still love it, but my interest was pulled in another direction.”
I lost my motivation to continue with it once it felt like I knew enough about the skill that drew me to it in the first place. It feels too big to admit the other half of the truth—that he wasn’t at therink anymore. Figure skating practice felt less fun without the time I got to share with him.
