I didn’t want to be another person demanding something from her that she wasn’t ready to give.
I wanted her trust.
Everything else could wait.
I reached the counter and grabbed two cold waters from the cooler, heart still steadying itself. My hands shook just enough that the bottles clattered.
“Easy, Charming,” Mel called from the back doorway, arms crossed. “You’re shaking the beverages.”
I shot her a look. “You left us alone on purpose.”
“Absolutely,” she said without remorse. “Now hydrate your girl.”
“She’s not—” I stopped, stomach flipping at the words. “Mel.”
She wiggled her eyebrows. “Uh-huh. Go. She’s waiting.”
I swallowed hard and headed back across the rink, the lights spinning, the music softening again, the air charged with something I didn’t want to name too loudly yet.
Eleanor was still there with her hands folded and her head bowed slightly while her breathing steadied.
And when she looked up as I approached, relief washed over her face like she’d been afraid I wouldn’t come back.
My heart damn near melted straight out of my chest.
I stopped right in front of her, offering the bottle.
“Here,” I said softly. “Cold water.”
Her fingers brushed mine as she took it. I felt the touch all the way down my spine.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “How did you get so good at skating?” she asked, sipping her water, cheeks still flushed from exertion, or maybe from almost falling into my arms.
I couldn’t help the smile that stretched across my face as she tucked a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
“I came to a rink just like this one growing up. They used to host a homeschool group on Fridays. I came religiously.”
Her eyebrows rose, her lips parting in a little “oh” of surprise. “You were homeschooled?”
I laughed. “I was. I grew up in an ultra-religious family. The kind they make TV shows about.”
She laughed softly, but her eyes, kind and perceptive, flicked up to mine, reading more beneath the surface.
I always tried to laugh it off, but the truth wasn’t funny. Not really.
Growing up in a culture that preached love while practicing fear had left its mark on me. It was a place where questioning was rebellion and difference was sin.
Everything I cherished now, things like authenticity, honesty, queerness, softness, had been labeled “sin” in the community that raised me.
There wasn’t much humor in that.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah. It was strict. Very strict. Dating?” I huffed. “Not allowed unless your parents arranged it. And in my case . . . well.”
I hesitated, unsure how much to say. But Eleanor wasn’t pushing. She just watched me with open curiosity, like she genuinely wanted to understand.
So I kept going.
“They basically picked Becca for me,” I said quietly. “She was from another family in the church. Sweet, smart, funny . . . and miserable. I didn’t see it at the time. I just thought we were young and overwhelmed.”
