But with Christmas being over, so is the brief reprieve from all things hockey.
The Knights have back-to-back games tonight and tomorrow, and attending both carves out a big chunk of the time we have left in the city. Logan’s mood is complete shit because of this, of course, but his parents do their best to brighten it by taking us to spend the late morning wandering through MoMA—which was his only request for our visit here.
Not that it cancels out all the hockey he’s being forced to watch, but it’s something.
“We’re gonna go grab a bite to eat. Would you like to join us?” Logan’s mom asks as we wander down Fifth Avenue.
I’m about to say yes, already starving from all the walking we did through the museum, but Logan answers before I have thechance.
“I think we’re gonna hang out for a bit. Just the two of us.”
Mrs. Reed’s warm eyes shift from me to her son, and a smile pulls at her lips. “Okay, sweetheart. We’ll find you two when we’re done.”
Logan’s gloved hand leaves mine the second his parents are out of sight down the block, and I’m hit with a slight twinge of sadness from the lack of heat against my palm through the fabric.
The two of us walk a couple blocks in silence, and I catch him fiddling with his fingers from the corner of my eye. I think it’s a nervous tic, though I doubt he has any clue he does it. But I’ve caught him fidgeting with his fingers, a pen, the pages of his sketchbook, more times than I can count over the past few weeks.
That, and biting his lip, which has started to frustrate me to no end. Mostly because every time he does it, my attention ends up fixated on his mouth, and that in itself is—
The loud blare of a horn honking and Logan yanking me back on the curb pulls me from my thoughts…and out of the way from being hit by a taxi.
Whoops.
We walk a few more blocks before Logan turns, ducking between rows of shops, heading in the direction of a sight I recognize from various movies: Rockefeller Plaza. Despite the sun being hidden behind a blanket of clouds, the attraction—the skating rink and tree included—is as brightly lit as it would be in the sunshine. The tree glitters with multicolored lights and ornaments, giving a festive backdrop while towering over the dozens of people skating around the ice set into the ground below.
I stop to observe the skaters, watching as couples glide around the rink, hand in hand, along with a few kids showingoff for their parents. Logan, however, continues heading down the set of stairs leading to the rink and some of the shops on the lower level.
“Where ya goin’?” I call out to him where he’s already standing at the bottom of the steps.
Logan’s eyes cast a wary glance between me and the rink, once again pulling at his gloves. His lower lip is caught between his teeth now too, and I have no clue what has him so on edge.
“I want you to teach me how to skate.”
The statement is enough to stun me silent, leaving me to stare dumbfoundedly at him.
He told me himself, learning to skate was something that never held any interest to him, and that was when he had a hockey legend at his disposal to teach him. Which begs the question…why now?
Whyme?
I don’t really have a chance to overthink it, though, because Logan’s already shaking his head.
“Actually, it’s stupid. Just forg—”
Absolutely not.
I’m down the stairs before he can change his mind, slipping my gloved hand into his and pulling him through the door for the skate rentals.
“Forget it and never have the opportunity to be better at something than you?” I supply, unable to keep myself from grinning. “Yeah, fat chance of that.”
He rolls his eyes before shaking his head again, but his cheeks take on a pink tint, though it could have something to do with the cool December wind whipping around the plaza.
But damn if it isn’t really fucking cute.
“Okay, well the condition is you’re not allowed to laugh at me if I fall flat on my ass.”
I wave him off, not the least bit concerned with hisstipulation. “You’re not gonna fall.”
“I haven’t tried this in like fifteen years, so I highly doubt—”
