“You won’t fall,” I cut in, shooting him an imploring look. “I won’t let you.”
Discomfort and apprehension line Logan’s features—tensing his jaw and causing his eyes to dart away—but he clears his throat and nods anyway.
“All right, fine. Let’s get this over with.”
I have to bite back my laugh at the indignation in his tone, the irony not lost on me thathe’sthe one who had this idea in the first place. One I realize he must’ve planned in advance once the desk worker confirms the reservation he made online. But rather than pointing it out, I aim a winning smile in his direction as I tell the worker my shoe size and wait for Logan to do the same.
The worker grabs our skates and sets them on the counter for us, and with them in hand, we head over to the benches to lace up. It takes me all of a minute to get myself situated thanks to muscle memory, but Logan is still struggling beside me.
Without thinking much of it, I drop to a knee in front of him and start tightening the laces some more, pulling each of them another half inch before tying them snuggly at the top. I do the same on the other skate, feeling his penetrating stare on the top of my head the entire time.
“There,” I state, meeting his gaze when I’ve finished. His expression is unreadable, and a little rush of heat slices through my stomach at the worry I might’ve overstepped. “Uh, sorry. It’s just that the more stable your ankles are, the more you’ll trust your feet on the ice.”
He doesn’t say anything, just silently nods before attempting to stand. I rise to my full height with him, offering a hand in case he loses his balance, but it seems like he doesn’t need it. For now, at least.
“Do they feel okay?” I ask as he takes his first step toward therink.
“I think so.”
Anxiety pours off him in palpable waves as we make our way to the rink’s entrance, but rather than drawing attention to it, I simply step out onto the ice. My skates glide over the surface with ease, taking me a few feet away from the edge before I turn and skate back to him.
His apprehension is still written all over his face when I stop at the wall, but I can clearly see him attempting to work out how I made it on the ice so effortlessly. Which, of course, is thanks to years of practice.
But everyone has to learn the basics, and that’s exactly what I plan to teach him.
“Okay, so instead of stepping straight out like I just did, you’re gonna grab the wall and step in sideways,” I direct gently.
There’s still a glimmer of hesitation in his gaze, but also a surprising amount of trust as he does what I say, placing one skate on the ice.
“Perfect. Now slide it over a little and make room for your other foot.”
He does so while keeping one hand on the wall, and just like that, both of his feet are on the ice. Without thinking, I gently push him forward with my palm on the small of his back, but he instantly tenses beneath my touch.
“What are you doing?”
“Just moving you a few feet away to keep the entrance clear for other skaters,” I say, realizing I probably should’ve let him know that ahead of time. “Just keep your hand on the wall and I’ll stop you, okay?”
After we halt safely out of the way, his gaze moves back to me, clearly waiting for me to direct him on what to do next.
“Okay. So to learn how to skate forward, you’re gonna bend your knees a little and turn your feet so your toes are pointing toaround ten and two.”
“Am I learning to drive with my feet now?” he asks, a little panic in his voice.
Though it’s a rhetorical question, and he’s being a smartass, I can’t stop an amused laugh from slipping out. “And here I thoughtIwas supposed to be the court jester.”
He must be really nervous about this, because he doesn’t slip in any sort of joke or barb, so I clear my throat and give him his next set of instructions.
“Now you’re gonna start taking small steps like a penguin.”
Gaze snapping to mine, he glares hard enough to melt the ice beneath his feet.
“Hilarious,” he says, unamused.
“Except I’m not kidding.”
His expression softens as his teeth sink into his lower lip. I’m about to offer him an out, say we can go do something else, but I don’t get the chance before he asks, “Can I keep my hand on the wall at least?”
“Yeah, you can hold on until you feel comfortable letting go.”
