She hooks her arm through mine. “Let’s just say that it’s a good thing I like the good guys.” She squeezes my arm and then lets me go.
“What about you?” I ask as I take a couple of quick steps to catch up to her. “Does all your family have YouTube channels?”
She laughs again. “Not hardly. I’m the weirdo in our bunch. They’re all homebodies who love to grill burgers in the summer and celebrate Christmas around the hearth.”
“Well, aren’t we a pair?” I wink at her.
She blushes and glances away. “I think you could run your business and sell your artwork if you wanted to. Some of the experience you have running the skate rental could transfer over. They’re not the same thing, but they’re both businesses.”
Her words stir something in me, a spark of creativity. “I know how to get a business license,” I blurt out what would be the first step.
Paige’s face lights up with a smile that could melt the snow around us. “Well, then, you’re already on your way. Is there anything I can do to help?”
The offer catches me off guard, leaving me speechless for a moment. The idea of letting someone in, of sharing this part of myself, is terrifying. But looking at Paige, seeing the sincerity in her eyes, I feel a weight lifting off my shoulders. I’ve never had someone offer to help me with one of my ideas. Even when I wanted to open the skate rental, my family told me not to count on their support, financial or otherwise. I think Dad thought I would default on the loan and ask him to bail me out. I’d rather eat moldy cheese.
“I... thank you,” I finally manage. “If something comes up, I’ll let you know.”
Paige beams at me, and for a moment, the winter chill seems to disappear entirely. “Great!” She looks around us. “Wanna race?”
I jolt at the change of subjects. “What?”
“To the big pine tree—Go!”
Before I can respond, she’s off, her laughter echoing through the forest. I shake my head, a grin spreading across my face, and take off after her. The sound of our snowshoes crunching through the fresh powder fills the air, punctuated by our breathless laughter.
As we near the pine tree, Paige glances back over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed with exertion and excitement. “Come on, slowpoke,” she calls out.
In that moment of distraction, her snowshoe catches on a hidden root. She stumbles, arms windmilling as she tries to regain her balance. Without thinking, I lunge forward to catch her, but my own footing is unstable. We collide in a tangle of limbs and snowshoes, tumbling into a snowbank.
For a moment, we just lie there, the shock of the fall leaving us both breathless. Then Paige starts to giggle, the sound bubbling up from her chest and spilling out into the cold air. It’s infectious, and soon I’m laughing too, harder than I have in years. Being with her is freeing. I feel free. Free to be myself. Free to fall down. Free to mess up without being ridiculed.
It’s amazing.
She’s amazing.
As our laughter subsides, I become acutely aware of how close we are. Paige is half on top of me, her face just inches from mine. Her hair has come loose from her hat, golden strands framing her face. Her eyes, this close, are even more striking—a blue so deep I feel like I could drown in them.
For a heartbeat, the world stands perfectly still, as if it’s waiting to see what we’re going to do about this situation. I can feel the warmth of her breath on my cheek and see the tiny flecks of gold in her irises. My heart is pounding so loudly that I think they can hear it back in town.
The moment is broken by a clump of snow falling from a nearby branch, landing with a soft plop on the back of Paige’s head. Paige blinks and then shrieks with the cold as the snow slides down the neck of her coat. She scrambles to her feet, doing a silly dance to get the snow out. “I’m so sorry,” she says, brushing snow from her clothes. “Are you okay?”
I sit up, wincing as a sharp pain shoots through my ankle. “I think so,” I say, trying to keep the pain out of my voice. I try to lift my foot, but the snowshoe is wedged in, and all I do is cause a jolt of pain to run up my leg. “Just twisted my ankle a bit, I think.” I grit my teeth. It’s not that bad. Really. I’ve had a broken bone before, and this pain is not the same. It feelsligamentory. Is that a word? Maybe I made it up.
Paige’s face immediately fills with concern. “Oh no, let me take a look.” She kneels beside me, gently extracting the snowshoe from its place.
“Can you stand?” she asks.
I nod, gritting my teeth as I push myself to my feet. Paige is right there, slipping an arm around my waist to support me. The gesture is practical, but the closeness makes my heart rate pick up again. She’s the perfect height for kissing.
I smirk as a cartoon drawing of me jumps into my head. I’m in the Three Bears’ house looking at different-sized Paige’s and saying, “This one’s too short. This one’s too tall. But this one is juuuuust right.” Thank goodness she can’t see what I’m thinking. The pain must be messing with me.
Or, and here’s a radical thought: I’ve always had a sense of humor that’s slightly self-deprecating, but I’ve never been able to use it. I kind of want to explore that part of myself and see if there’s anything of value there.
I am itching to get a notebook into my hands. To feel the paper slide against my palm, slightly textured.
“Lean on me,” she instructs, her voice filled with a mix of concern and determination. “We’ll take it slow.”
I put one arm around her and rest my hand on her shoulder. This is much better than a piece of textured paper. I might be willing to give up all my pencils for the chance to actually hold Paige close and kiss her.
