As the countdown begins, I find my gaze drawn to Paige. She’s positioned herself near the front of the crowd, camera at the ready. The excitement on her face is palpable, and, despite myself, I am caught up in her enthusiasm. I can already see the video she’ll post. She shoots in selfie mode, with the action behind her. To some people, it might seem selfish or self-centered, but I see it differently. She shoots that way because she wants to beinthe excitement,inthe moment,inthe adventure. She’s my exact opposite, because I always want to be on the outside of it.
“Three... Two... One...”
The tree blazes to life. Everyone blinks at the sudden flood of light, and then they cheer. The ornaments shimmer and dance, each one a tiny mirror reflecting the joy of the crowd. I sketch a quick mirror in my notebook—what an interesting view for an image of the tree—seeing it in a mirror. Tinsel glitters like icy rivers winding their way through a forest of green. At the top, a star burns bright, a beacon of hope and wonder.
For a moment, I forget about my guilt, my fears, my carefully constructed life of contentment. I forget about everything except the beauty before me and the overwhelming urge to capture it on paper. Without thinking, I begin to draw a full-page picture.
My hand moves of its own accord, rough lines quickly giving way to more detailed renderings. I lose myself in the play of light and shadow, in the expressions of wonder on the faces around me, in the majestic presence of the clock tower overseeing it all. Time slips away, measured only by the gradual filling of the page before me.
It’s only when I hear music floating through the air that I realize the ceremony is coming to an end. I blink, coming back to myself, and look down at what I’ve created. It’s rough and unfinished, but there’s a life to it that I haven’t seen in my work for years. For a brief moment, pride swells in my chest.
I snap the sketchbook shut, shoving it inside my coat and zipping it up as if I could bury my feelings with it. As I emerge from behind the clock tower, I see Paige making her way toward the exit. She’s laughing at something someone has said, her whole face lit up with joy. For a brief moment, our eyes meet across the crowd, and I feel a jolt of... something… life? Living? Recognition? Connection? Whatever it is, it’s gone in an instant as she turns away, disappearing into the sea of people, and I wonder if I’m the only one who felt that.
I stand there, rooted to the spot, watching the space where she vanished. A part of me wants to follow her, to introduce myself, to see if she remembers me from school. But I know I won’t. People like me have no business getting involved with people like Paige. She’s a superstar, living a life of adventure and excitement. And I’m just... me. Regular, reliable Noah.
I make my way out of the town square. The joy and warmth of the ceremony fades with each step. By the time I reach my house, the sketch in my pocket feels like nothing more than a distant dream.
Everything will be back to normal tomorrow. I’ll open the trailer, rent out skates, and be content with my lot in life. Just like always. Just like I should be.
I just need to forget a pair of navy-dark, blue eyes that made me feel alive.
Three
NOAH
The rhythmic scrape of metal against ice fills the air as I methodically sharpen a pair of skates. I want them with a flatter hollow to make for a smoother glide. Most people out here aren’t looking to carve it up. We have a few who are really good, but stability is more important.
The sound is as familiar to me as my own heartbeat, a constant backdrop to my days here at the rental trailer. The smell of leather and cold metal mingles with the winter air that sneaks in through the cracks, creating a scent that’s uniquely mine.
My hands move automatically, muscle memory taking over as my mind wanders. It’s been three days since the tree-lighting ceremony, but I can’t seem to shake the memory of that night. The tree lights dance behind my eyelids every time I close my eyes, the noises echoing in my ears like a half-remembered song. The smell of roasted nuts is a siren’s call, and I’m kicking myself for not buying a cone.
I may be allowing all that to take over in an effort to crowd out thoughts of Paige. Her smile and adventurous spirit have taken up residence in my thoughts, an unwelcome distraction from my carefully ordered life.
I sigh, setting aside the freshly sharpened skates and reaching for another pair. The leather is smooth beneath my calloused fingers.This is ridiculous, I chide myself. I’m acting like a lovesick teenager, not a grown man with a business to run. What does it matter if I saw Paige? She’s probably already left town, off on her next adventure. And even if she hasn’t, what would someone like her want with someone like me?
The logical part of my brain, the part I’ve relied on for so long, tells me to forget about her. To focus on what’s in front of me—the skates that need sharpening, the forms that need filling out, the predictable rhythm of my days. But another part, a part I thought I’d silenced long ago, whispers of possibilities. Of “what ifs” and “maybes” that I can’t quite ignore. If I filmed like Paige, I’d be on the other side of the camera. Like with my art, I want to witness the world and put my audience in it. I want to highlight the people around me and showcase them.
A group of children rushes by the trailer window, their laughter ringing out across the frozen pond. I watch as they strap on their skates, wobbling onto the ice with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. I’ve seen this family of kids. They’re using hand-me-down skates, and their coats don’t match their hats, but they don’t seem to care about fashion as much as they care about having a good time. Their joy is infectious, and I find myself smiling.
My thoughts drift back to Paige. I wonder what she’s doing now. Is she still in town? I imagine her exploring some exotic location, phone in hand, that radiant smile lighting up her face as she discovers something new and exciting. The image sends a pang through my chest that feels dangerously close to longing.
I’m so lost in my head that I don’t hear the crunch of footsteps approaching. It’s only when a shadow falls across my workbench that I look up, my heart skipping a beat as I meet a pair of familiar midnight-blue eyes.
“Paige?” I whisper. I blink and glance around, wondering if I’m dreaming this moment or if she’s really here. Did I summon her with my thoughts?
Paige’s bundled up in a puffy jacket the color of fresh snow, a bright blue scarf wrapped around her neck that makes her eyes seem even more vibrant. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, giving her a glow that makes my breath catch in my throat.
“Noah, right?” Her voice is warm and melodious, like the jingle of sleigh bells on a clear winter’s night.
I nod, suddenly acutely aware of my work-worn jeans and the smudges of grease on my hands. I resist the urge to wipe them on my pants, knowing it would only draw more attention to my disheveled state. “That’s me,” I manage to say, my voice sounding rough to my own ears. My empathy for Sam just went up twenty notches. At least I remembered my name—which is more than he could say on many occasions when face-to-face with Alexis. “Can I help you with something?”
Paige’s smile widens, and I swear the temperature around us rises a few degrees. “I was hoping to rent some skates,” she says, leaning slightly against the counter. “It’s been years since I’ve been on the ice, but I couldn’t resist giving it a try while I’m in town.”
As I process her words, a thousand thoughts race through my mind. She remembers my name. She’s still in town. She’s here, at my trailer, talking to me. I force myself to take a deep breath, to slip into the role of business owner. The scent of her perfume—something light and floral that reminds me of spring—wafts toward me, a stark contrast to the winter air.
“Of course,” I say, proud of how steady my voice sounds. “What size do you need?”
As I turn to fetch a pair of skates in her size, I hear the soft rustle of fabric as Paige shifts, leaning further over the counter to peer into the cramped interior of my trailer. “You know,” she says, her voice tinged with curiosity, “I think we went to elementary school together. You were a couple of grades ahead of me, right?”
