He takes the seat next to me and flashes a bright grin. Heat rises to my cheeks, so I smile back and turn to study the menu. I already know what I want. The place may appear to be a simple burger-and-fries joint, but it offers far more. They serve a varied selection that caters to today's trendy foodies.
They have a killer veggie on rye with spicy mayo that I always order, while Bash gets a Reuben, and we split a side of fries. Of course, no meal here would be complete without strawberry shakes.
We eat slowly, talking nonstop. Laughing and teasing, the time passes as we watch the cars drive by outside the large plate-glass window stretching across the entire front of the diner.
I dip a fry in the spicy mayo and offer it to Bash. He leans in, darting his tongue out to take it, but I pull it back, laughing. His eyes flash with an unspoken hunger that I realize has nothing to do with the fries. Slowly licking his lips, he inches closer, his gaze shifting between my eyes and my parted lips.
The fry lies forgotten on the table where I dropped it, as my heart races, a throb of desire pulsing low in my stomach. I feel pulled toward him, my body leaning in on instinct. My eyelids flutter shut as his breath caresses my flushed skin, leaving a trail of heat behind.
He reaches out and gently strokes my cheek, sweeping my hair aside before his hand curves around the back of my neck and moves closer.
"Amelia, my Firebird," he whispers against my lips.
Is he going to kiss me?
The diner door suddenly slams open, the wind crashing it against the wall as a customer enters. Bashand I jump apart, breathless, the spark between us cooled by the sudden blast of cold air.
“Oops, sorry about that,” the man grimaces before heading to a booth.
The moment broken, I touch my lips in disbelief, take a calming breath, and push aside my tangle of feelings. Bash lifts his shake and takes a long drink.
“Bash,” I murmur, “what did you mean when you called me Firebird?”
Pausing mid-bite, he stares at his sandwich as if choosing his words carefully.
"First," he says, seeming steady and cautious, "I didn't break our rules, at least not on purpose. I was watchingThe Pulse.I'm sure you know that show."
I nod, and he bites his lip before a soft huff of laughter escapes.
"I saw your highlight reel," he admits. "Then, I went down a full-on rabbit hole. Competition after competition. Some older ones. Your recent ones. Your progress stuns me. That event in Nice was incredible. In that red skate dress… " He lifts his gaze to mine. His eyes flicking back and forth between my own. "You didn't look like a girl trying to impress judges. I watched you lift your head back and fall into the music. You were breathtaking. A real firebird, the Phoenix they called you. Wild, bright, impossible to look away from."
My breath hitches.
"I know we talk," he continues, voice low, "but watching that made me realize how much you keep to yourself. I didn't know you have Raynaud's, but some of the clips mentioned it. The pain you push through must be unreal. Everything you've endured. Your condition. Your injury.Him!"The last word is sharp with anger he can't hide.
"You carry all of that and you still rise. Every. Single. Time." He reaches out and touches my chin, guiding my eyes back to him. "You burn hotter because you refuse to go out. You didn't disappear. You weren't destroyed. From your devastation, you are reborn. You burn to ashes, then you come back stronger. That. Right there. That's what I see when I look at you."
“You're on the road to the Olympics, Amelia. You're not skating for anyone but yourself now, because you love it. When you skate, when you speak, when you simply breathe, your fire blinds everyone around you. No one is left untouched."
He hesitates, then adds so softly I barely hear him, "I don't think he ever understood the kind of fire he had in you."
Before I can respond, he leans in and presses the lightest kiss to my lips, almost nothing. Warmth sears through my soul, and a lightness washes over me in a way I haven't experienced in a long time. I am seen and treasured.
As he returns to eating, I notice the nervous bounce of his leg under the table. Although he tries to act unaffected by our kiss, his body betrays him. His fingers brush repeatedly along the back of his neck, and I catch a faint, rapid pulse at his temple. His breaths are just a fraction faster, and every so often, he rubs his chest. Beneath the calm, controlled exterior, he's almost vibrating, and seeing it sends a thrill through me.
I'm speechless. My skin hums from our brief contact. I touch my lips again, feeling the ghost of his kiss lingering there. A confused ache stirs beneath my chest as my mind and body war in a tangle of emotions. I'm in a situation I didn't choose, reminded of promises made and broken, and boundaries not just blurred but utterly annihilated. Yet, Bash, a near stranger, seems to understand me and my heart better than my husband ever has.
Sure, Bash crossed a line just now, but he backed away just as quickly, leaving me with a strange sense of loss I don't fully understand.
I look at him, staring unblinkingly at his empty plate, and wonder what he's thinking. Then he glances up, smiles like nothing just happened, and says, “So, Firebird, are you ready for the second part of our date?”
A startled laugh escapes me, and I nod. “Sure.”
“Let's go,” he says, laying down cash to cover the check and opening the door for me.
A short drive later, we arrive at a gated frozen pond.
“Are we going to ice skate?” I ask eagerly, barely able to contain my excitement.
