Ty slows as we pull into the lot, like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I gesture out the windshield. “I thought that The Birdcage wasn’t being used by you guys in the offseason, that you only use the practice rink?”
“The Birdcage is used for events, concerts, and even conventions when we’re not here, but…” He smirks, parking the car. “This week? The Ice Capades are in town so the rink is in use.”
“Okay,” I turn slowly and wait for him to say something more, expound if you will, and he doesn’t. “And?”
“And what?”
“And you’re giving me absolutely nothing right now, which means you’re hiding something.”
A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he kills the engine. “Maybe I just enjoy watching you spiral.”
“I am not spiraling.”
“You’re absolutely spiraling.”
“I’m cautiously concerned.”
“That’s just spiraling with better branding.”
I narrow my eyes at him as he climbs out of the car. “Ty.”
“Vivian.”
“What are we doing?”
“You ask a lot of questions for someone about to have a very good time.”
That should not make my stomach flip the way it does.
Inside, the arena feels completely different without twenty thousand fans in it. The overhead bowl lights are dimmed except for the glow pouring over the ice, where a handful of Ice Capades skaters spin across center rink in glittering costumes while music echoes through the empty arena.
I stop walking for half a second just to take it in. “Okay, this is actually kind of incredible.”
“I know.” Ty glances over at me, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Try not to sound too shocked.”
A security guard near the tunnel spots him immediately.
“McCade,” he says with a grin, holding a fist out for a bump. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
Ty shrugs. “Yeah, sorry for not giving you a head’s up, but I’m cashing in a favor.”
The guard’s eyes shift toward me, his grin widening almost instantly in that way older men do when they think they’re witnessing something cute.
“Ah,” he says knowingly. “Got it.”
The guard heads toward the ice, speaking with one of the production staff members near the boards. A minute later, the skaters begin gathering their things, gliding off toward the opposite tunnel while chatting amongst themselves.
I watch after them, then slowly turn toward Ty. “What is happening?”
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, suddenly looking weirdly unsure of himself for a man who plays professional hockey in front of sold-out crowds.
“I got the ice for a little bit.”
My mouth parts slightly. “Ty?—”
“They technically have the arena this week,” he says quickly, motioning toward the retreating performers. “And I could’ve just taken you to the practice rink at the Dominion Ice Center,but…” He exhales a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I wanted to do something bigger than that.”
