She stops.
“I mean.” She sets the cup down carefully. “I assume. He strikes me as a hazelnut guy. Let’s try that today.”
Zach is studying the menu board like he’s never seen words before.
“Hazelnut’s fine,” he says to no one in particular.
“Cool.” Mackie turns to the espresso machine, shoulders stiff. “Coming right up.”
I look at Zach. Look at Mackie. Look at Zach again.
“So,” I say, letting whatever that was slide because I have bigger problems. “I need a new approach.”
Mackie turns to the espresso machine. “For the figure skater who hates you?”
“She doesn’t hate me. She’s just... cautious.”
“She told you to stop talking to her.”
“That was months ago. We’ve evolved since then.”
“Have you?” She glances over her shoulder, eyebrow raised. “Has she?”
I think about the PT room. The way she looked at me from the treatment table while I was crouched on the floor like an idiot. She didn’t tell me to leave. Didn’t roll her eyes or sigh or give me that look she usually gives me, like I’m a fly she’s too tired to swat.
“Something’s different,” I say. “I don’t know what, but something’s off with her.”
Mackie raises an eyebrow at me. “Different how?”
“I don’t know. Sad, maybe?” I pick at the edge of the counter.
“Wow. A sad girl. You should propose.”
“I’m serious.”
The espresso machine hisses. Zach is still staring at the menu board like it contains the secrets of the universe.
“Peppermint mocha,” Mackie says finally, sliding the cup across the counter. “Seasonal. Festive. Non-threatening.”
“You think it’ll work?”
“I think if she takes it, something’s definitely changed.” She shrugs. “And if she doesn’t, at least you’ll have a nice coffee for yourself.”
The beginner classis just wrapping up when we get to the rink. Little kids wobbling off the ice, parents collecting gear bags, the usual chaos.
Juliette’s sitting on the bench, alone. Skates already off, bag packed, just... sitting there. Staring at nothing.
She looks tired. The shadows under her eyes are worse than thelast time I saw her. Her posture’s off too, shoulders curled in like she’s trying to take up less space.
“Good luck,” Zach says. “I’ll be in the locker room.”
I nod and head over before I can talk myself out of it.
She sees me coming. I watch her shoulders tense, like she’s mentally preparing whatever rejection she’s got loaded up today.
I sit down on the bench next to her. Not too close. Enough space that she doesn’t feel cornered.
“I’m not here to hit on you,” I say. “Just—hear me out for a second.”
