“It’s fine.”
“Rodriguez.”
“It’s good. It’s… interesting.”
“You hate it.”
“I don’t hate it. The jam is very... jammy. And the brie is definitely cheese.” He takes another bite. “It’s a choice.”
“Are you enjoying your choice?”
“I’m committed to my choice.” He takes another defiant bite. “This is delicious. The blueberry really complements the... hot dog-ness.”
I’m trying not to laugh. “You can just admit the ketchup dog was the better option.”
“Absolutely not. That would validate ketchup and I can’t do that. This is great. I love blueberries. And cheese. Together. On a tube of meat.”
He grimaces through another bite. “Okay fine. This is weird. But I’m finishing it because it’sstill a hot dog.”
We eat and talk and I realize this random food hall with Rodriguez choking down a hot dog he hates—this is better than any fancy restaurant could have been.
After lunch,we head back out into the cold. He doesn’t tell me where we’re going, just pulls me along.
“One more thing,” he says. “And then we’ll head back for the rehearsal.”
“What thing?”
“You’ll see.”
We end up at Nathan Phillips Square. The ice rink stretched out, packed with couples and families.
“You brought me ice skating,” I say flatly.
“I brought you ice skating on Valentine’s Day at the most iconic rink in Toronto.” He’s already heading toward the rental booth. “What size are you?”
“Rodriguez, I skate six days a week.”
“Exactly. Which means you’re amazing at it and I’m going to look like an idiot trying to keep up.” He grins. “Come on, Ice Queen. Humor me.”
We get the terrible rental skates and lace up.
“I should warn you,” Rodriguez says, testing his balance. “I might be a hockey player. I can skate. But I can’t skate like you skate.”
“I’ll try not to laugh.”
“Please do laugh. I want to hear it.” He offers me his hand. “Ready?”
We step onto the ice and immediately I feel the difference. These skates are dull and loose. The ice is rough, all chopped up.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because Rodriguez takes my hand and pulls me into the flow then turns and skates backward so he can face me, grinning and showingoff.
“Having fun?” I ask.
“Are you kidding? I’m skating with you. This is the best.” He spins. “Okay. Truth time. I’m a way better skater than I let on.”
“I noticed.”
