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“No, it’s adorable.” He leans forward while he walks backward and presses a kiss to my forehead.

My ankles feel like they’re going to bend to the sides, but he laced up the skates pretty tightly, so I think I’m okay. Eventually he catches onto that as he leads me out the back door of the locker room, and he shifts so he’s not walking in front of me but to the side of me, an arm around my waist for support and the other still holding onto my hand.

We walk through a small tunnel leading us toward the rink, and then we stop at a little gate.

“You ready?” he asks.

I nod. “Let’s do this.”

He goes first and turns around, then holds his hand out to me with a slight nod, telling me I’m safe. I’m okay. I can trust him.

And I do.

I trust that he will take care of me, and I hope he won’t let me fall on my ass. But I know sometimes, when it comes to new experiences like this one, you have to fall on your ass a little bit before you really learn how it’s done.

I take his hands and step out gingerly onto the ice. It’s both slippery and harder than I was expecting, but I’m not really sure what I was expecting since I didn’t have too much time to prepare.

He is quite steady on the ice. Comfortable, confident—a totally accurate representation of who he is.

I can’t help but wonder how many times he’s done this. I don’t want to know how many different women he’s brought out here, but he’s very much a natural as he helps me skate for the very first time.

“Some people like to just leap into the fire and try it, and others prefer to go slow. So just communicate and tell me what you need, and I’m right here to show you how it’s done.” He continues to skate backward as he talks, as if being on the ice is as natural to him as walking, as natural as breathing.

I continue holding onto his hand while I move my feet around and give them a little test to see how it feels, my hand never leaving his as I take my first turn on the ice that is so very clearly home to him.

“How long have you been skating?” I ask.

“I was three the first time I got on the ice. My older cousins were visiting, and they wanted to go skating since there was a rink not far from our house.”

“And that was it?”

“That’s when it started for me.” He lifts a shoulder. “I loved it. If I fell, I just got back up. It didn’t hurt back then. Now that I’m in my thirties, which still sounds weird in my head…yeah, it hurts more. But I fall less now than I did back then. I took my first step on the ice, and I guess I just never stopped.”

“When did you know that this was what you wanted to do with your life?” I ask. He’s still backward, and I focus on him as I sort of let him pull me around the ice so I can get used to the feel of it beneath my feet.

“I think when I was in high school. There was always this sort of divide of kids who took it seriously and the ones who were doing it for fun. And I always fell into this third category where it was serious as fuck to me, but it was also fun as fuck. And I knew that if there was ever an opportunity to make it the thing I got to do for the rest of my life that I would jump in with both feet and never look back.”

“Did you ever get involved in any other sports?” I ask.

“T-ball when I was real young, baseball when I got a little older. My parents were big baseball fans, so they kind of pushed me in that direction, but I never had the passion for it the way I did for hockey. I’m not sure when the ice became home, but I guess it’s sort of always felt that way. I think my dad always secretly hoped I’d pick up baseball as my sport, but hockey was always where my heart was.”

We’re skating at a very slow and steady pace, and we haven’t even made a full loop around the rink yet when he asks, “Do you want to try on your own?”

“I kind of like holding your hands.”

He smiles. “Well, you can hold more than just my hand. But if you want to give it a try, I’m right here. I’ll catch you if you fall.”

It feels like such a monumental thing to say. He’ll catch me if I fall. It feels like he’s talking about more than just here in the rink. But the mere thought is kind of ridiculous. How can he catch me when I fall when we’re still getting to know each other?

But it also sort of feels symbolic. We both know that we’re in this for the next year, and we’re in it together. So maybe I’ll find a way to catch him if he falls too.

I snag my bottom lip between my teeth and give the slightest little nod, and he takes that as the signal.

“If you feel like you’re gonna fall, skate over to the wall,” he says. “Or fall. What’s the worst that’s gonna happen?”

I laugh. “The worst? I break a leg.”

He chuckles. “Maybe in the midst of a hockey game. But one-on-one skating after hours, when the rink is all ours? A broken leg’s not very likely.”