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“I’m not so sure about this,” Miles said.
Gwen laughed, her voice ringing through the cold air. It was a snowy January day, the first of the year, and somehow she’d dragged him along for ice-skating. Which he had never done before, and he didn’t have a lot of high hopes for, given his usual coordination whenever he wasn’t swinging through the air. The rink was full of people bundled up in coats moving across the ice with a ridiculous ease. The edges were still decorated with Christmas lights, blinking a comforting green and red.
“Don’t worry,” she told him. “It’s not as hard as it looks.”
“Easy for you to say. You do ballet.”
“We both do way crazier stuff than that.”
Miles groaned.
“That’s different.”
“Come on.”
She pulled him onto the ice before he could manage another complaint. The good news was that he didn’t instantly fall flat on his face. Instead he slid around, his feet deciding to move in opposite directions while his balance somehow managed to become completely off. Gwen’s grip on his arm was probably the only thing keeping him from tasting the ice. Another time her holding him so tight would send his heart racing. And his heart was racing, but not for Gwen-related reasons.
Then, like a switch had been flipped on, everything righted itself. Suddenly the ice felt solid, still slick, but manageable. His balance came back.
“Told you,” Gwen said.
Miles felt a pang of disappointment as she let go of his arm. That quickly faded, though, when he saw her circle him in a graceful sweep, lifting one leg halfway through and spinning like a professional figure skater. She looked so beautiful in her powder blue parka, her white scarf trailing behind her like a streamer. Her cheeks and nose were both bright red in the cold, and she had an unusual look of serenity on her face. He could see a few snowflakes that had caught on her blonde hair. For a second he forgot everything, and his legs almost betrayed him as his focus slipped. He managed to only wobble, though.
“Damn, you’re really good at that,” he said awkwardly.
“We’re both good at it,” she said. “You just haven’t tried yet.”
She offered a hand. Miles realized neither of them were wearing gloves. With his heart in his throat, he took it.
Gwen moved across the ice with an impossible grace and speed, and Miles was surprised to find he was able to match her as if he’d been doing this his whole life. They moved across the rink like one being, the ice feeling smooth beneath them. Gwen spun, and he followed, his breath catching a bit as he heard her laugh. His heart was still pounding in his head, and his hand somehow still was sweaty despite the cold. But when she stopped, he found himself wrapping his arms around her.
And she didn’t move away.
Not immediately. She leaned in, even. They were close enough that he could smell her shampoo. Caramel mocha.
Then she moved out of his arms again. Maybe he was imagining things, but he thought she was even redder than she had been before.
“Bet you can’t catch me,” she said.
Then she was off, dodging little kids and slicing through the ice with an almost breathtaking speed.
Smiling, Miles followed her.