Page 21 of Breaking the Ice

Teah’s smile is blinding. “He’s so cute, Ellie.”

“And you want to show him what a great figure skater you are.” Her blonde curls bob up and down in excitement, so I tell her, “Sure, but let’s do it at the end of the class when you’re good and warmed up.”

“Yes!” She raises one fist victoriously in the air while skating away to join the rest of her class. Meanwhile I look around for Kelly—she sometimes brings the kids at night to wear them out before bed. But instead of seeing her, I spy Zach. He’s standing on the rink in a pair of hiking boots trying to chase after Tommy—or the ice devil, as I like to call him.

Gliding out in front of my class, I tell them, “Give me two minutes. While I’m gone, go ahead and practice your figure-eights.” Zach doesn’t see me until I bend down and scoop up Tommy for him.

“Ellie, hi.” He looks frazzled.

“You’ve got to put on skates to keep up with this one,” I tell him.

“I don’t skate anymore.”

“You’re less likely to fall on skates than with street shoes. Tommy’s got some speed in those little feet.” Tommy looks up and me and pulls on my hair. “Hey, big guy,” I tell him.

“Ellie, Ellie, put me down!” he shouts. “Wanna go!”

“As soon as your uncle puts his skates on,” I tell him.

“Now!” This little boy is nothing if not determined.

“How about if I take you over to my class while Uncle Zach gets ready?”

“I don’t have skates with me,” Zach interjects.

“It’s an ice arena, Zach. They rent them.”

He looks about as happy as I do when I borrow shoes at a bowling alley. But I don’t take time to commiserate. Instead, I tell him, “Hurry up. Then come over and get Tommy.” I point across the rink to my class.

I skate away with Tommy still under my arm while he wiggles to get free. When we get back to my kids, I tell them, “Our first warm up lesson is called, chase the two-year-old.” The kids know what that means and they start to laugh. Everyone loves Tommy Hart—in small doses, anyway.

Putting Kelly and Troy’s youngest on the ice, I tell him, “Do your best, little guy.” Then I set him free.

Tommy darts left where there is an opening, but as soon as my class sees where he’s going, they block him. Then the two-year-old moves to the right. Another block. This goes on for ten minutes before Zach finally shows up. Skating easily to my side, he announces, “I’m back.”

I point to Tommy. “Good. He’s yours now. I have a class to teach.”

Yet I’m so distracted staring at Zachary Hart skating with his young nephew, my class pretty much does their own thing. Tommy moves like a bolt of lightning, but every time his uncle catches him, he laughs and squeals like he’s having the time of his life. The whole scene is so precious, I’m pretty sure I spontaneously ovulate somewhere along the way.

Towards the end of the class, I pull Teah over to the side and ask, “You think you’re warmed up enough for that axel?”

She beams, “I’ve got this, Ellie.”

Teah turns around and skates in Terry Hart’s direction. When he sees her, she gives him a flirtatious wave. Then, while she still has his attention, she skates forward, lifts her right knee, and pushes her hands downward before she jumps. Teah spins in the air—not one and a half times as I’ve taught her, but nearly twice that.

My student lands perfectly on her left foot and finishes with a slight curtsey toward me. “You did a double!” I call out excitedly.

“I’ve been practicing,” she shouts back.

Meanwhile, Terry skates toward my star student and appears to congratulate her. I can’t help but smile at how proud Teah seems, not only to have accomplished her goal, but to have caught the eye of her crush.

Looking around for Zach, I find him chatting with Troy. Tommy appears to have finally worn himself out because he’s sound asleep on his father’s shoulder.

Even though I should probably just leave, my skates have a mind of their own. Before I know it, I’m in full glide in the direction of my tenant. Troy spots me first. “Hey Ellie, how’s it going?”

“Good, Troy. How are you?”

“Exhausted.” He nuzzles his nose into Tommy’s hair before saying, “I forget how grueling a two-year-old can be.”

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