Page 117 of The Romance Line

Then, I do a snowplow stop out of nowhere. “How about that?” I say, smiling like I've pulled off an Olympic feat.

“I knew you could do it, Ice Queen,” he says.

“Is that a new nickname?”

“No. It’s how you were with me till I melted you,” he says with a playful wink.

“You are so ridiculous,” I tease, “but I love it.”

“I know you do,” he says, then offers me his hand.

We’re not about to audition for the Ice Capades, but we don’t need to because he takes my hand and skates slowly and easily with me. We go round and round, picking up a little more speed each time. But mostly we’re just laughing and having a good time. It’s as perfect as a night can be.

After several laps, we stop in the middle of the rink, and I’m breathless but exuberant. He tugs me against him, then runs his knuckles against my cheek. His eyes blaze with need. “I want to kiss you on the ice.”

A shudder rushes down my body as I lift my chin, offering him my mouth. “Do it.”

But he pauses, his eyes holding mine. “I mean at our arena.”

My heart catches. Does he know what he’s saying? Of course he does. “Yeah?” I ask because I don’t know what else to say.

“I do. I really do,” he says, as serious as he was when he asked me on this date.

“I want that too, but I don’t know how to get there,” I say honestly.

He leans in, presses his forehead to mine. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Will we though? I don’t know how we can do that. So I don’t make any promises. But I can give himthis. “Until then…practice now.”

He cups my cheek and kisses me like I matter. Like he means it. Like he wants more than secret dates.

And the more I feel that certainty with him the more I start to think about how much I want to find a way to get there.

But I’m also thinking about something else entirely. Something I’m finally ready for. I break the kiss, then say, “Come to my place now. Say yes.”

“You had me atcome.”

We’re out of there in seconds.

41

ALL THE IMPERFECT PIECES

Everly

The lights in my room are soft, but not dim.

The music beats, low in the background—a playlist I cued up. I don’t even know what’s on it. I don’t really care. It just covers the jackrabbit pace of my heart. Thethump, thump, thumpthat’s hard and insistent against my rib cage.

And far too fast, but there’s no way to slow it down. We kick off shoes, and in the doorway, I reach for Max’s hand and lead him across the hardwood to my bed. I stop a foot away, facing him.

“Hi,” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m saying that. I’m just nervous.

“Hey,” Max says, soft and tender, too, and maybe also a little bit nervous. But I think they’re nerves of anticipation. Perhaps of hope.

I didn’t tell him what I wanted tonight.

Just in case I back down.

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