Page 35 of The Lodge

“Tell me those aren’t your own personal skates,” I say, growing more confident with every second that they very much are.

“Okay,” he says, playing along. “They’re not my own personal skates.”

“Liar,” I tease. “I thought you said you weren’t really a skater?”

“Never said that. I only said I couldn’t do any Axels.”

We ease out toward the ice, and it takes more effort than I expect to keep my ankles from wobbling.

“So now I need to know,” I say. “On a scale from total beginner to Nathan Chen, where do you fall?”

“Somewhere in the middle,” he admits. “I never took any formal lessons, but when your best friend is on the ice every afternoon as a kid, you kind of have to pick it up if you want to hang out.”

“You picked it up for Julie?” I ask, suddenly intrigued.

He shakes his head. “Jules skated pairs with her brother,” he explains. “My best friend.”

Tyler steps confidently onto the ice, holding his hand out to me as I follow him through the gate. I take it, steadying myself, and by some miracle do not fall the instant I leave the walkway.

His grip is firm—or maybe it’s just that I’m holding on for dear life—and warm, even through our gloves.

“You’ve got it,” he says, sounding more like Ski Instructor Tyler than Date Night Tyler. “If you think too much about falling, it’s more likely that you will.”

“Don’t become a self-fulfilling prophecy,” I reply. “Noted.”

Slowly, we make our way around the rink. He doesn’t let go of my hand, not even when I start to get the hang of it. At somepoint, it becomes less me holding on for dear life and more just holding on tohim.

Tyler is steady and confident, skating elegantly like he was born with blades on his feet. My skating, by comparison, can only be described as aspirational. Despite my early Olympic ambitions, I’ll never understand how anyone could feel comfortable enough to propel themselves up into all those triple Axels and quad Salchows and toe loops they do forfun—I’m perfectly content to skate in a giant circle, thank you very much. Perfectly content to keep all my bones in working order.

We skate and skate. At the far end of the rink, where it’s just us and the snowcapped fir trees and the occasional skater who whizzes past in a flurry, Tyler slows us down. I follow his lead, and the next thing I know, he’s turned around and we’re face-to-face.

Well. More like face to chest, since he’s quite a bit taller than I am.

He looks down at me, straight into my eyes, and—oh no.

Up close, his eyes look almost unnatural, surprising flecks of blue amid varying shades of brown. I was totally and completely mistaken if I thought I could keep myself from feeling all thefeelings.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. He pulls me in closer, then settles his hands on my hips; I reach up and wrap my arms around him loosely, like we’re dancing.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs, even though there’s no one else around to hear.

“Very okay,” I reply.

“And this?” His fingers brush lightly across my temple as he tucks my hair behind my ear, the soft leather of his gloves so smooth I almost ask him to do it again.

“It is.”

He traces my jawline, tilting my face up to his until there’s barely any space between us. “What about this?”

His lips are dangerously close to mine, his breath hot amid the chilly breeze.

“Mmm-hmm,” I answer, closing the gap between us. “It’s good,” I manage to get out just before his lips meet mine.

The kiss iseverything. It’s steamy and slow and perfect, just hungry enough, and it’s like time stops. His tongue flicks lightly against mine, lighting me on fire from the inside out.

I return the favor and feel his fingers press more firmly against my hips. I press back, too, and he kisses me harder, deeper. This is a man who knows what he’s doing: a little bit teasing, entirely fun, never crossing the line intotoo much.

I could live in this kiss.

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