Page 7 of The Best You've Ever Had

“We’re not friends.” It comes out shaky, and breathy, and I have no idea what spell he has put me under. But I hold my breath as I wait for his response.

He hesitates for a beat, before finally breathing out, “You’re right, we aren’t.”

We both stare at each other for what feels like hours, though it’s only seconds. His fingers never leave the edge of my skirt, while my hands have somehow found their way to his chest. We’re suspended, together, in this bubble that belongs only to us.

The sudden ringing of his phone shatters our trance. We step back as if caught stealing while he fishes the phone out of hispocket and answers. From his responses, I gather someone is asking if we’re on our way. With a hand running through his hair, he glances at me, and lets them know we’ll be there shortly.

In the last two minutes, I’ve decided that maybe an outfit change is necessary after all. I hurry to my room to change into jeans, now aware that mini skirts attract trouble in the form of refreshingly honest, six-foot-three firefighters. Ones I’d very much like to be under.

As we head out the door, a silent agreement hangs between us that we won’t speak about what just happened. Yet, I know it’s all we’re both thinking about: this connection, this dangerous line between us.

It has me second-guessing everything I thought I knew about him.

After the world’s shortest and most awkward car ride, we arrive at the outdoor skating rink. It’s everything you’d expect from Havenbrook—a small, haphazardly thrown-together patch of ice, with blinking strand bulb lights that somehow still evoke a timeless charm. Christmas music crackles from a single speaker set up on a folding table, and ice skate rentals happen under a blue tent that has clearly seen better days.

Everything about this town is an absolute shithole. Yet, the feeling ringing through my bones reminds me that despite my outward hatred for this place, I’ve missed it.

With it being so close to Christmas, it’s packed. Multiple families and couples on dates crowd in on the cracked, uneven ice—shuffling their way around on dull skates that are either too big or too small.

We stand in total silence as we wait in line. When I look up, I find him staring at me, but he glances away as soon as I catch him.

“What?” I ask, defensively.

“Do you ever miss it? Home?”

“Not really.” Not wanting to sound heartless, I add, “It’s better and worse than I remember. Still a worn out shit hole. But the nostalgia is comforting in a way.” Every year, I begged my parents to take me to go ice skating here in this park. As a child, it seemed magical. As an adult, all I can see are the twenty different hazards they could easily be sued for.

He nods, deep in thought, as he grabs our two pairs of skates. Right as he hands the cashier two rolled-up twenty dollar bills, we hear his group of friends calling us over. We make our way over to the rusting metal benches where they’re seated, bundled up in blankets and sipping hot chocolate. Among them, there are three sets of definitive couples nestled together. Ben goes around and makes the introductions. Even though we went to school together, I barely remember these people.

I wave. “Hi, nice to see everyone again.” It’s a complete lie. I’d rather be curled up at home, and I don’t recognize a single one of them.

Everyone asks how I’ve been and where I’m working now. I make polite small talk, giving them the shiny, sugar-coated version of my life. I’m not trying to impress them, I just don’t want to show any weakness. I don’t want them to know that while I love living in the city, it also magnifies my loneliness against the backdrop of endless crowds.

Eventually we decide to hit the ice, and everyone starts heading in that direction. I lag behind, half in an attempt to recharge my social battery and half to not embarrass myself as I search on my phone the proper way to lace ice skates. It’s been over a decade since I’ve last done this.

I wave everyone off, as I sit back down to figure it out. But when I glance up, Ben is making his way over to me, stomping his way back in his bulky skates with ease.

Standing in front of me, he looks down to the phone in my hand to try and piece together why I’m not out there yet. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine. Just needed a reminder on the proper way to lace these things up. You can get back to your friends.”

He kneels on the ground in front of me, and waves his hand in indication to hand over the ice skates.

I roll my eyes. “I’ve got this. You don’t have to pretend to be all chivalrous and help me.”

“Hand me the skate, Layla. And then you won’t have to chip your perfect manicure.”

I glance at my nails painted a perfect pale pink. He’s got a good point.

“Fine.” I hand him the skate, and he grabs my calf, lifting my leg gently before sliding my foot into the boot. Looking up at me, we make eye contact. It’s as if we’re thinking the same thing, feeling that same blaze that strikes to my core. Touching each other shouldn’t elicit a response like this. Not when you spent your whole childhood fighting and haven’t seen each other in more than a decade.

He’s trying to be nice for once in his goddamn life, so I decide to try the same. “So, how’s the firefighting business? Do you enjoy it?”

Shoving the boot onto my foot a little too forcefully, he looks up at me suspiciously. “Yes, I enjoythe firefighting business.” From the look on his face, I can tell he wants to tease me for asking, but goes against it. He concentrates on lacing up one dirty white skate. “It’s fulfilling. Havenbrook doesn’t typically have much action, but the times when I am doing something, I love it.”

“So then, have you done one of those sexy firemen calendars?”

A brief smile flashes on his stupidly handsome face. “Why are you asking? Do you want a copy?”

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