Page 34 of Keeping London (Flawed Heart)

“Well, when I was little, I watched the Nagano Olympics with my mom, and let’s just say that she really wanted me to be the next Tara Lipinski.”

“Who’s that?”

“She was an awesome figure skater that represented the United States.”

“So, you took classes?”

“Yeah, I took lessons from about five years old until I was almost ten. I didn’t have the drive to work hard enough to compete though. Plus, we moved all the time, and I always had to start fresh with a new coach. Right before my tenth birthday, I told my mom that I didn’t want to do it anymore.”

“Did you compete at all?”

“Like local stuff, nothing big.”

“Wow. How did I not know this about you? Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

London shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess it just never came up. It wasn’t a huge part of my life.”

“It was five years of your life, London,” I quip.

“I guess, but it was just skating to me. It was my mom’s dream, but it wasn’t mine.”

“Well, regardless, it’s pretty badass. I could never do that. And, now that I know you’re comfortable on the ice, we’re definitely going to have some ice hockey games in our future.”

“Oh, crap. I should have just pretended to suck.” She sighs.

“Would you stop?” I laugh. “Come on.” I reach my hand out to hers. “Do you think you could skate on my level for a bit?”

She entwines her fingers in mine. “I suppose.” She winks.

“What else don’t I know about you?” I ask as we glide around the ice.

“I think that’s all.”

“I doubt it.” I grin. “I think there’s a lot that I still don’t know about you, London, and I can’t wait to discover it all.”

She squeezes my hand in hers and turns her head to shoot me one of her stunning smiles. In this moment, I feel like there’s nothing that could tear us apart. This love I have for her is so strong, and the way in which I adore her is so real that I’m pretty sure I would do just about anything to keep her forever.

London

“I can fall apart when he’s gone. But, right now, I just want to love him.”

—London Wright

Fake green vines border the window, circling around it like an epic Pinterest fail. The bright sunlight streaming in accents the years of dust coating the leaves. Even from where we sit a few tables away the layer of gray is evident. I’ve never understood the point of plastic foliage. It surely doesn’t make this place seem any more Italian, and apparently, it’s difficult to keep clean. I briefly close my eyes and focus my attention back to my tablemates before I start to fixate over the hideous wallpaper that’s covered in bright purple grapes. Senor Abelli is lucky that he’s one hell of chef, or he’d be out of business with such atrocious decor.

“Let me see your ring again,” I say excitedly to Maggie over the excessively loud ambiance music of this Italian restaurant.

She holds out her hand, and I stare at the gleaming diamond. It’s a modest ring, maybe three-fourths of a carat on a simple platinum band. It’s perfect for Maggie and Cooper. Staring at it makes me so ecstatic—for them, for love.

“I love it. It’s so sparkly!” I tell her for what must be the fifth time.

“I know. David did such a good job at picking it out. I’m so happy.”

Even though I know Cooper is his last name, it still catches me off guard when Maggie calls him by his first name, and I have to remind myself of who we’re talking about.

“He did. I’m so happy for you. So, when do you think you’ll get married?”

I hear a noise come from Cooper. He could be choking on his Coke or trying to suppress a laugh. I can’t tell.

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