Page 265 of Waiting Game

When I turn around at the sound of someone clearing their throat, I whisper, “Just give me five.”

“It’s on your dime, Mr. Korhonen. I’m here until ten PM.”

Running back to the SUV, I open the door at the same time as I hit the button on the remote Callan gave me.

Hundreds of lights flare on and start flickering over the width of the lake. At the sight, she releases a happy laugh as she stands on the step beside the footwell to peer over the door.

While she’s occupied with that, I grab the skates I dumped in the back seat earlier and pass her her pair. “You ready to skate?”

“I was born ready,” she teases. “But you’re not wearing the right skates…”

Waggling my regular hockey skates at her, I shoot her a grin. “Sure I am.”

With the lights on in the SUV, both of us lace up.

Five minutes later, we stomp over the snowy ground toward the lakeshore.

“You certain this is thick enough?”

“Had Callan measure it.”

She tuts. “You’re cruel.”

“Hardly. He was glad to get out of the house.”

As I slide onto the ice through a thin pathway that Callan left free from candles, I hold out my hand for her to take.

Laughing, she mocks, “You only know the first two minutes of the routine, and most of that’s on your knees. You’d have learned more if you’d stopped being a jackass on the ice sooner. I still can’t believe I fell for that.”

“Hey, it’s better than nothing. And if it’s any consolation, I can’t believe you fell for it either.”

She chuckles but, in the very center of the frozen lake, we come to a standstill, and as the legends themselves did because a free dance is only supposed to last four minutes and their song was four minutes and eighteen seconds, both of us kneel.

Because that’s the cue, the lone violinist plays Ravel’s Boléro.

She jolts, her head whipping to the side, but I snag her hand, squeeze it, then encourage her to move with me.

We start with our heads barely touching, cheek to opposite cheek. Then, as the music ripples through the air, we begin to sway.

I’ve never been much of a dancer, but for her, I want to be the best so I may have practiced this without her and with a lot of help from Lewis.

I’ll never live it down but fuck it, she’s worth it.

In the darkness, with the candles illuminating our path, she watches me move to the beat, arms floating as we drift from side to side, focus locked on one another.

Then, we make half circles on our knees, only stopping until our chins almost brush.

Except, with us, they do. We stagger that move so our lips can touch.

Then, I slide one leg wide for balance while she remains high on her knees. My arms scoop down, one sliding beneath her breasts, the other pressing against her calves which she pins together. Her arms soar as she points them at the sky.

I lift her until she’s in an aerial swan dive. I remain kneeling on the ice, tilting her until she’s standing in front of me.

She lowers her arms to her hips, waiting for my hand to collide with hers for a moment before I release her. Spinning around me, she outstretches her fingers in a playful plea for me to join her, feet weaving in and out effortlessly. Then, both her hands return to mine over my head.

With that, I lift her into the air again. One of her legs kicks up until the other joins it. She returns to that swan dive position of before but this time, she rolls down my front like a kid tumbling over a snow-laden hill, landing on my knees, her skates not even skimming the ice until she’s ready for the picks to dig in deep.

That’s when I boost her into a standing position and both of us raise our hands to the sky this time.

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