Page 18 of Melt My Heart: Denver Warlords

That earned a genuine laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "The restraint part is definitely medal-worthy."

As we continued eating, conversation shifted to lighter topics—ridiculous superstitions we'd witnessed at competitions, worst travel disasters, favorite places we'd skated. I found myself talking more than usual, sharing stories I rarely told anyone. Something about Starla drew confidences from me like water from a well I thought had run dry years ago.

Between bites of the tiramisu we decided to share for dessert, I caught myself watching her animated gestures as she described a disastrous costume malfunction at her first international competition. The realization hit me with unexpected force: I was completely captivated by this woman who had initially driven me crazy with her rigid perfectionism.

More striking was how comfortable this felt—sitting across from her, trading stories, laughing together. For someone who lived for the adrenaline rush of competition and the freedom of never staying in one place too long, I found myself contemplating what it might be like to slow down. To build something lasting.

My gaze drifted to an elderly couple at a nearby table, their comfortable silence speaking of decades shared. Would I ever know that kind of permanence? Or would I keep running—from competition to competition, from fling to fling—in an endless pursuit of the next high?

Perhaps what I was really running from was the void left by my parents' death. The absence of family. The fear of building connections only to lose them again.

Starla tilted her head, catching my distant expression. "Where did you go just now?"

I shook my head, returning to the present. "Nowhere important. Just thinking about…"

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the famous Blaze Hayes."

The slurred voice cut through our conversation like a jagged blade. I looked up to find Cassidy Palmer swaying slightly beside our table, her red hair dramatically styled, her dress clearly chosen for maximum impact. The empty wine glass clutched in her manicured hand suggested it wasn't her first drink of the evening.

"Cassidy." I kept my voice neutral. "This isn't a good time."

Her gaze swiveled to Starla, narrowing with recognition. "The Ice Queen herself. Of course." She laughed bitterly. "I should have known he'd trade up to someone moreprestigious."

Starla remained composed, though I noticed her spine straighten. "I don't think we've met formally. I'm…"

"I know exactly who you are," Cassidy interrupted, her words sliding together. "Little Miss Perfect with her perfect technique and her perfect scores. Does he know how frigid you are off the ice too?"

Heat flooded my face—not embarrassment, but anger. "That's enough, Cass. You're drunk. Let me call you a car."

"Don't you dare patronize me!" Her voice rose, drawing uncomfortable glances from nearby tables. "Six months together, and you just disappeared after Worlds. Wouldn't answer calls, wouldn't explain. And now I find you wining and diningher?"

Before I could respond, she lifted her glass and tossed the remaining wine directly at me. The dark liquid splashed across my shirt and face, droplets scattering onto the white tablecloth.

"I knew you were leaving me for another woman," she continued, her voice rising to a screech. "And of course it would have to be Starla McKenzie. I knew it!" She turned her fury toward Starla. "You think you're so special? You're just another conquest to him, you little bitch!"

The restaurant fell silent. I rose slowly, using my napkin to wipe wine from my face, positioning myself slightly between Cassidy and Starla.

"That's enough," I said firmly. "You need to leave before you embarrass yourself further."

The restaurant manager appeared at Cassidy's elbow, his expression professionally concerned but firm. "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to step outside. We can call a taxi for you."

"Don't touch me!" She jerked away from his outstretched hand. "I'm going. This place is overpriced garbage anyway." She shot me one last venomous glare. "You'll regret this, Blaze. Both of you will."

With that final threat, she stormed toward the exit, nearly colliding with a waiter before disappearing into the night. The manager turned to us, mortification evident in his expression.

“Mr. Hayes, Ms. McKenzie, please accept our sincerest apologies. Your meal is on the house tonight. Would you like us to contact the authorities? We can file a report about this incident."

I glanced at Starla, whose face remained impressively composed despite the scene. She gave a slight shake of her head.

"No police," I confirmed. "But I think we're ready to leave."

The manager nodded, signaling for our coats. "Again, our deepest apologies. Please know you're always welcome at Giordano's."

Outside, the night air had turned colder, the earlier snowfall leaving a thin blanket of white on parked cars. I guided Starla to my Range Rover, painfully aware of the wine stain spreading across my shirt.

"I'm so sorry about that," I said once we were seated in the car. "Cassidy and I...it wasn't serious. At least, I didn't think it was. We had a brief thing after Worlds last year, but when she started talking about moving in together after just a few weeks..."

"You don't owe me an explanation," Starla said quietly.

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