Page 9 of At the Edge with You

NanaB: She’s not married, no kids, no boyfriend.

Mom: Who?

NanaH: Keep up, Maggie. Fable Winthrop. Mom did recon.

Mom: Ooh, how was her vibe?

NanaB: Jesus, Maggie, put your crystals away and step away from the ABC flash cards. Her vibe was she just lost her grandfather.

NanaH: She didn’t even like him all that much.

NanaB: True, but she loves Kitty.

NanaH: No lies. What did she say?

NanaB: She says she isn’t staying, but I’m sure that’ll change once Kitty asks her to.

That perks my interest. I didn’t expect her to stay, but I wouldn’t think Kitty would ask her to. She’s always supported Fable’s need to be away. Always gone to see her instead of asking her to come here.

As I take the next turn, realizing I can do this in my sleep, another text comes through.

NanaB: So, if she stays, we’ll need to get our boy to shave and not be so grumpy.

NanaH: And be nice.

Mom: My boy is a peach; she’d be lucky to have him.

Jesus.

Me: Not shaving, not being nice, and grumpy is my middle name.

NanaB: Told you, Maggie. He was meant to be Jett Grumpypants Cook.

Mom: No, his name is beautiful.

Mom continues to type, so I tuck my phone in my pocket with a smirk on my face. The women drive me nuts, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Thoughts of the ice princess swim in my head as I finish the ice. If she does stay, what would that mean? Would I see her? Maybe I can ask her to dinner? Or coffee? No, not coffee. That’s for people who want to see if they like someone. I know I like her. Or, I like the girl I knew. I don’t know a damn thing about Fable Winthrop now, except that she’s sexy as fuck.

But still, I’d need more than a coffee date.

After parking and cleaning Big Buck, I make sure the rink is in good shape and closed up before I head to my office to finish some paperwork that could wait till Monday, but I’ll do it now since I don’t want to head to my apartment yet.

I lived with the girls for a long time, but when Phillip offered to turn three offices into a loft apartment and let me live there for free so someone would always be on the property, I couldn’t pass it up. I haven’t felt this inexplicable emptiness before, so I decide to work a bit.

Once I’m in my office that’s decorated in muted greens and browns, I sit back in my big chair as I move my eyes to where my gold medal sits. Pride washes over me, but just as quickly as it comes, the shame of not making it in the NHL takes its place.

I wish everything hadn’t happened the way it did, but as my hippie mom would tell me, things happen for a reason.

I swallow as I wake up my computer, just as an alert comes over my phone for the back door on the west rink side. I bring in my brows as I click it, standing up since I know I locked that damn door this morning. When the camera comes on, I see an aerial view of the west rink, just as the ice princess enters the bench area. She leans on the boards, her skates hanging over her shoulder, as she looks around, a small smile pulling at her lips. God, she’s stunning. Her face has always been round, but where it was once fresh and sweet, now it’s hardened a bit, with fine lines around her eyes and along her forehead. Her lips are thick, the bottom one a bit bigger than the top, and her cheeks rosy. She leans back and reaches for her sweatshirt, pulling it over her head before pushing off her pants. I sit down, watching as she puts on her skates with quick efficiency.

I would feel like a huge creep, but I did this when I was younger too, so maybe this is my normal?

I don’t think that’ll hold up in court.

I refocus on the screen of my phone as she hits the ice. She has on a pair of short shorts and a leotard. Even through her white tights, I can see the dark black ink that covers the tops of her thighs. I was right, and now I need to know what the tattoos are. She does some stretches, and I’m in awe as she moves. Each time she bends, a new roll appears, and I squeeze my fists together with the need to touch her. She goes back to the bench, grabbing her phone, and then music fills the rink.

“Torn,” Natalie Imbruglia.

God, she’s still obsessed with that song? A smirk pulls at my lips as she does a lap, skating like she was born to. She may have aged, but on the ice, she looks just like her younger self. She does some simple little moves, a twirl here and there, but mostly, she just skates. The grief, anger, and annoyance that plagued her features earlier are gone. Replaced by pure solace only the ice can bring her.

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