Page 96 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
But they pale in comparison to Sara.
My gut wrenches at the thought of losing her. Again. I can’t fathom another ten years—or longer—coming between us now. But I refuse to bring down the mood of this day for even a minute. So I shake it off, and press out a scoff. “You know,you’re actually lucky you’re skating alone out there.” I lift a brow.
“Oh, really?” Sara finishes with her laces and turns to me. Her cheeks have pinked up in the chill of the air and she begins to put back on her gloves. “Why is that?”
“I have a very particular set of skills.” I use my best Liam Neeson voice, and squint out at the ice, struggling not to laugh. Being around Sara makes me giddy. She’s always made me giddy, I just spent a decade trying to forget that.
“What kinds of skating skills are we talking about?” Sara puffs out a little snort. “Please. Enlighten me.”
“I’m so glad you asked.” I throw up a gloved hand to keep track of my suggestions. “Let me count the ways. Speed. Strength. Form. Endurance. Technical prowess.” When I raise my other hand as if to list another five other areas, Sara bats it away.
“I object.”
“On what grounds?”
She smirks. “I’d like to argue that form and technical prowess are the same.”
“Aha!” I chuckle, crossing my arms. “So you admit I’d still school you in at leastfourdifferent skills.”
Sara laughs, then tugs her beanie farther down over her ears. “You know you’re awfully confident for a man who’s going to be watching me from the bench. And it’s not even a real bench. It’s a fallen log.”
With that, she pushes her body up and takes a few tentative steps forward. In front of her, the lake is mirror smooth. Dark glass in the fading daylight.
“Need any help?” I call out as she makes her way toward the ice.
“No, I’ve got this. Watch and learn, Liam Neeson. Watch. And. Learn.”
She eases out onto the lake, using shorter strides at first. Just warming up, taking things slow. I half expected her to start showing off after my Liam Neeson bit, but she’s beingcautious, which is a relief. Sara’s always prioritized safety. Hers and everyone else’s.
Baiting her was reckless.
But brain fog’s making me dumb. And Sara looks so happy. Her movements appear effortless, arms arced out for balance as she glides across the ice. She lengthens her strides, sweeping out past the end of the dock. Her skates are eating up the lake as she turns right, disappearing beyond the alcove of trees.
“Where’d you go?” I yell the second as I lose sight of her. “Stay where I can see you!”
She reappears, farther out on the lake now, picking up speed, passing the dock again. But this time she heads left. “Can you see me now, Liam?” she calls out. “I’m pretty good, right?”
She spins around, skating backward, her legs and hips swaying. Her whole body moves in perfect fluidity. It’s a sight to see. A white swan floating on frozen water.
“Showboater!” I holler, my hand cupped around my mouth.
“Check this out!” She turns, facing me again, then skids to a stop in a spray of ice. “That’s my hockey move!”
“Very impressive.”
“Glad you finally noticed,” she says.
Oh, I definitely noticed.
She kicks off again, skating back toward me, chanting myparticular set of skillsat the top of her lungs: “Speed! Strength! Form! Endurance!” When she’s a bit closer to shore, she attempts another skidding stop and almost loses her balance, but she recovers, coming to a halt. She’s laughing now. Catching her breath. “What was that last one you claimed?” she asks. “Technical something?” She grins, her arms wide and graceful again, like a ballerina on ice.
“I think it was technical prow?—”
“Wait!” she calls out, cutting me off.
“Hey.” I toss her a smirk. “You’re the one who asked.”
“Three…” She looks down at her skates.
