Page 36 of ICED
“Yeah.” I pause. “It was a good night.”
He nods, then taps the bench between us. “But?”
I exhale. “It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit,” he says gently. “You were flying out there. Then you got quiet. What’s up?”
I rub the back of my neck. “It’s just… watching you skate to Sophie. Seeing how she looked at you. Like you hung the stars or something.”
Murphy doesn’t gloat. He just waits.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Made me realise I’ve got no one in the stands.”
Murphy nods, thoughtful. “That’s allowed to sting.”
I look at him sideways. “When did you get all emotionally literate?”
“Sophie makes me read therapy blogs.”
I laugh, and some of the weight in my chest lifts.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’ve got someone though, don’t you? Maya?”
I go still.
“She’s not,” I start, then stop. “It’s not like that. Not yet.”
Murphy gives me a look. “You’re telling me the guy who hand-decorated gingerbread men for a girl isn’t in deep?”
I scrub a hand over my face. “It’s early. She’s been through hell. I’m not rushing her.”
“I’m not saying rush,” he says. “Just maybe bring her. Let her see this part of you.”
I shake my head. “Too soon.”
“Maybe,” he says, standing to grab his towel. “Or maybe you’re just scared.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. He just claps my shoulder and heads to the showers.
And I sit there a little longer, alone in the emptying room, wondering if he’s right.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MAYA
I’m elbow-deep in lemon glaze when I hear the front bell jingle.
Again.
“Sorry, we’re just about closed,” I call out automatically, wiping my hands on a tea towel and pushing a stray curl from my face with the back of my wrist.
“I’ll be quick,” comes a voice I know far too well by now.
Low. Rumbly. Warm enough to melt my insides.
Owen.
I glance up and yep, there he is, standing just inside the bakery kitchen like he’s always belonged there. Dressed in Raptors joggers and a clean tee stretched over wide shoulders, a sheen of sweat still clinging to his hair like he’s just come from the gym.
