Page 107 of Canadian Boyfriend

“Stop. You’re too generous.”

I leaned over and planted a quick kiss on her lips. I wanted to do more, but you know, we were in a Tomfoolery with our friends.

She was smiling from ear to ear when I pulled away. “As the Magic 8 Ball says, ‘Ask again later.’”

“JumboTron at the last game of the season?” I joked, knowing she would hate the idea.

“Oh my God, no. No big public displays.” She smirked. “But end of the season sounds about right.”

AURORA

Spring came late the next year, and we could skate on the lake later in the season than usual, though every time we went out, we wondered if it was going to be the last. One sunny Saturday afternoon in March, the Lumberjacks didn’t have a game, and Mike Martin invited the Zadorovs and Gretchen over. Mike Martin and Ivan had gotten back the night before from a road trip, and Olivia and I were happy to have him back.

I was happy, period. It felt like it had been a long time coming, and I savored it all the more for it. I had just signed a two-year lease on a dedicated space for Ballet for Every Body. It was in the back room at a brewery, of all places—it occupied an old grain mill that came with some old office space they were renting to community and arts organizations. I loved the unlikely combination of ballet and beer, and I told Mike Martin he was going to have to develop a taste for fancy microbrews so he could meet me for a drink after class.

Mike Martin was looking at the final month of the regular season, and it looked like the Lumberjacks would contend in the playoffs. I could tell he was a bit melancholy, but he was also brimming with ideas for the next phase of life. He was going to take the summer to recharge—his first summer everwithout worrying about staying in shape, which he said was going to be weird but awesome. He was threatening to grow a dad bod.

We didn’t have a fire going because it was afternoon, but we had mulled wine, and I was sipping some while holding Annika so her parents could have some ice time together. I watched all my people zipping around the ice and it kind of reminded me of those scenes fromA Charlie Brown Christmaswhere everyone’s tooling around the rink, snow is falling, and happy piano music is playing. We even had our own Snoopy, in the form of Tinkerbell, who loved the snow and ice. I twisted around to wave at Earl 9, who, sure enough, was standing sentry inside. He wagged his head at me.

Mike Martin swooshed over and did one of his fancy stops, spraying ice and making Annika laugh. He was holding his phone. “The firewood guys are here.” He was no longer obsessively chopping his own wood. Look at all of us—happy and well adjusted.

He sat and switched from skates to boots. “I’m gonna go open the garage for them.” He didn’t come back, but after ten minutes, he called down. “Aurora! There’s more wood than I thought, and I need you to move your car.”

I didn’t know why he couldn’t do it himself—or why he’d ordered more firewood to begin with since spring was just around the corner—but OK. Ivan came over to pick up Annika—she had a tiny helmet she wore while he held her and skated.

I went in through the house, grabbed my car keys, and stepped out into the garage… which was not filled with wood.

“Surprise!”

Half the space was taken up with a giant inflatable structure filled with tons of balls. “Did you get me aball pit?”

“Irentedyou a ball pit. Don’t get too excited. We have togive it back. But…” He walked over to a hand-drawn sign that read “Height limit: Whatever.”

I was speechless.

“But before you get in, come over here.”

I had been so dazzled by the ball pit that I hadn’t noticed there was also a freaking Skee-Ball machine in the garage. “Are youkiddingme?”

“You should play this first,” he said, pulling a lever that caused the machine to start blooping and playing music as the balls rolled into a slot near the front.

“You know I’m no good at this,” I said.

“That’s why I set it up so you can’t lose,” he said. “Or I should say I set it up soIcan’t lose.” He pointed. Skee-Ball rings were normally labeled with numerical values, the widest with lower values, going on up to the smallest one, which at Tomfoolery was worth fifty points. Here, though, the numbers had been replaced by little signs. All the rings read “Yes” except for the smallest, which read “No.”

“You said to ask again later,” Mike Martin said. “It’s later. The season is winding down. We’re both on to new things professionally.” He dropped to one knee and handed me a Skee-Ball. “So, Aurora Lake: Will you marry me?”

“I told you not to do a big thing!”

“No, you told me not to do apublicthing. So I transplanted my killer idea here to this very not-public setting.” He popped up to standing. “Just don’t suddenly get good at this, OK?”

“I don’t think there’s much risk of that.” I stepped up to the base of the machine, swallowed a happy throat lump, and tossed the ball. It sank into the lowest “Yes” ring.

Mike Martin jumped up and down like the Lumberjacks had won a game in overtime.

He helped me do the rest of the balls, and the machine spit out a ticket.

“You wanna turn in your ticket for a prize?” he asked, his dimple blazing as he pulled a small box out of his pocket.

“Oh my God. Is this ticket going to get me an engagement ring?”

“We will get a ring, but…” He took my ticket and handed me the box. Inside was a charm. It was a clear charm with swirls of green and violet in it that looked just like… “The northern lights,” I breathed.

“Well, I figured one of those things should actually be from me. Like, really me.”

He swept me up and twirled me around. Then we called everyone else in and told them the news, which made it feel official—we were engaged. After hugs and kisses and congratulations, I went in the ball pit with my Canadian fiancé.

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