Chapter 8

The cold air of the rink bit at my cheeks, sharp and crystalline, a stark contrast to the heat pooling low in my belly. We had been gliding together for hours, the rhythmic *shhh-shhh* of our blades carving fresh grooves into the ice, a language only we understood. The holiday lights strung across the rafters had dimmed to a soft, sleepy glow, casting long, dancing shadows that made the space feel intimate, enclosed, as if we were the only two people in the world. But the clock on the wall, that relentless judge, was ticking down. Ten minutes. We had ten minutes before we had to slip back into the roles we played in the real world, before the mask had to go back on. I leaned into him, my shoulder pressing against his chest, feeling the solid warmth of his coat through my sweater. He didn’t pull away. He never did when it mattered. Instead, his arm tightened around my waist, pulling me flush against him, anchoring me. I could feel the steady thrum of his heart, a slow, powerful beat that seemed to sync with my own. We weren’t speaking. We didn’t need to. The air between us