don't notice the divot in the ice until the front of my skate catches, pitching me forward. As I sprawl out on the glossy smooth ice, the breath is knocked out of me before I can catch myself.
I lie still for a moment just trying to assess the pain and catch my breath.
"Are you okay?"
Nick's voice seems oddly disembodied, floating somewhere in the vicinity of my left ear. I'm relieved heâs close, and for the moment I don't force myself to conjure my near constant annoyance with him.
Shoving myself up, I kneel for a second so Nick can reassure himself Iâm in one piece. I try not to get swallowed in the disappointment because I know the real reason for his concern. How could he tell my Gran that he let me get hurt when he's supposed to be taking care of me while Iâm here?
Nick stands up, smooth as silk on his skates. He extends a hand to me. For a moment I debate not taking it, but I ignore that thought and grasp his hand. Even through my mittens I can feel the warmth of his skin as he starts to skate, leading me in slow, lazy circles. Probably just to make sure Iâm okay.
Nick leads me through a cluster of hockey players, each of us dodging the rush of skates and sticks clacking on the ground. The edge of the blade of my skate catches in a divot in the ice, forcing me to cling to Nick's arm all the tighter. I think I see the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
Eventually we drift back toward the fire pit. Running high on the euphoria of holding Nick's hand and still diligently ignoring what any of those feelings mean, I say, "Gran packed sâmores supplies."
Nick grins. "Nice to see you getting into things. We'll have to bust them out as soon as we get over there."
We totter across the packed snow and drop onto the stone bench. I pull off one skate with a bit too much force sending my stocking foot plunging into a pile of slushy snow. The dampness seeps into my sock, freezing my toes. I let out a little gasp. Nick looks up at me with concern. Shrugging I gesture toward my sock, embarrassed.
"We can dry it by the fire," Nick offers, bending down to peel the sock off my foot for me. I shouldn't let him do it, but the delicious shiver that races along my nerve endings urges me to shut up.
I shove my bare foot into my boot, grateful for the faux fur lining the inside.
Nick introduces me to several people as he rummages around in my bag for the sâmores stuff. Suddenly shy, I muster a smile and try to think of something interesting to say. One guy asks me where I'm from, and my mind goes blank.
"Norway," I blurt. That's pretty far North. Most people won't question that. The guy who asked the question nods as if he knows everything about Norway that there is. Ugh. He knows nothing about the Norse people. Not that I do either. The whole extent of my Norse related experience came in the form of Johan. Why am I thinking about him again? I'm right here with the happiest, cutest guy Iâve ever met.
Wait, where is Nick? He was next to me a minute ago. I look around the stone bench that extends in a large semi circle around the fire pit. My heart stutters to a stop. Some girl is perched on Nickâs knee. I think itâs the same girl from earlier. She has her arms locked around his neck. Heâs watching her intensely. Obviously I canât hear what theyâre saying, but they lookâ¦intimate.
I should feel angry or frustrated, but I donât. Instead I just feel a deep disappointment. This girl is standing in my way from completing my mission, and rather than focusing on that fact, all I want to do is cry.
Tears prick my eyes, and I blink rapidly to keep them from falling. When I glance over at them again, my heart plummets into my stomach. The girl leans closer to Nick, or maybe he leans closer to her, and they kiss. My whole world slows to a crawl as I watch Nickâs hand caress the curve of her cheek. The intensity of my desire to be in that position startles me, but the
I lie still for a moment just trying to assess the pain and catch my breath.
"Are you okay?"
Nick's voice seems oddly disembodied, floating somewhere in the vicinity of my left ear. I'm relieved heâs close, and for the moment I don't force myself to conjure my near constant annoyance with him.
Shoving myself up, I kneel for a second so Nick can reassure himself Iâm in one piece. I try not to get swallowed in the disappointment because I know the real reason for his concern. How could he tell my Gran that he let me get hurt when he's supposed to be taking care of me while Iâm here?
Nick stands up, smooth as silk on his skates. He extends a hand to me. For a moment I debate not taking it, but I ignore that thought and grasp his hand. Even through my mittens I can feel the warmth of his skin as he starts to skate, leading me in slow, lazy circles. Probably just to make sure Iâm okay.
Nick leads me through a cluster of hockey players, each of us dodging the rush of skates and sticks clacking on the ground. The edge of the blade of my skate catches in a divot in the ice, forcing me to cling to Nick's arm all the tighter. I think I see the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
Eventually we drift back toward the fire pit. Running high on the euphoria of holding Nick's hand and still diligently ignoring what any of those feelings mean, I say, "Gran packed sâmores supplies."
Nick grins. "Nice to see you getting into things. We'll have to bust them out as soon as we get over there."
We totter across the packed snow and drop onto the stone bench. I pull off one skate with a bit too much force sending my stocking foot plunging into a pile of slushy snow. The dampness seeps into my sock, freezing my toes. I let out a little gasp. Nick looks up at me with concern. Shrugging I gesture toward my sock, embarrassed.
"We can dry it by the fire," Nick offers, bending down to peel the sock off my foot for me. I shouldn't let him do it, but the delicious shiver that races along my nerve endings urges me to shut up.
I shove my bare foot into my boot, grateful for the faux fur lining the inside.
Nick introduces me to several people as he rummages around in my bag for the sâmores stuff. Suddenly shy, I muster a smile and try to think of something interesting to say. One guy asks me where I'm from, and my mind goes blank.
"Norway," I blurt. That's pretty far North. Most people won't question that. The guy who asked the question nods as if he knows everything about Norway that there is. Ugh. He knows nothing about the Norse people. Not that I do either. The whole extent of my Norse related experience came in the form of Johan. Why am I thinking about him again? I'm right here with the happiest, cutest guy Iâve ever met.
Wait, where is Nick? He was next to me a minute ago. I look around the stone bench that extends in a large semi circle around the fire pit. My heart stutters to a stop. Some girl is perched on Nickâs knee. I think itâs the same girl from earlier. She has her arms locked around his neck. Heâs watching her intensely. Obviously I canât hear what theyâre saying, but they lookâ¦intimate.
I should feel angry or frustrated, but I donât. Instead I just feel a deep disappointment. This girl is standing in my way from completing my mission, and rather than focusing on that fact, all I want to do is cry.
Tears prick my eyes, and I blink rapidly to keep them from falling. When I glance over at them again, my heart plummets into my stomach. The girl leans closer to Nick, or maybe he leans closer to her, and they kiss. My whole world slows to a crawl as I watch Nickâs hand caress the curve of her cheek. The intensity of my desire to be in that position startles me, but the
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