The rink quieted slowly, like tidewater rolling out to sea. The bleachers emptied, the clatter faded, and my breath steadied. When the last kid walked off with his mom, I headed for the arena exit. And there, leaning against the side of the building like he'd been waiting all day, was Eric.
He hadn't seen me yet. He was watching the treeline behind the parking lot, where a few stubborn birch trees still clungto their coppery leaves. His scarf—striped, probably something Mrs. Lin had knitted—moved slightly in the breeze.
I paused a beat before walking toward him. Sometimes, I still marveled at how he existed in my life, not like a visitor passing through, but someone I got to keep. His camera case hung from one shoulder, the strap creased from regular use.
"You waiting for someone? Or is this brooding practice?"
Eric turned his head, smiling. "I'm refining my technique. Brooding into the wind is an advanced skill."
"You smell like kids with questionable hygiene." He crinkled his nose.
"Good guess. And you smell like cedar and old paper."
"Research library," he nodded. "Spent the morning in the archives. Did you know a shipwreck off the coast in 1926 involved smuggled goats?"
"I don't know whether I believe that or if I just like believing that."
He bumped my arm. "I brought you something."
I looked down at his hands. "If it's more chili from Mrs. Knickerbocker, I'm not eating it cold."
"Not chili."
He slipped one hand into his coat pocket, then hesitated. That pause told me whatever was coming was important.
Eric pulled out a small wooden box. He turned it over in his fingers once, then opened it without fanfare.
Inside sat a ring. No flourish and no engraving. It was only a band of brushed silver.
I didn't speak. Eric looked up, and I saw every nerve ending in his face fire at once.
"I want to keep showing up," he said, voice low. "To the rink. To Ironhook. To you. No spectacle. Only me."
The box shook just a little. So did my hands.
"I figured I've learned a thing or two about weathering things. And I want to weather it as us."
He offered the box like it was part of him—like if I said no, he'd still stay, but something in him would ache forever.
I took the ring and held it between my thumb and forefinger. It was cool and solid.
"I've never worn jewelry in my life," I said.
"That's fine. We'll get you one made of driftwood or rebar if this one's too polished."
I slid the ring onto my finger.
It fit.
Eric let out a breath that ended in a laugh.
"Well," I said. "You know what this means."
He blinked. "That we're getting married?"
"No," I said. "That we have to tell Mrs. Knickerbocker. She's going to out-chili herself."
He leaned in and touched my cheek. "Absolutely worth it."
