You’re mine.
One week, then. But in the meantime, I pick up my phone. “Mom?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“I need a huge favor.”
Mom promoted Ari to skate sharpener, and no that wasn’t the favor I asked of her. I asked her to lock up the rink so that Ari could go home, and this is my punishment. Mom wouldn’t call it that, she’d call it divine intervention.
And every time I say, “You’re not a god, Mom.”
She says, “A Mother is God in the eyes of her child.”
I’m not religious—and neither is she for that matter—but I can’t argue with her on that one. Maybe she’s annoying sometimes, but she really is the best. And she’s joking. Mostly.
But anyway, Ari’s all the way over at the skate sharpening station, and it’s consistently busy, which doesn’t allow opportunity for him to lounge around my concession stand. He’s also the kind of man who has to do a good job no matter what it is. So there he is, smiling at everyone, taking his time with their skates, sharpening them to perfection. And yeah. It’s just Mr. Jones and his two daughters, but he’s all the way over there and I’m all the way over here.
He's barely even looked this way. He apologized profusely to me when he got here—yeah, apologized to me for not locking the back door, even though I stranded him here—and then he got straight to work.
Maybe he’s hungry. I should bring him a hot dog. And a soda—he should get a soda today. He hasn’t had one in a while, surely his arteries won’t erode if he has one once in a while. Maybe the licorice, too.
It doesn’t seem real to be this fucking anxious over a small decision, but rejection anxiety is real.
He doesn’t want you bothering him. He’s finally realized what a loser you are. He’s stopped thinking you’re anything special.
The last one is the loudest because if I’m not special, why does he need me? He could be with anybody else. Special people. Ari is special and can have the special-est person.
What I can do is stop looking at him. Stop thinking about him. Forget this whole thing ever happened. That’s what I did before, when I’d fall too far down rabbit holes of obsessing over Ari.
But it’s not as easy to do those things as it was two weeks ago before he loitered in front of my concession stand when he was supposed to be mopping. Before he leaned against the counter watching me work. Before he smiled at me like I was the world and he was just living in it. Before I knew what it felt like to be in his arms.
The kiss that lives rent-free in my head.
Fuck. I’m fucked.
I guess.
Well, I guess.
I guess I have nothing to lose by bringing him a hot dog. There’s always a lull in business once people have made their way onto the ice, so I put up my “back in twenty minutes” sign and head to Ari, bearing food, drinks, and snacks.
The last person makes their way onto the ice as I let myself into Ari’s booth. He jumps.
“Gah, didn’t see you behind me. What’s all this?”
“Uh, thought you might be hungry?”
“Hungry? I’m starving! I get soda and licorice? What did I do to deserve all this?”
What hasn’t he done? He deserves everything, and I’m the worst. “Thanks for the raccoon thing,” I half mumble. “It was kind of heroic.”
That’s when it happens. The smile. Not just any smile, but the one he smiles for me. Rays of sunshine bust through the dark forest of my insides, unearthing things like hope and optimism that have been buried for years.
He doesn’t smile at the people who try to flirt with him like that. He definitely doesn’t smile at his asshole friends like that.
Just me.
My lips twitch at the corners. I look away briefly but force myself to meet his gaze again. I don’t want to miss that smile for anything. “Here.”
