She kicks me lightly with her free foot, but she's smiling so big the little dimple I adore so much appears.
I stand and offer her my hand, heart pounding like a drum in my chest. "Ready?"
"Absolutely not."
She takes my hand anyway and the first few steps onto the ice are predictably wobbly. Mia grips my hand like a lifeline, her ankles threatening to betray her at every glide.
"I'm going to fall and take you down with me," she warns with a wobble.
"Then we'll fall together. Wouldn't be the first time."
"When did we ever fall together?"
"Sophomore year, when I tried to teach you to play hockey. You took out my legs and we both went down so hard Coach made me run suicides for a week."
"That was your fault for assuming I'd be graceful with a stick in my hands."
"You asked me to teach you!"
"I wanted to impress you, not commit accidental assault."
We glide slowly around the outer edge of the rink, her confidence growing with each lap. Her grip on my hand loosens from desperate to companionable, and soon she's moving with something approaching grace.
"See?" I say, skating backward so I can face her. "Natural athlete."
"Don't push it, Scott. I'm still one wobbly moment away from disaster."
But she's moving more freely now, the worry lines around her eyes softening. A group of kids races past us, shrieking with laughter, and Mia's smile widens.
"This is nice," she admits. "When's the last time you skated just for fun?"
"Honestly? Probably high school. Everything since then has been training or games or trying to prove something."
"That's sad."
"Yeah, it kind of is." I reach for her other hand, skating backward and pulling her forward in a slow, easy rhythm. "I forgot how good it feels to just... glide."
We skate for a while, other couples drifting past us, lost in their own little worlds, and for a moment I can almost pretend this is normal. That we're just Ryder and Mia, together again.
"The puppies are going to be okay," I say eventually.
"I think so. Mrs. Henderson offered to foster two of them once they're old enough, and the Martinezes want one. That's three homes already."
"And the shelter? How are you managing the costs?"
Her expression clouds slightly. "I'll figure it out. We always do."
"Mia—"
"I don't want to talk about money tonight, okay? This is nice. Let's just keep it nice."
I want to tell her about the charity night, about the plans Sophia and Lucy are putting together even as we speak. But something holds me back. Maybe it's the peaceful look on her face, or the way she's finally starting to relax.
Or maybe it's because I want this moment to be about us, not about solving her problems.
"Okay," I agree. "No work talk. Tell me something else."
"Like what?"
