Page 13 of 10 Things I Skate About You

Foley holds a fist up to the sky. Like Judd Nelson at the end ofThe Breakfast Club. He’s used to having men yell at him, I suppose. But he’s awfully cool with the ship name.

I focus on his boots. They’re a nice pair of full-grain black leather boots with hard soles and probably no cushioning. Which is stupid because that’s bad for his knee. I sure hope he didn’t opt for the nice boots just to impress me. I’m a movement coach—I’d be more impressed if he wore a good pair of orthopedic shoes.

He opens the passenger door to his truck for me and waits until I’m settled until he shuts the door. “Thank you,” I say begrudgingly.

“You’re so welcome, princess,” he says with a ridiculous flourish.

There’s a mylar red heart balloon that saysBE MY VALENTINE!tied to the gear shift, a white teddy bear holding a red heart on the dash board in front of me, and also a red heart-shaped box of chocolates sitting on the center console. He probably got them at the drugstore on the way here, but it’s kind of cute and hilarious and that pisses me off.

So, I watch him get into the driver’s seat. I’ve seen him do this many times, from afar. He steps his right foot onto the running board, uses a heavy-duty modified grab handle to take the weight off, pivots and lowers himself into the seat. His left leg, with the bad knee, swings in last.

I have no notes, and he obviously installed the grab handle himself. It’s beautiful. He must have custom made it out of a spare piece of wood in his workshop. Sanded it down, finished it beautifully, and then bolted it to the door frame. I am actually impressed.

“Arbutus?” I ask.

“Big-leaf maple,” he says. “These are for you.” He gestures to the drugstore-variety Valentine’s gifts.

“Very thoughtful. No flowers, huh?”

“I figured the smug look of disappointment you’d give me was a more valuable gift to you.” He starts up the engine, and Vivaldi starts playing on the stereo system. “Want me to change it?” he asks.

“No, I love Vivaldi.”

“Yeah?” He pulls out into the side street. “Thought you only listened to that nineties feminist alt-rock crap—I mean, music.”

“You were wrong.”

Someone behind us honks their car horn three times. Not out of frustration. I see hands sticking out the windows, giving us thumbs-ups. This town is nuts. We both wave to the rearview mirror, our fingers touching midair. I pull my hand away as if it got burned.

He drives like a hot guy. Rests his left elbow on the door panel, super chill. Right hand easy on the wheel. His fingers gently guide that steering wheel, likeC’mere baby. Let’s go this way.

I feel a tightening between my legs, and it’s infuriating.

“You should have worn more supportive shoes,” I blurt out.

“Is that right?” He grins. “Why’s that?”

“Well, you always have the gait pattern of someone with a bad knee. It’s subtle, but I’m a trained professional, so I can tell. The uneven stride. The slight hip drop. The slight tension in the way you hold your upper body on the left side. Barely noticeable usually. But I noticed you were more careful with your foot placement, walking on the pavement from my building.”

“Did you, now?”

I roll my eyes and stare out the passenger window. “Force of habit because of my job. I notice howeveryonemoves.”

“Okay, sweetie. Okay.”

“Oh my God—get over yourself!”

“I mean, it sounds like you’re the one who needs to get over me.”

I let out an exasperated sigh and then realize people are watching us as he pulls into a parking space, so I rearrange my face into a smile. I notice a couple of children on the sidewalk grimace at me. I probably look insane. I feel insane. This is insane.

“Hope you’re ready for a mighty big portion of meat and a couple of potatoes, milady,” he says with a wink.

“You’re so gross,” I say, beaming at him because about half a dozen people have their camera phones trained on us.

He unties the balloon and brings it with him around to the passenger side, which he helps me out of. He hands me the ribbon of the balloon, and there are women and children who clap and say “Awwww!”For real, ladies? Does he deserve a parade just for handing me a balloon? Come on.Then he takes my hand and holds it tight when I attempt to free myself from his grip.

“You two look so cute together!” an elderly lady that I don’t recognize calls out. “I manifested this for you two lovebirds! Have a wonderful time!”