Page 82 of Cross Ice

He did, and I lowered him slowly to the ground. The moment his feet hit the mat, he unclipped and threw his arms around me.

“That was amazing and I never want to do it again.”

I laughed and held him close. “Liar. You loved it.”

“Maybe a little.”

We climbed for another hour, trading belaying duties and attempting progressively harder routes. By the time we left, we were both exhausted, and my shoulders were burning in the best way.

“Where to now?” Evan asked as we walked to my car.

“Dinner?”

“God yes. I’m starving.”

I smiled, and not just because I was hungry too. A few weeks ago, he would have redirected to takeout. Now he just said yes.

Over souvlaki and moussaka at a Greek place nearby, our conversation drifted to the week ahead—the road trip, the four days apart, all the small anxieties Evan was trying not to name out loud. I reached across the table and took his hand.

“I’m not Ryan.”

He let out a breath, something releasing in his shoulders. “I know. And you keep proving it.” He squeezed my hand. “I just wish my brain would catch up to what my heart already knows.”

Something in my chest went tight. I wanted to tell him. The words were right there, hovering on the edge of my tongue.

I’m falling for you.

But he’d just said his brain hadn’t caught up yet. It wasn’t the right time. So instead, I pressed my knee against his under the table and left it there.

“Give it time. We’ll get there.”

“Yeah. We will.”

I drove home feeling the warmth of a good evening—the climbing gym, the souvlaki, Evan’s hand in mine across the table, the words I’d almost said and hadn’t yet. They’d keep. We had time.

The road trip was brutal.

We won in Winnipeg on Wednesday, 4–3 in overtime, and I had an assist on the game-winner. But we lost in Calgary on Thursday, 2–1, and the flight home Friday afternoon felt longer than it should have.

I texted Evan the moment we landed.

Nico: Just touched down. I’m home.

Evan: About time.

Nico: Did you just say you missed me?

Evan: I said about time.

Nico: Same thing. Dinner tonight?

Evan: Nonna’s. 7.

Nico: See you there.

I drove home, showered off four days of travel, hotel rooms, and stress, and changed into dark jeans and a fitted navy sweater. By the time I parked at the restaurant at five minutes to seven, I was practically vibrating with anticipation.

I texted Evan that I was there and waited in my car, watching the restaurant entrance. Five minutes later, I saw him walking across the parking lot, and everything in me settled.