Page 29 of Breaking the Ice

“In the mudroom at home.”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense. Mom saves everything.”

“I saved them.” He glances down at the concrete floor of the arena. “You never know when you might need them.”

“Good thinking, I guess.” Taking them from his hands, I sit and quickly lace up, muscle memory taking over. They fit well, although my feet aren’t used to it. I hope I don’t have blisters tomorrow.

My dad points. “Since you know him best, I have you working with Evan. You two are running the skating drills. Your area of expertise. And I’m hoping you can keep him in line.”

He gives me a hand up, and I spy Evan waving at me across the ice. He tosses his wavy hair out of his eyes, and my stomach flips. My body remembers that kiss last weekend, even if the rest of me doesn’t know what to make of it.

Evan kissed me. Why? What possessed him to do that? He didn’t make any moves the rest of the night, didn’t put his arm around me or act like it was a date. Didn’t even kiss my cheek at the end of the night. So clearly, it must have been a mistake. We’re friends. That’s all. I just need my body to get the memo.

He’s swarmed with little kids, all clamoring for his attention. My dad claps me on the shoulder. “You better get out there and help. Looks like he needs it. Thanks, kiddo.”

My foot wobbles as I step out onto the ice for the first time, but my dad’s right—it’s like riding a bike. I gain confidence as I glide over to Evan and his group, and slide to a stop in front of them, spraying the kids with ice.

“Cool!” one of them says, admiration in their voice.

“This is Isabella, our other teacher,” Evan says. “She’s going to give you some skating tips.”

“What have we worked on so far?” I ask him.

“Let’s show her our posture!” Evan calls, and the skaters all line up, bending their knees slightly and keeping their heads up and elbows in.

“Nice job! You look great. Okay, I have a question for you.” As two of the peewee players start to wrestle around with each other, I step closer and get their attention. “Eyes up here. Watch me. Do you want to bob up and down?”

I take a small loop, skating in a jerky motion, looking like a bird pecking at the ground.

“No!” they chorus.

“Or do you want to glide?”

I demonstrate, keeping my knees bent like they’re supposed to, my head staying level, as I move smoothly down the ice.

“Yeah!” they yell.

“Okay, use your best posture and give it a try.”

Evan and I observe, jumping in to correct and give pointers. The hockey players are a handful, demanding my full attention, yet part of my brain is still distracted by Evan. My dad was wrong—he doesn’t need my help. He’s in his element with the kids, joking around, and they hang on his every word. He explains things in a way that makes sense to even the most difficult child, and he never loses his patience.

Why does watching him teach kids how to skate make me think of our shared kiss? His soft mouth, his tongue tangling with mine, his hands in my hair. Heat curls low in my belly. What can I say? Competence is hot.

A whistle blows, startling me out of my daydream.

“Alright, guys, go get a pep talk from Coach Bouchard.” Evan points our students in the right direction, and they shuffle over on the ice to the assistant coach along with the rest of the players from the other small groups.

“Here ya go, honey,” my dad says, skating over to my side and holding out a red lunch box. “Upholding my end of the bargain.”

“You remembered.”

“Yeah, can’t have you starving. Don’t worry, your mom packed it, not me.”

We stand there, the awkward silence stretching between us, with Evan watching, until I clear my throat. “Well, I should be getting back to rehearsal.”

“When is your play?” Dad asks, brushing his too-long gray hair out of his eyes. No time for a haircut lately, it seems.

“Um, I have performances Friday night, Saturday afternoon and evening, and then Sunday afternoon.”