Page 114 of Top Shelf

“Look where you want to go, min fru.”

“I want to go to the bench where there are snacks and no blades.”

“I thought you wanted the big shot.”

Her head comes up, and I see it. That spark. Competitive and stubborn and alive.

“I do want the big shot.”

“Then look up.”

Her fingers tighten around mine, but she does it. Everything with Heidi starts in her mind and travels outward. When she understands, she commits. And when she commits, she becomes energized. She is not graceful yet, but she listens to me as I instruct, and that should not be as attractive as it is.

I lead her in a slow curve near the blue line, then bring her to a stop by a bucket of pucks.

“No slap shot yet,” I say before she can speak.

“What? You promised!”

“I promised to teach you. This is teaching.”

“This feels like withholding, but not in the fun way.”

“You have to know the basics first. Basics are the foundation.”

“Hm.” She takes the stick I hand her and squints at the net. “Sounds like you should’ve taken your own advice, Karlsson. Dating usually comes before marriage.”

“Mm. But you came after.”

Her mouth falls open, delighted and a little scandalized. “That was filthy.”

“And factual.”

She grins, and I have the sudden, stupid thought that I can’t wait to see that grin in Sweden. In the meadow. At the lake. In the kitchen with my mother handing her coffee and Freja saying something too fast for her to understand. The thought arrives uninvited, an image full of light, and I have to look at the puck in my glove until I remember we are standing in Denver.

I place it on the ice in front of her. “Wrist shot first.”

“Sounds boring.”

“It wins games.”

“Ugh, fine.”

She takes the stick I hand her and sets herself with far too much confidence. Her first attempt nudges the puck three feet. She watches it, then back at me.

“Do not comment,” she says.

“I said nothing.”

“You have subtitles.”

I slide behind her. “Feet wider.”

She goes still for a moment, then adjusts as my hands settle carefully at her hips, turning her a few degrees. Her body is warm through the sweater, and the memory of this morning moves through my hands before I can stop it. My hands holding her steady, her thighs around my face, a desperate voice telling me what she wanted and taking it. My grip tightens for half a second, and Heidi glances over her shoulder.

“Is this a professional instruction, Karlsson?”

“Yes.”