Page 35 of Checking All Her Notes

“Only when you’re counting.”

He sets it down and takes my hand again. We walk toward the exit, the sound of the rink settling into nighttime quiet behind us.

“You know what I figured out?” he says.

“What?”

“On the ice I’m always getting or giving a hit. I like our own tempo.”

I stop walking. Look up at him. “That was surprisingly poetic.”

“I have my moments.”

“You’ve been practicing that line, haven’t you?”

“Maybe.”

I kiss him. Long and sweet and full of promise.

“For the record,” I murmur against his lips, “I’m keeping tempo with you forever, Bruiser.”

“Good,” he says. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

And I’m so happy he wants to be in our little small town with me.