Page 49 of The Perfect Heart

“Weird. Same thing that happened to me a few weeks ago when I answered your phone.” Nash slurped the last of his milkshake.

Just about to drop my phone back into my purse, I stopped, watching Nash, but he was looking out at the water and the skyline.

That was right—he had picked that call up, the one without anyone on the other side. He had shrugged then, too, and said it was probably a prank call or a pocket dial.

The call that had come in right before we found out someone had set fire to the dumpster behind the bar.

I hoped he was right that it was a prank or sales call, even though a lump in the pit of my stomach didn’t agree.

Chapter 24

Halle

“SO IS THIS ONE OF THOSE experiences you were talking about?”

A grin tugged at my cheeks as I asked the question, then nudged him with my shoulder.

Nash blinked, and then his smile grew to match mine. “Yeah, I guess so.”

I laughed at his response, so confused after our conversation the other day. But also because I was already feeling brightly happy, excitement bubbling up like tiny champagne bubbles. I felt lighter than I had in years, felt my age instead of prematurely old, and carefree for the first time since those lazy summer high school nights.

My excitement kept me warm, too, though the temperatures were frigid, and a light snow fell, kissing my eyelashes and cheeks. I could see the lights from the ice rink just ahead, hear the music, see the people skating in circles, their breath white clouds in the air.

“When was the last time you went skating?” Nash asked.

“Me?” I tried to think back to the last time. We had gone often in high school but since then? I vaguely remembered going once, on a ski trip to Switzerland. I had begged Jack to come with me, but he’d refused, saying it was stupid and a waste of time. Knowing him as I did now, I could guess he had simply been afraid to look like a fool, too petrified to let on he didn’t know how to do something perfectly. I had gone skating alone, but surrounded by couples in love and happy families, it had only been depressing. I’d left after only fifteen minutes and hadn’t gone back.

Until now.

Nash would be out on the ice no matter what. He didn’t care whether he made a fool of himself. Though he had nothing to worry about—he’d played on the hockey team in high school, and he’d been damn good, too. Half of the school had a bet he’d try to go pro. But for some reason, Nash had been dedicated to his dream of staying in Leavenworth and opening a bar, a dream he had chased single-mindedly and from which he hadn’t deviated.

The simple thought that Nash wouldn’t abandon me for fear of looking ridiculous or any other reason sent another jolt of excitement through me. It made it impossible to keep still, and I wrapped my arms around Nash’s and squeezed as tightly as possible.

He laughed, grinning down at me, but I also saw joy in his eyes. He was happy that I was happy. What a novel idea that someone could share in my happiness instead of taking it as a threat.

“Come on.” Nash extracted his arm, only to thread his gloved fingers through mine and lead me up to the ticket booth.

His old hockey skates hung over his shoulder, but he rented a pair for me, and we sat side by side as we laced them up.

I watched the other skaters make their way around the rink, most slow and unsteady, hanging on to each other or the side for dear life. Others were more secure, lapping the others on the inside. And a few in the middle handled their skates like regular shoes, tracing patterns, spinning, and jumping.

“So you ready for this?”

Tying off the laces of a skate into a bow, I glanced up at Nash. “I guess we’ll see.”

Half of me believed it would be easy, that muscle memory would propel me around the ice. The other half thought I was going to kill myself or, at the very least, break a bone.

“Oh, come on, you’ll be fine.” Nash stood, already looking like he knew he would own the rink and all the other skaters. “It’s like riding a bike. Nothing to it.”

“I never learned to ride a bike, remember?” I asked, but I put my hand in his when he held it out and let him pull me up.

The handholding became clinging as the blades of my skates met the ice, and any sense of knowing what I was doing went out the window. Nash laughed, his nose wrinkling with his amusement in the most adorable way, but he held on to me, one arm wrapped around my waist, the other my anchor as we made our slow way around the rink.

It took some time and a few near falls, but my muscle memory slowly crept back in. Soon, I was moving without Nash’s help as he wove his way around me, sometimes skating forward, sometimes backward, as capable as ever on his skates.

“I see you haven’t lost any of your skill,” I said, clutching the wall after another near fall.

“I get out here when I can. Get out to the rink for a pick-up game sometimes. Jonas usually drags me out there.”