No. But I’ll see you in two weeks.
I check the calendar—it’s less than that now. I frown. I was planning on being out of here by then and not coming back.
The thought sits like a stone in my chest. Not seeing Finley ever again doesn’t feel like a viable option, but I don’t belong here. I don’t really belong anywhere.
I shove the self-defeating thoughts away and get back to work.
At midday, I take a break for lunch, grabbing a sandwich at a nearby restaurant.
After a few more hours of dealing with emails and phone calls, I get a text from Finley letting me know she’s done, so I pack up my things.
There are only a few cars left in the parking lot when I arrive. Finley isn’t waiting outside, so I park and go in. Too cold for her to wait out here, probably.
There’s a middle-aged woman sitting in a booth when I make my way inside the front entrance.
“I’m here to pick up Finley.”
She jerks her thumb down the hall. “She’s using the rink. There’s no game tonight.”
“Thanks.” My footsteps echo off the concrete walls. I emerge from the wide hallway into the arena. The stands are dark and empty, but the rink is lit up.
She’s skating, alone, moving across the ice like she’s flowing through water. Like a dancer. Like she owns the space. Quietly, I make my way down to one of the entrances to the ice and lean on the partition.
Her movements are smooth. She flies into the air, arcing and turning, and lands on one leg, the other leg stretched behind her as she spins. Her arms reach back, pulling her leg up nearly to her head.
Holy shit.
It takes my breath away. She’s beautiful.
She told me . . . she said she was an okay skater. She was clearly not telling the complete story.
She glides over the ice, switching from forward skating to backward. My heart skips a beat when, with one smooth motion, a little dip, she’s airborne, arms stretched above her. Her body blurs with spins before she lands smoothly on one leg and resumes flying over the ice with broad strokes of her legs.
Her eyes meet mine and widen. She shakes herself out of whatever trance she was in and skates over, coming to a neat side-stop in front of me.
I stare at her, speechless.
She shifts on her skates. “Sorry. Were you waiting long?”
I can’t find words. I have no words.
She lifts a hand and snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Archer.”
I blink.
“Um. Okay.” She laughs nervously. “I need to grab my bag.” She motions to the side and skates away.
What can I do but follow this intriguing, mysterious woman who continually knocks me for a loop?
By the time we make it to the car and I’ve stashed her bag in the back, I find my voice.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I turn the car on and glance over at her.
“Tell you what?” She buckles up, avoiding my gaze.
“Finley.”
She fidgets in the seat.