“You are an amazing skater.”
She sighs and then finally meets my eyes. “Was.”
I blink. “What?”
“Iwasan amazing ice skater.” She takes a big breath in and blows it out. “That time is over. Now I teach, and that is that.” She clears her throat. “So what did you do all day?”
She’s changing the subject and not subtly, but I let it slide. “Answered emails, made some phone calls.” If she wants to be vague, I can do the same.
After a few blocks of silence, I glance over at her. I don’t want to go back yet. I want to get her to open up, unravel some more of the mystery that is Finley Fox. “When was the last time someone took you to dinner?”
She shrugs. “It’s been a while.”
“Can I take you?”
She hesitates, and I wonder if it’s been a while because she’s strapped for funds. Everything they make goes back into the business.
“I’m paying.” I grip the steering wheel one handed, hoping she’ll agree, anxious that she won’t. “I owe you since you cooked last night.”
“I don’t know.”
“You can order the most expensive thing on the menu just to mess with me.” I allow my lips to curve but keep my gaze fixed on the road, not wanting to see the denial on her face.
Her gaze on my profile is palpable. Finally, she speaks. “I would really like that.”
I glance over, surprised, and she smiles at me. It’s the first genuine smile she’s given me since that first night—one that fills her whole face.
My chest squeezes. I didn’t know until this moment that I had been waiting for that genuine happiness, aimed in my direction. I could conquer entire worlds for that smile. Or at least Oliver.
It’s not the fanciest of eateries. We had to settle for somewhere that wouldn’t sneeze at her leggings and my jeans and sweater, but it’s nice enough, a family-style restaurant on the outskirts of town where you can order anything from burgers to seafood to pasta.
“You teach every week?” I ask once we’re seated with our drinks in front of us. I want to know how she can skate like that, why she didn’t pursue it as a career, and so many other things that I’m not entitled to.
She nods. “I wish there was a rink closer to Whitby.”
I slide that information into place beside the other small bits of Finley I’ve managed to put together.
“Do your students know how good you are?”
She lifts one shoulder. “They are mostly aware—the older ones, anyway. Some of them have a lot of potential, but they need more time on the ice. It’s a rough sport to have a career in.”
“Is that why you never pursued one?” I attempt the question, bracing myself for her to avoid it.
She takes a sip of her wine and sets the glass gently on the table. “I did, actually. I competed from high school until I was twenty-two. But it wasn’t meant to be.”
“Why not?”
Her gaze dips to the table, and she takes a deep breath before answering. “When I was eighteen, I placed fourth in nationals. I missed the Olympics by one—they send the top three.”
“Wow.” I sink back against the padded booth seat.
“So four years later, I placed first in sectionals. I was considered a shoo-in for getting into the top three at nationals. But then Aria—” She presses her lips together, gaze shuttering.
My heart breaks for her. “When did she die?”
“A week before nationals.” She meets my gaze. “They were together—Jacob and Aria were always together—when she died. It was a car accident. She was driving—without a license. I had to come home, of course.”
“I’m so sorry. That she died, and what a shame you had to give up such a big dream. That’s a tragedy on top of a tragedy.”