“And tell Oliver I’ll pay him back for our tickets,” he adds. “What kind of date would I be if I let another guy pay for us?”
I make the mistake of glancing up at that precise moment and catch Ethan’s playful wink.
He’s clearly hamming up the whole date angle like it’s some kind of hilarious joke, but there’s something hidden in his eyes—a furtive flicker—that makes me suspect a deeper motive than he’s letting on.
And despite my best intentions to keep things between us strictly platonic, the possibility makes me shiver.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Although I’ve seen The Rink at Rockefeller Center in movies, nothing compares to being on the ice, basking in the glow of lights as they glitter across the frozen surface. For a moment, I simply stand there, clutching the railing, in complete awe of my surroundings. The recessed rink appears to sink even lower into the earth as lustrous skyscrapers loom against an inky black sky, accentuating the breathtaking contrast of darkness and light.
But what’s even more unexpected is the towering Christmas tree, magnificent and magical in its size and splendor.
“I’m surprised to see the Christmas tree in February,” I tell Ethan, though I’m certainly not sorry to see it. The shimmering bulbs reflect a mesmerizing array of pinks, purples, and reds, perfectly aligned with the Valentine’s Day theme.
“It’s not usually still up this time of year, but an endangered bird built a nest in the branches, and an animal rights group convinced the city to leave it up until the eggs hatch, rather than risk harming them by trying to relocate it.”
“Well, I’m glad. I’ve always wanted to see it in person.”
“It’s pretty impressive. Even more so at Christmas. But then, all of New York is impressive at Christmastime.”
“I’m sure,” I murmur, secretly imagining what it would be like to spend the holidays together. We’d bundle up for the stunning light show in the Botanical Garden, catchA Christmas Carolon Broadway, and marvel at the elaborate window displays at stores like Barneys and Saks Fifth Avenue while we shop for the perfect gift.
“Okay, enough stalling,” Ethan says, holding out his hand. “The competition is about to start.”
“Maybe we should just forfeit now.” I glance over my shoulder at Brynn and Oliver. They both look adorably nervous, and as I watch Brynn fiddle with her gloves, I feel both proud and apprehensive. Is this a small taste of what a parent experiences when their child is about to embark on their first date?
“Why would we do that?” Ethan asks, drawing my attention back to our conversation.
“Because I don’t know how to skate. And it’s probably too risky to traverse a slippery surface with a novice who has sharp blades strapped to her feet.”
“Without risk, there’s no reward.” His eyes are twinkling, and there’s something in his tone that makes me shiver, but he’s moved on before I can dwell on any hidden meaning. “Besides, I can teach you.”
I consider his proposition, vaguely recalling his brief stint on a junior hockey team when we were younger. “I guess we can give it a try.”
“Gee, thanks for your vote of confidence in my teaching skills,” he teases, offering his hand again. He isn’t wearing gloves, and for a moment, I regret donning mine.
I weave my fingers through his, and the pressure of his palm against mine sends a strange flutter through my stomach.Focus, Quincy. As I glance over my shoulder again, I catch Brynn watching us, her brow knit with worry. The butterflies in my stomach twist themselves into an uncomfortable knot.
“Ready?” Ethan asks as a loud trumpet blare announces the start of the skate-a-thon.
I tear my gaze from Brynn and give a shaky nod. “Ready,” I lie, not only ill prepared to skate, but seemingly unable to suppress my growing feelings for Ethan, no matter how taboo and disastrous.
He pushes off the ice, towing me along as “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by the King pours out of the speakers.
My legs are wobbly at first, but as we glide around the rink, my nerves wane, and I take comfort in the belief that Ethan’s abundance of skill can make up for my complete lack thereof. But before we’ve made it halfway around, Ethan’s skates fly out from under him and he slams onto his back, yanking me on top of him.
“Ow,” he groans, rubbing the back of his head.
“What happened?” I gasp, grateful his solid frame broke my fall.
“Did I mention that I don’t know how to skate, either?”
“What? But you said you’d teach me!”
“I figured I’d learn on the job.”
“What about hockey?”