Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
The knock on my door comes way too early.
I burrow deeper into the pillow, pulling the comforter over my head.
Another soft rap sounds.
I squint at my phone. 10:47 a.m. Okay, maybe not that early.
“Summer?” Miles’s voice carries through the door. “You awake?”
I push the comforter off with a huff. “Barely.”
“Can I come in?”
I sit straight, shoving my hair out of my face and tugging my sleep shirt up to make sure everything’s covered. “Yeah.”
The door opens, and he leans against the frame, already dressed in jeans and a dark Henley, hair damp from the shower, glasses in place.
God, he looks good. And I probably look like I wrestled my bedding and lost. I groan. “You didn’t say crack-of-dawn skating.”
“It’s nearly noon.” He smiles, and I can’t help but return it.
“Semantics,” I mutter.
“Coffee?” He holds up one of two travel mugs.
“Lots of cream, one sugar,” I check.
He chuckles. “Yep.”
“Hand it over.”
He crosses the room and places it in my hand. Our fingers brush, and I’m all too aware of the contact. I pull the mug close and wrap both hands around it, just to have something to do with them. A flush spreads through me that I blame on the hot beverage and not his proximity.
His eyes drop to the covers pooling around my waist, and something flickers across his face before he runs a hand through his hair.
“C’mon. Get dressed.” He’s already backing toward the door. “Wear layers.”
I take a sip of coffee to avoid responding immediately.
“I’m going to need at least twenty minutes and maybe another one of these.” I tip my head toward my mug.
“Okay, princess.” He shakes his head, but looks amused. “I’ll be downstairs.”
Thirty minutes and one caffeine refill later, I’m downstairs in thermal leggings, jeans over them, and my thickest sweater.
Miles doesn’t seem to mind my delay. He’s by the front door, my coat already in his hands. “Ready?”
I turn and slide my arms into the sleeves. His hands linger on my shoulders after he’s helped me shrug it on. I’m hyperaware of his warmth at my back, the weight of his palms. The zipper sounds loud in the quiet house.
When I turn back, we’re standing close enough that I have to tilt my head to look at him. Close enough that I could reach out and—
I don’t. Instead, I step back, putting space between us.
He opens the door, the cold air slicing in. It’s a relief, cooling my heated cheeks.
He clears his throat. “One stop first.”
Miles insists on stopping at a sporting goods store, despite my protests about rentals. He says they don’t offer them where we’re going. But he still won’t tell me exactly where that is.
I’m now the proud owner of cream-colored hockey skates that probably cost more than my rent in Nashville, which I’m still paying, so I have a place to go back to in June.
My stomach feels light and heavy in equal measure as we walk back to the truck. It’s not even about the money. But that I can’t think of a single person who has ever taken care of me the way Miles does. Quietly. Without making it feel like a transaction or a favor to be returned. He just does it.
“Thank you,” I tell him as he opens my door.
He pauses, one hand on the frame. “You’re welcome.” He squeezes my shoulder once before closing it, the touch careful compared to how he held me last night.
The drive isn’t far, maybe another twenty minutes.
Then we’re trudging through the woods, breath clouding in the frigid air, snow crunching under our boots. Miles carries both pairs of skates over his shoulder while I focus on not tripping.
“You know,” I say, “this is exactly how every true crime documentary starts. ‘She followed him into the woods. No one ever saw her again.’”
Miles glances back, lips twitching. “Grace would miss you.”
“Just Grace?”
“Mia, too,” he adds flatly.
I stop in my tracks. When he keeps walking, I call to his back, “Excuse me. Rude.”
He turns, and there’s that smile. “I’d miss you, too, Starling.”
My heart does that stupid flipping thing again.
When I don’t move, he backtracks, reaches for my hand, and tugs me forward. “C’mon. We’re almost there.”
The trees open up a few minutes later, revealing a small pond. It’s secluded, surrounded by bare branches and evergreens, the surface a pristine sheet of gray-white ice.
“Oh,” I breathe. “This is pretty.” Which is an understatement. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like I’ve stepped into a snow globe.
“Yeah,” he agrees. But when I glance over, he’s looking at me, not the pond.
I turn toward him. “How’d you find this place?”
“I hike this trail when it’s warm.” He sets the skates down on a fallen log. “Come out here to clear my head.”
“You’re an outdoorsman.” I bet he’d get along with Jordan. They’d probably spend a whole afternoon fishing on a lake.
He huffs a laugh. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Is that why you live outside the city?”
“Part of it. I like the quiet.” He steps carefully onto the ice, testing it. He walks from edge to center, jumping once. “It’s solid,” he calls back. “But wait there.”
I sit on the log, and he drops down beside me, pulling my snow boot into his lap without a word.
“I can do that—”
“I know.” He doesn’t look up, just starts unlacing. “Let me. There’s a specific technique to it.”
I raise a brow, but nod. Once my boots are off, he works my feet into the skates, lacing them with careful precision.
“Too tight? Too loose?”
“I think they’re good.” I stand and wobble immediately.
“You haven’t even hit the ice yet.” His hands come to my waist, and I try my best to suppress a full-body shiver. Though I could blame it on the cold.
“Balancing on a thin piece of metal isn’t a skill normal people have.”
“You’ll get used to it.” He helps me sit down again while he laces up his own skates. When he’s done, he guides me carefully to the edge of the pond. “Okay. Step on. I’ve got you.”
I do, and my feet try to slide in opposite directions. I guess I haven’t improved since the episode we filmed on You’re The One, when the guys tried to teach us to skate, then we attempted to play hockey. Neither went particularly well.
Miles’s grip on my waist tightens, keeping me upright. He’ll be a better teacher than Ilya.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “Stand still for a second. Find your balance.”
Once I’m steady—or as steady as I’m going to get—he takes both of my hands in his.
“It’s kind of like walking.” He skates backward, pulling me along with him. “Push off with one foot, glide, then push off with the other. Don’t pick your feet up too high. Keep the movements small.”
“Just walk but glide?” I mumble. “Yep, that’s clear as mud.”
He chuckles. “Try it. Push off with your right foot.”
I do, and move approximately two inches before my left foot slides out from under me. He catches me before I face-plant.
“You’re doing good. Try again.”
We make slow, awkward progress across the pond. Miles skates effortlessly, while I look like a newborn calf discovering its legs. He doesn’t make me feel like a fool for it, though. He keeps that steady, encouraging smile in place and finds something to praise with every tiny improvement.
“When did you learn to skate?” I ask.
“I was three, I think.”
“Show off. Who taught you?”
“My dad.” A small smile crosses his face. “He played in the league, too.”
“Is that why you wanted to do it? Play hockey for a living?”
He considers it. “I love the game. That’s why I do it. But growing up with it…” He adjusts his grip on my hands. “It was always there, you know? Was music like that for you?”
He makes hockey sound like both a comfort and an inevitability.
“My grandmother was a singer. She lived with us when I was young, used to sing me Dolly Parton songs.”
“When’re you going to sing for me?”
Without thinking, I sing a few lines of Do I Ever Cross Your Mind, the song my grandmother used to sing while she braided my hair. My voice is small out here, swallowed by the trees and open air.
When I stop, my lips curve. “That was her favorite.”
“I think you might’ve made it mine, too.”
I duck my head, pretending to focus on my feet, and we both fall silent.
“Got some news this morning,” Miles says after a while. “Before I woke you up.”
I don’t know what to make of his expression. It’s happy, but there’s something layered underneath. Nerves? Excitement?
“Well, don’t hold out on me, what is it?” I jostle his hands, but it throws off my balance, so I stop.
“I got selected for Team Canada. For the 4 Nations Face-Off.”
“That’s amazing!” The words burst out of me, and without fully thinking it through, I jump. Luckily, Miles catches me around the waist and sets me back on my feet.
He stares at me, mouth twitching. “You have no idea what that is, do you?”
“Guilty.” I beam at him. “Tell me.”
He skates, pulling me along. “It’s replacing All-Star Weekend this year. Kind of like a mini-Olympics, but not nearly that cool.”
“Sounds pretty cool to me. When is it?” I duck my chin against the cold.
“February.” His gaze drifts to something over my shoulder, then comes back to me. “I’ll be gone about a week and a half for practices and games.”
A month from now.
Once he’s back, we’ll still have four months. Time that suddenly feels like both plenty and nowhere near enough.
“You’re going to be incredible.” I squeeze his hands, then push off with more confidence than skill. Miraculously, I manage something that almost resembles a glide.
“See? You’re getting it.” The pride on his face makes the victory all the more sweet.
“I’m barely moving.” I shuffle a little more, but don’t pick up speed.
“You’re doing it.” He circles me, one hand out in case I need it. “Want to try on your own?”
I clasp onto him. Part of me wants to prove I can do it—my gaze drops to where our hands are linked—but then I wouldn’t have this. “Absolutely not.”
We keep at it. Miles eventually lets go, hovering close and catching me every time I start to fall. Which is still often. But slowly, I get the hang of it.
By the time the sun dips low, casting long shadows across the ice, I’m actually skating. Sort of.
“Now, teach me to do one of those spinny things.”
“Nope.” His laugh carries across the ice as he watches me, hands tucked into his pockets.
“Why not?”
He moves to keep me in sight. “Because I’d like you to leave this pond without a concussion.”
“Do you see me?” I call out, slowly looping around the small pond. “I’m skating. I’m a natural—”
The toe of my skate catches, and I windmill my arms, barely staying upright. When I recover, I throw my arms out to the side and bow a little.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. Then louder, “We should head back. Sun’ll be going down soon.”
I tilt my face to the sky. Orange bleeds at the edges, but there’s still light left.
“I don’t wanna.” It comes out petulant, but I don’t even care.
I don’t want this day to end. Don’t want to return to the real world, where Boone’s waiting with his impossible standards that I’m constantly failing to meet.
Here, on this pond with Miles, I’m not the struggling songwriter. I’m just… happy.
Friendship was an impulsive decision, and not a particularly well-thought-out one on my part.
I knew that even when I said it. But I figured the chemistry between us would cool.
I didn’t think I’d keep finding new things to like about him.
My coffee made just right, the way he clearly cares but can’t quite decide whether he’s allowed to show it, how he brought me to this hidden pond—one of his favorite places.
Chemistry, I could’ve handled. This is something else entirely.
He moves, fast and unfairly smooth. When he reaches me, he turns and skates backward, keeping pace with my short strides. His expression softens.
“What?”
“You’re like a kid.” He shakes his head, a smile tugging at his mouth. “I like seeing you like this. Unguarded and present. Happy.”
“You make it easy.” My heart pounds at my own honesty. “Your company isn’t so bad,” I add, lighter.
He drifts closer and closer, until his breath practically fans my lips.
My heart hammers. I tilt my face up, just slightly. An invitation I don’t mean to give but can’t help. His eyes drop to my mouth. Only for a second. Just long enough for me to know he’s thinking it, too.
Then he pushes back, offering his hand. “Before it gets dark.”
Right.
We head off the ice. He makes quick work of unlacing our skates and getting us back into our boots. The walk to his truck is quieter, but still comfortable.
He tosses the skates in the trunk, and we climb in. I slip off my gloves and hold my hands up to the vents, flexing my fingers as warmth seeps back into them.
Miles starts the engine but doesn’t put the truck in drive. He sits there, hands on the wheel, staring out at the darkening woods.
“Thank you.” It comes out softer than I mean it to. My chest is so full it almost aches. “I needed this.”
He turns to look at me, his expression is warm and unguarded. But maybe a little sad, too. “Anytime, Starling.”
I have the inexplicable urge to touch him. To sweep hair from his forehead, to hold his hand, to rest my hand on his knee. But I don’t do any of it.
I smile at him, and his lips tip up, just barely, before he pulls out of the parking area as the last light fades from the sky.
I lean my head against the window, watching the trees blur past me, and try not to think about how much I’m going to miss days like this when I’m gone.
Try not to think about how much I’m going to miss him.
Try not to think about how I only have 147 days left.