Chapter Twelve
Caution, Meet Wind
Tuesday morning Finn stumbled into the kitchen to find Holly haunting the coffeepot. She gestured at his phone, which he’d left plugged in by the fridge so that he couldn’t roll over in the middle of the night and think about texting Robbie. “You’re popular this morning.”
He grunted and nudged her away from the pot. “I know why I look like shit. Why do you look like shit?”
“Producer Paul,” Holly said pensively. She watched Finn pour himself a mug of coffee, then topped up her own mug and brought the entire pot to the table, where she set it in front of herself.
“He’s really pushing this idea of doing a Dancing with the Stars style tour after the season’s done.
” She paused and winced. “I shouldn’t have told you that. ”
Finn looked at his coffee—sad and black, the way he normally took it during competition season—and decided it could use a pick-me-up.
He added a generous amount of Holly’s caramel-flavored creamer so he could drink it without burning himself and sat down across from her.
“It’s not like I’m not gonna find out later today.
” His meeting with Producer Paul was scheduled for a few hours from now.
“You don’t want to take the show on the road? ”
“I work in TV, not live events.” She hunched her shoulders. “And it would mean giving up Scarborough Fare.”
Holly spent her summers with Dance Your Ice Off, but during the rest of the year she worked on a middle-budget sitcom about rival food truck owners. Finn remembered the day she got her first job as an assistant producer on a CBC show. He’d never seen her so excited.
“Right.” Finn blew out a breath and slugged his coffee. “So I guess you’re… leaving.”
“If the plan doesn’t change, yeah.”
Shit. Finn loved working with Holly. Now it looked like, whatever happened, he probably wouldn’t be doing that for much longer.
Just a few weeks ago, his summer had looked bright—a new relationship, renewed passion for his work, even that call from Scott. And now it was all slipping through his fingers at once, and on top of that, he wouldn’t get to work with his best friend.
Ugh. How much more of Gail’s tea was he going to have to drink this summer?
“Hey.” Holly kicked him under the table. “Don’t make that face. I’m already sad. You have to fake it for me until I’m ready to fake it for you. Quid pro quo.”
Somehow she always knew what to say. Smiling wryly, Finn stood and tugged on the end of her ponytail. “All right. Pancakes for breakfast?”
“Yes, please.”
He was just loading the plates in the dishwasher when his cellphone rang and he remembered what Holly had said about his multiple messages. Cursing to himself, he picked it up and checked the caller.
Scott.
Oh shit. “Good morning.”
“Finn!” Scott said jovially. “Glad I reached you. I’m wondering if you have time to chat a bit this morning.”
Finn glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Sure, I don’t have to be on-site until this afternoon. What can I do for you?”
“Would you be able to come out to Mississauga for an hour or so this morning? I’d like to introduce you to Willow and Bentley, see how you get along.”
Holy shit.
Was Finn ready to do that?
Could he afford to say no?
“I know it’s last-minute—”
“No,” Finn said quickly. He might not feel qualified, or ready, or whatever, but he couldn’t let this opportunity slip by. “No, that’s fine, I’ll just get my stuff and head right to the set after.”
Fortunately he’d showered the night before, so he only had to wash his face and pull on a pair of athletic pants and a T-shirt. His skates basically lived in his car at this point. Keys, slides, extra socks shoved in his pocket.
He said a quick goodbye to Holly, slid into his car, then pulled out his phone to check the location of the rink.
He had five texts from Robbie.
Kid’s finally in bed. There was talking, tears, and Timbits. Fortunately no tantrums.
From me. The kid would never.
I’ve been thinking. Practice tomorrow?
I need to get back on the horse. And also the ice. Shake off that shitty performance so I can not disgrace us next time.
Pretty sure we know one half of the bottom two this week.
Finn bit his lip as he read that last one and saw the timestamp of late last night.
I thought being the bottom was my job, he shot back.
Not that he’d get much chance to work that job today or any time soon. Not if Robbie wanted to focus on practice this afternoon. Looked like it would be another few days waiting in agony for Robbie’s cock while having to put their arms all over each other while in public. It was fine.
Glad the kid’s okay and that YOU made it through the night without any screaming or crying ;p
See you at the rink after lunch? 1pm?
When no answer immediately came—and his messages were still unread—Finn chucked his phone into the console and turned the car towards Mississauga.
At the rink, Finn checked his phone before exiting the car and found a response from Robbie.
Pretty sure screaming and crying also in your job description, sweetheart ;)
I’ll be counting the minutes until 1. Until then—Adieu, adieu!
Finn snorted and quickly typed out, Someone thinks highly of themselves. And is also melodramatic. Until 1. Gotta run!
He’d made it halfway across the parking lot when Scott called, “Finn!” He jogged up. “Come on, the kids are already on the ice and eager to meet you.”
Scott chattered away as he and Finn laced up. “They’re great kids. Lots of potential, real go-getters, you know? They want this and are ready to work for it.”
On the ice, Scott led the way to two middle schoolers.
The boy was tall and lanky with a wingspan that suggested he wasn’t done growing.
His large dark eyes stood out in contrast to his light brown skin.
His partner barely reached his chin, and she stood with her arms crossed and hips cocked.
She eyed Finn through narrowed eyes beneath a fluffy ’fro barely contained by a scrunchy.
“Finn, meet Bentley and Willow. Kids, meet Finn Graham.”
Bentley looked at Finn like he couldn’t believe his luck. Like he wanted to pinch himself and whisper-shout at Willow, “Finn Graham is gonna coach us!”
Willow looked at Finn like he was an especially slobbery dog that was liable to chew up her favourite sneakers. She eyed him from toe to head. Make that a slobbery dog she’d just caught having chewed up her favourite sneakers.
Something told Finn that Willow would be more work to win over, but that she just might end up being Finn’s favourite.
“Good to meet you both.” He offered his hand for a shake—Willow first. From the slight narrowing of her gaze, he suspected she knew it was an intentional move to gain her good graces, but he didn’t think she was mad about it. “I’ve seen some of your routines. You’ve got great on-ice presence.”
Willow accepted this compliment with a nod. Bentley shook Finn’s hand a little too enthusiastically and said, “Oh, wow, thanks.”
Okay. If Finn ended up with this gig—still a long shot—he could have two favourites.
Scott clapped his hands. “All right, now that we’ve made the introductions, I want to see what you make of their work together. Skaters, let’s see the last routine you worked on with Carlos, all right?”
He and Finn moved to the edge of the ice and sat on the boards as Scott pulled up their playlist. “And action.”
“About Damn Time” burst over the arena speakers—a good choice, Finn thought, for a young pair of skaters. High energy, not too sexy, just fun. He approved of the choice. Ice dancers or not, they deserved to be kids as long as they could.
He ignored the part of his brain that wanted to point out that when he and Paris were that age, they thought nothing of her barely-there costumes. It was just normal—expected.
At least today, Willow and Bentley were dressed much the same—athletic pants and T-shirts.
In that respect, they were well matched.
But as they tandem-skated around the ice, Finn clocked the distance between them growing a little too wide.
And then too small again as Bentley almost hit Willow in the face during a turn.
Ah. It didn’t take a genius to spot the problem. “Stop the music,” Finn told Scott.
When Willow and Bentley paused at centre ice, Finn skated up to meet them. “Growth spurt?” he asked Bentley.
Bentley’s cheeks went pink. “Uh—what?”
Willow rolled her eyes. “Yeah,” she said. “The clown shoes didn’t give it away?”
Now that she mentioned it, Bentley’s skates did seem comically large in proportion to the rest of him. Finn would bet the growth spurt wasn’t done with him. “That explains it. Willow, you’re falling behind because Bentley is suddenly, what, two or three inches taller than he used to be?”
Scowling, she nodded. “At least he didn’t try to give me a black eye this time. Bad enough that I’m short now.”
Ah, the teenage years. Willow knew being short was to her advantage in their sport, but that didn’t make being a pint-size teenager any less annoying.
“It’s not your fault,” Finn said. “It’s not Bentley’s fault either.
Your brain just needs time to catch up to knowing where your hands and feet are.
But in the meantime, you can’t practice like this. ”
Willow and Bentley looked at each other, then back at Finn. Bentley’s eyebrows were knitted in honest confusion. Willow looked like she was considering socking Finn in the jaw. “So, what, we’re just supposed to not practice until he finishes growing?”
“Nope,” Finn said cheerfully. “You’re gonna switch places.”
Bentley’s expression didn’t change. Willow’s turned calculating, like she was reevaluating her opinion of him. Like maybe Finn could be a dog that brought her slippers instead of wrecked her favourite shoes. “Switch places,” she repeated.
“You set the pace. Bentley matches you. When his muscles remember what’s what, you can switch back again.”