Chapter 3
Three
NOAH
T he rhythmic scrape of metal against ice fills the air as I methodically sharpen a pair of skates. I want them with a flatter hollow to make for a smoother glide. Most people out here aren’t looking to carve it up. We have a few who are really good, but stability is more important.
The sound is as familiar to me as my own heartbeat, a constant backdrop to my days here at the rental trailer. The smell of leather and cold metal mingles with the winter air that sneaks in through the cracks, creating a scent that’s uniquely mine.
My hands move automatically, muscle memory taking over as my mind wanders. It’s been three days since the tree-lighting ceremony, but I can’t seem to shake the memory of that night. The tree lights dance behind my eyelids every time I close my eyes, the noises echoing in my ears like a half-remembered song. The smell of roasted nuts is a siren’s call, and I’m kicking myself for not buying a cone.
I may be allowing all that to take over in an effort to crowd out thoughts of Paige. Her smile and adventurous spirit have taken up residence in my thoughts, an unwelcome distraction from my carefully ordered life.
I sigh, setting aside the freshly sharpened skates and reaching for another pair. The leather is smooth beneath my calloused fingers. This is ridiculous , I chide myself. I’m acting like a lovesick teenager, not a grown man with a business to run. What does it matter if I saw Paige? She’s probably already left town, off on her next adventure. And even if she hasn’t, what would someone like her want with someone like me?
The logical part of my brain, the part I’ve relied on for so long, tells me to forget about her. To focus on what’s in front of me—the skates that need sharpening, the forms that need filling out, the predictable rhythm of my days. But another part, a part I thought I’d silenced long ago, whispers of possibilities. Of “what ifs” and “maybes” that I can’t quite ignore. If I filmed like Paige, I’d be on the other side of the camera. Like with my art, I want to witness the world and put my audience in it. I want to highlight the people around me and showcase them.
A group of children rushes by the trailer window, their laughter ringing out across the frozen pond. I watch as they strap on their skates, wobbling onto the ice with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. I’ve seen this family of kids. They’re using hand-me-down skates, and their coats don’t match their hats, but they don’t seem to care about fashion as much as they care about having a good time. Their joy is infectious, and I find myself smiling.
My thoughts drift back to Paige. I wonder what she’s doing now. Is she still in town? I imagine her exploring some exotic location, phone in hand, that radiant smile lighting up her face as she discovers something new and exciting. The image sends a pang through my chest that feels dangerously close to longing.
I’m so lost in my head that I don’t hear the crunch of footsteps approaching. It’s only when a shadow falls across my workbench that I look up, my heart skipping a beat as I meet a pair of familiar midnight-blue eyes.
“Paige?” I whisper. I blink and glance around, wondering if I’m dreaming this moment or if she’s really here. Did I summon her with my thoughts?
Paige’s bundled up in a puffy jacket the color of fresh snow, a bright blue scarf wrapped around her neck that makes her eyes seem even more vibrant. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, giving her a glow that makes my breath catch in my throat.
“Noah, right?” Her voice is warm and melodious, like the jingle of sleigh bells on a clear winter’s night.
I nod, suddenly acutely aware of my work-worn jeans and the smudges of grease on my hands. I resist the urge to wipe them on my pants, knowing it would only draw more attention to my disheveled state. “That’s me,” I manage to say, my voice sounding rough to my own ears. My empathy for Sam just went up twenty notches. At least I remembered my name—which is more than he could say on many occasions when face-to-face with Alexis. “Can I help you with something?”
Paige’s smile widens, and I swear the temperature around us rises a few degrees. “I was hoping to rent some skates,” she says, leaning slightly against the counter. “It’s been years since I’ve been on the ice, but I couldn’t resist giving it a try while I’m in town.”
As I process her words, a thousand thoughts race through my mind. She remembers my name. She’s still in town. She’s here, at my trailer, talking to me. I force myself to take a deep breath, to slip into the role of business owner. The scent of her perfume—something light and floral that reminds me of spring—wafts toward me, a stark contrast to the winter air.
“Of course,” I say, proud of how steady my voice sounds. “What size do you need?”
As I turn to fetch a pair of skates in her size, I hear the soft rustle of fabric as Paige shifts, leaning further over the counter to peer into the cramped interior of my trailer. “You know,” she says, her voice tinged with curiosity, “I think we went to elementary school together. You were a couple of grades ahead of me, right?”
My mouth falls open in surprise. My hands move automatically, selecting a pair of skates that look like they’ll fit her perfectly. “Yeah, that’s right. I didn’t think you’d remember that.” Should I have admitted that I was wondering if she’d remember me?
Her laugh echoes in the small space of the trailer, seeming to chase away some of the winter chill. “Small town, small school. It’s hard to forget faces, even after all these years.”
I hand her the skates, and our fingers brush for the briefest moment. A jolt of electricity seems to pass between us. My gaze darts to her eyes. They widen slightly, making me think she felt that too.
“So,” Paige says, playing with the laces, “what have you been up to? Did you go to art school?”
I feel a flush creep up my neck, suddenly embarrassed by the smallness of my life compared to hers. Memories flash through my mind—late nights spent hunched over a drawing board, dreams of art school and gallery openings, and the thrill of creating something beautiful out of nothing. I push them aside, focusing instead on the here and now, on the practical reality of my life.”No, you know," I say, gesturing vaguely at the trailer, “this is pretty much it. Renting skates and maintaining the ice. It’s not much, but it’s mine.”
I brace myself for the pity or disappointment I expect to see in her eyes. But when I meet Paige’s gaze, I’m caught off guard by the warmth I find there.
“That’s really cool, Noah,” she says, and there’s a genuine admiration in her voice that I wasn’t prepared for. “You’ve carved out your own niche here.”
Her words are kind, and something about Paige’s presence, her interest, makes me want to share more. Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “I’ve seen your channel. Your videos. They’re... they’re really great.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back. What must she think of me now? Some small-town nobody who spends his free time living vicariously through her adventures? But when I dare to look at her face, I’m surprised once again.
Paige’s eyes widen, a genuine look of pleasure spreading across her features. The air around us crackles with an energy I can’t quite define, but I’m liking a lot.
For a moment, she looks almost... shy? It’s such a contrast to the confident, adventurous persona I’ve seen in her videos that it takes me aback. “Really?” she says, her voice soft. “Noah, that’s such a huge compliment coming from someone like you.”
Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “Someone like me? What do you mean?”
She ducks her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture that’s so endearing I fall a little deeper into her. “Oh, come on,” she says, a hint of a blush coloring her cheeks. “You were always the artistic one. I remember seeing your drawings and paintings in Art Hall and being amazed that someone our age could create like that. I admired you for putting yourself out there—it was one of the reasons I was brave enough to start my channel.”
I stare at her, shocked. Me—an inspiration? “You... you remember my work?”
Paige nods, her lips twitching with amusement. “Of course I do. I was in awe of your talent. I used to wish I could draw like that.”
Her words stir up a whirlwind of emotions in me. Pride at the memory of my artistic abilities. Sadness at the dreams I’ve let slip away. I’m reliable now. Not at all the flighty artist who couldn’t keep track of his math book. I’m content.
Aren’t I?
The question echoes in my mind, unsettling in its persistence. I’ve spent a long time convincing myself that this life is enough, but standing here, seeing myself through Paige’s eyes, I feel those old desires to share my art stirring to life.
Paige’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, her words coming out in a puff of white in the cold air. “So, have you been out snowshoeing in the hills lately? I was thinking of giving it a try while I’m here, for old times’ sake.”
The question catches me off guard, jolting me back to the present. “Snowshoeing?” I repeat, my mind scrambling to shift gears. The image of snow-covered trails and pristine winter landscapes flashes through my mind. “Some. Not as much as I’d like. The trails up there are beautiful this time of year.”
“Really?” Paige’s eyes light up with excitement, reminding me of the enthusiasm I’ve seen in her travel videos. It’s strange and wonderful to see that same passion directed at our little corner of the world. “I’d love to check them out, but I’m not sure I want to go alone.”
There’s a hint of a question in her voice, an invitation hanging in the air between us. My heart rate picks up. Before I can think better of it, the words tumble out of my mouth. “I could take you.”
As soon as the offer leaves my lips, I’m mortified. What am I thinking? Paige goes on adventures . The most exciting thing that ever happens when I’m snowshoeing is… well … nothing.
“I mean,” I stammer, trying to backtrack, my cheeks burning despite the cold air, “if you want. If you don’t have other plans. It’s probably not as exciting as the places you usually visit...”
But Paige doesn’t let me finish. “Noah, that would be amazing,” she exclaims, her enthusiasm washing over me like a warm wave. “Are you free this weekend? Saturday, maybe?”
I find myself nodding, unable to resist the infectious nature of her excitement. It’s like being caught up in a whirlwind. “Yeah, Saturday works,” I hear myself saying. “We could meet here around nine? If that’s not too early for you.” Me and Sam are scheduled, but I happen to know that Alexis works every Saturday morning, so he won’t have a reason to slip away. They’ve been seeing each other daily since the tree lighting.
“Nine is perfect,” Paige says, grabbing the skates. The metal blades glint in the winter sunlight. “I can’t wait. Thanks for the skates.” She waves and heads over to a bench to put them on and lace up.
The second she’s away from the window, I’m hit with a whirlwind of emotions. Excitement bubbles up in my chest at the thought of spending time with Paige, mixed with a healthy dose of nerves. What if I make a fool of myself? What if she realizes how boring I am compared to her globe-trotting lifestyle? A sense of anticipation, of possibility, mingles in with all of it. Paige didn’t look at me like I was a small-town boy who did the predictable thing—she looked at me like I’m something special. That does some crazy good things for my confidence.
As the day wears on, customers come and go, a steady stream of familiar faces and tourists alike. I go through the motions of renting skates, offering advice on lacing techniques, and warning about thin ice. But it all feels different somehow, as if I’m seeing my little corner of the world through new eyes.
I catch myself smiling for no reason, my heart racing at random moments as I remember the way Paige’s eyes lit up when she talked about snowshoeing. The mundane tasks that usually fill my day—sharpening skates, balancing the cash box, sweeping the floor of the trailer—take on a dreamlike quality. It’s as if I’m moving through a fog, my mind constantly drifting to thoughts of the upcoming weekend.
As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange that reflect off the ice in a dazzling display, I start the process of closing up the trailer. The last customers of the day return their skates, their cheeks flushed and smiles on their faces as they recount their adventures on the ice.
I wave goodbye to the stragglers, watching as they make their way toward the warmth and light of the Christmas market. The smell of roasted chestnuts and apple cider drifts over on the evening breeze, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since this morning.
By the time I close up the trailer for the night, the full weight of what I’ve agreed to hits me. I’m going snowshoeing with Paige Henderson. Paige, who’s traveled the world, who’s experienced things I can only dream of. Part of me wants to call the whole thing off, to retreat back into the safety of my routine. To wake up tomorrow and go about my day as if this afternoon never happened. But another part, a part that sounds suspiciously like the boy who used to dream of art and adventure, urges me forward.