Chapter 19
VIVIAN
Isit on the porch step, one leg tucked under me, the other stretched out into the late afternoon sun like I’m trying to soak up as much warmth as possible before I willingly walk into a building designed to freeze people for fun.
Most folks are wrapped in jackets the size of living room rugs when they march through those doors, but not me.
I’m wearing my favorite light pink tank top, light pants that are probably meant more for a stroll on the beach rather than a date on an ice rink, and a cute pair of sandals I’ve been dying to wear all summer.
And, sitting beside me, a very full tote bag that absolutely ruins the illusion that I’m low-maintenance.
I glance down at it with no regrets. If I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that being unprepared is a personal attack waiting to happen.
And when a man you want to impress asks you out and makes it a surprise, with the only hint being “ice,” well… you make a plan.
A car pulls up at the curb, and my stomach does a small, traitorous flip once I see Ty behind the wheel, smiling my way. Why do some boys have the innate ability to make my knees go weak with a mere grin?
I push to my feet, grab my bag, and head down the steps just as Ty leans over to push the passenger door open.
“Hey,” he says, easy, like this is normal. Like picking me up on a random weekday is a thing we do now.
“Hey.” I slide into the seat, dragging the bag in after me. It lands with a thud against my legs.
He glances down at it, then back at me, a teasing and slow grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“You have a giant bag with you.”
I buckle my seatbelt like I don’t hear the judgment.
“Do you think you’re moving into the rink?” he adds.
I turn my head, already halfway into my defense.
“No. I just—” I gesture vaguely at the bag.
“I’m making sure I have options. When you said we were headed for a date that involved ice, I decided that being underprepared was a very bad idea.
Especially since I have no idea what this is going to be like. ”
“It’s not that complicated, I promise,” he tosses out casually, pulling away from the curb.
“Have you ever ice skated before?”
I give him a look. “Yes. I’ve ice skated. I’ve roller skated. I’ve done all the skates.” A beat. “It’s just been a long time.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And,” I add, lifting my chin slightly, “again, options. I am a woman who requires those. What if we do something after we leave here and I need to be in hiking shoes? I should be prepared.”
He glances at me again, something amused and a little impressed flickering across his face. “You packed hiking shoes?”
“Just making a point.”
Ty shoots me a side-eyed look that makes me giggle, and we fall into a comfortable quiet after that, the kind that doesn’t feel like we forced it.
The windows are down a crack, enough to let the warm air in, and the sun is starting its slow slide toward evening, casting everything in that soft, golden light that makes the world feel like it’s behaving itself for once.
It’s the perfect moment for me to steal a glance at him. His hands are steady on the wheel, his sleeves pushed up. He’s both focused and relaxed, and I’ll be…he looks mighty fine when he’s doing it, too.
He weaves along the streets in the direction of our destination and we talk easily about our days, about Emma and what she’s doing today with their mom, and about the teams—both the 14U Cardinals and the Dominion.
It’s not long before the familiar shape of The Birdcage comes into view, rising up like it owns the skyline.
I take it in, sitting up a little straighter as it clicks into place.
“Why are we here?”
Ty slows as we pull into the lot, like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I gesture out the windshield. “I thought that The Birdcage wasn’t being used by you guys in the offseason, that you only use the practice rink?”
“The Birdcage is used for events, concerts, and even conventions when we’re not here, but…” He smirks, parking the car. “This week? The Ice Capades are in town so the rink is in use.”
“Okay,” I turn slowly and wait for him to say something more, expound if you will, and he doesn’t. “And?”
“And what?”
“And you’re giving me absolutely nothing right now, which means you’re hiding something.”
A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he kills the engine. “Maybe I just enjoy watching you spiral.”
“I am not spiraling.”
“You’re absolutely spiraling.”
“I’m cautiously concerned.”
“That’s just spiraling with better branding.”
I narrow my eyes at him as he climbs out of the car. “Ty.”
“Vivian.”
“What are we doing?”
“You ask a lot of questions for someone about to have a very good time.”
That should not make my stomach flip the way it does.
Inside, the arena feels completely different without twenty thousand fans in it. The overhead bowl lights are dimmed except for the glow pouring over the ice, where a handful of Ice Capades skaters spin across center rink in glittering costumes while music echoes through the empty arena.
I stop walking for half a second just to take it in. “Okay, this is actually kind of incredible.”
“I know.” Ty glances over at me, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Try not to sound too shocked.”
A security guard near the tunnel spots him immediately.
“McCade,” he says with a grin, holding a fist out for a bump. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
Ty shrugs. “Yeah, sorry for not giving you a head’s up, but I’m cashing in a favor.”
The guard’s eyes shift toward me, his grin widening almost instantly in that way older men do when they think they’re witnessing something cute.
“Ah,” he says knowingly. “Got it.”
The guard heads toward the ice, speaking with one of the production staff members near the boards. A minute later, the skaters begin gathering their things, gliding off toward the opposite tunnel while chatting amongst themselves.
I watch after them, then slowly turn toward Ty. “What is happening?”
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, suddenly looking weirdly unsure of himself for a man who plays professional hockey in front of sold-out crowds.
“I got the ice for a little bit.”
My mouth parts slightly. “Ty—”
“They technically have the arena this week,” he says quickly, motioning toward the retreating performers.
“And I could’ve just taken you to the practice rink at the Dominion Ice Center, but…
” He exhales a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I don’t know. I wanted to do something bigger than that. ”
My heart skips as his gaze catches mine.
“To be honest,” he says, “I really wanted to wow you.” He glances out toward the empty rink. “Thought this might be cooler, a better way to make an impression.”
His words slam into me like a freight train.
This man is trying to make a good impression on…
me? Not because he has to. Not because there are cameras around or fans watching or sponsors expecting him to smile for a photo op.
He arranged private ice in an NHL arena in the middle of summer because somewhere along the line, making me happy started to matter to him.
And maybe the most dangerous part is how carefully he did it.
“Come on,” he says. “You trust me, right?”
I narrow my eyes. “I feel like I should ask follow-up questions.”
“Or,” he counters, already backing toward the benches, “you could just follow me.”
“No pressure, right? I’m only hitting the ice with you, while professional ice dancers are nearby,” I exhale, long and dramatic, but my feet are already moving. “Fine. But if I embarrass myself, that’s on you.”
Ty chuckles as we head down to the bench area, the cold hitting harder the closer we get to the ice. I instinctively tuck my hands under my arms, shoulders hunching just a little.
“Okay, I admit defeat,” I mutter. “It’s freezing in here.”
Ty glances over, amused. “But, you brought options.”
I shoot him a look, already digging into my bag. “Don’t act like you weren’t making fun of the options ten minutes ago.”
“I wasn’t making fun,” he says. “I was appreciating the preparation.”
“Sure you were.”
I tug my sweatshirt over my head, the fabric instantly trapping some warmth, and decide that if our date requires actual athletic skill, we’re both about to be disappointed.
When I look back up, he’s gone. “Ty?”
“Here.”
He reappears a second later, carrying a pair of skates like it’s the most normal thing in the world. He drops down onto the bench in front of me and nudges my foot lightly with his hand.
“Sit.”
There’s something about the calm and certain way he says it that has me doing what he says without argument. I shift onto the bench, setting my bag beside me, and extend one leg. He takes my foot, guiding it up onto his knee.
Okay. Hold up. That…feels more intimate than expected.
I still, just for a second, watching as he loosens the laces, his fingers moving with practiced ease. He’s focused, head tipped slightly down, lashes casting faint shadows against his cheeks in the bright arena lights. Little does he know my breath hitches at the sight.
“You sure you remember how to do this?” he asks, glancing up briefly.
“Wow,” I say, grateful for the reprieve so I can get out of my own head. “A girl can’t catch a break?”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Just checking.”
He slides the skate onto my foot, steadying my ankle with one hand, the other pressing it into place.
His grip is firm but careful, like he knows exactly how much pressure to use, the heat of his fingertips managing to basically sear through my pants.
My fingers curl slightly against the edge of the bench as he starts lacing it up, pulling the strings through with quick, efficient movements.
Each tug tightens the skate, his knuckles brushing lightly against my ankle, my calf.