Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
The only one with real energy is Sabrina—she’s the earliest riser of us all.
“You can take the girl out of four-thirty a.m. wake-up calls, but you can’t take the early bird out of the girl,” she says as she slides into the front seat, caffeine-free.
Meanwhile, I need a serious jolt. I can’t believe I forgot to brew coffee, but before I can even suggest swinging by a drive-thru espresso hut in the Marina, Sabrina hands me a travel mug, a tendril of steam curling from it.
Fuck, I think I love her.
“Thank you,” I say, leaning in. I’m this close to dropping a chaste kiss on her lips across the console when her eyes widen—right as I come to my senses.
The kids are in the backseat. I can’t kiss her in front of them.
I yank back at lightning speed, by stealing a glimpse in the rearview mirror with a guilty gulp. I hope they didn’t notice my almost mistake, but I can’t tell. Luna is still yawning, and Parker is staring at something on his phone.
“By my calculations, we have forty minutes to get there, Dad. If you go seven miles over the speed limit on the highway—”
I pull out of the garage and step on it.
Sabrina turns around and offers sliced apples to the kids, along with Rowan’s homemade peanut butter to dip it in—probably a Christmas gift from Mia to Luna. That perks them up, along with the promise to snag pancakes when we’re done.
Before the sun pokes its head above the horizon, we arrive at the rink in Cozy Valley. It’s an outdoor rink, and I reserved it the other night. We hustle out of the car, check in, and head outside.
The thing about Cozy Valley is that it’s nestled in the rolling foothills at the edge of Wine Country. Even though it’s California and we don’t get much snow around here, the tiny peaks are gorgeous in their nudity—no white caps, but all powerful rocks rising amidst trees still green.
It’s chilly, in the high thirties, though it’ll warm up soon.
Sabrina wears black leggings, and she’s pulling on pink leg warmers and a white jacket—light enough for her to move freely in. We hit the rink as the kids huddle on benches.
“I’ll be your backup, Dad,” Luna says.
“I’ll be the director,” Parker adds.
“Perfect,” Sabrina tells them as she laces her white skates while I tug on my black ones.
The thing is, she can shoot videos herself, using the stick and the stabilizer thingy.
But I want to do this for her.
I want to be the one capturing her.
We step onto the ice in this rink that looks like a frozen lake in winter. It’s still and bracingly beautiful in the chilly dawn air. I’ve got her phone in my hand, the video settings already adjusted for movement and tracking.
“Let’s do it, Snow,” I tell her.
“Catch me if you can, Falcon,” she says.
I want to RSVP with a hell yes.
An always yes.
She pushes off on one foot, then glides on both blades, quickly gathering speed, her blonde hair flying like a mane behind her. I keep pace with her the whole time, filming her as she moves—graceful, athletic—while the sun peeks over the horizon, peach and pink painting the morning sky.
She races backward, a blur of black and white and pink motion, shiny and strong, and I do my best to capture every crossover, every spin, every jump.
And as she builds strength and momentum, her arms widen, like she’s inviting all of us into her world—of ice, of beauty, of strength, of grace, of confidence.
I can’t help but think of the hand she was dealt by her family, by her ex.
But here she is.
As resilient as the morning. As strong as the ice beneath her blades.
As brave as the birds soaring past her while the sun climbs above the horizon, bringing on a new day.
When she spins—head back, arms wide—it’s like she’s melting into nature itself.
And I can only hope I’ve done this justice.
Then she finishes, and her breath comes fast as she skates over to me, cheeks rosy, face glowing. There’s a look that says she’s about to come in for a celebratory kiss too.
And it’s my turn to hit the brakes.
I give a quick nod toward the two little kids rushing toward us on their blades.
It hurts to keep holding back.
Especially when they ask to skate with us, and the four of us take laps around the rink together.
The four of us.
This is what I want.
More than I want to have a great season. More than I want to win every game. I want to catch her and keep her. With us.
But how the hell I’m going to do that is still up for debate.
We meet Corbin at The Cozy Griddle, where we demolish more stacks of pancakes than I can count—most with hemp hearts and bananas, of course. When we’re done, it’s past nine, so the town has fully woken up.