Page 83 of My Rival for Christmas

She gives me a small, secret smile that clogs my throat with emotion as she nods. The familiar determined gleam when she steps on the ice is ever present.

I’m sure,she mouths with a wink before taking off like a bullet, skating around the rink with such grace as she builds momentum, finding her rhythm.

Waiting for the moment.

And when she finds it—she jumps.

My hands tighten, trying to keep myself in place as she spins around and around and around.

Then she lands.

And it’s perfect. No mistakes, no wrapping. Clean and expertly executed.

Perfect.

Just like her.

“You did it!” I sprint onto the rink before both her blades touch back down, skating over to her with the biggest grin. Clover cheers, going crazy in celebration. Not quite realizing the depth of this moment.

But I do. And I can’t get to her fast enough.

When I’m finally within distance, I swoop Paige into my arms, lifting her above my head and spinning us in a circle.

She’s finally gotten out of her head, enough to land the jump she’s always been able to do. The passion that she’s been missing is back in her face as she holds onto my shoulders. Laughing.

Her laugh fills the rink as I lower her back down, my hands cupping her cheeks. “You fucking did it,” I whisper, ever mindful of the child near us.

“I did it,” she whispers back, grabbing onto one of my wrists while reaching for the new necklace around her throat with the other. Christmas Day was spent a lot like how we ended Christmas Eve, getting lost in each other’s bodies. Making up for all the time we didn’t have together.

But as someone who actually loves Christmas, I couldn’t let the day go without at least one present. Especially when I knew there was a box in the cabin with Paige’s name on it.

So I braved the hoarder’s dream closet, formally known as my bedroom, breathing in enough dust that my sinuses are still fucked from it, digging around until I found my old gym bag.

The present I wrapped six years ago still inside.

The present she’s now wearing around her neck.

Two ice skates dangle from the gold chain—one white and one black, like the ones around our feet, with each of our initials carved into the blades.

Paige cried a little bit when I told her how long I had it. How long I’d been waiting to give it to her, swearing to never take it off. I’ve caught her playing with it more than a few times since.

“But do you think I’m ready?” she asks, nervously dragging the skates along the chain.

On the plane ride here, Paige asked if she could tell me about her skating plan, prefacing it by stating I couldn’t get mad. I didn’t understand why until she told me she’s not ready to skate together again.

Quickly rushing to add, it’s because she doesn’t want to complicate us learning how to be together as a couple with trying to be partners again. She wants to take time to build a foundation between us, dealing with the everyday stressors before we think about incorporating the pressures of skating on top of it.

She wants to just be Nate and Paige, together and in love.

She is going to keep skating, though. But she’s going to do it in a healthy way that helps her reconnect with the sport she loves so much.

And she’s not looking to do it with a partner this time.

She’s going to try a solo career.

To stick it to all the people that doubt her talent without me. Paige with an axe to grind is an impressively scary thing, and I can’t wait for her to make all the naysayers eat their words.

“I don’t think the world is ready for you. But I am. And I can’t wait to be cheering you on the whole way.” I kiss her, hard and fast.

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