Page 23 of Hard to Judge

“Hi,” I say stupidly. As though I haven’t seen him almost daily for the past decade.

“Hey.” He smiles back just as dumbly.

I shift to grab his nape and pull him close. Something happens. Namely, ice skates. The world teeters for half a second before I tilt and fall.

My back meets the foam padding of the staging area a moment before Hota’s massive chest lands on my belly. The wind exits my lungs like Hota was looking to exit the ice skating portion of the night just a few moments ago.

We land in a heap of tangled arms and legs.

“Are you okay?” Hota gasps, trying to push up and off me. There’s alarm in his eyes. The man never panics, not in the tensest business meeting or in the face of physical danger. I know he’s freaking out, waiting for my panic to surface. I know he’s trying to protect me, even from himself.

I hold tight to his hand, which I didn’t release during our fall. My free arm wraps around the breadth of his shoulders.

He takes the hint and stills. His stunning eyes blink me in, blink us in. In rapid succession, I watch him clock our hands still clasped, our chests touching, and our legs tangled.

Then his frantic gaze lifts to Hailey.

She smiles at us and then squats near our heads, graceful as ever. “Koi to seki to wa kakusarenu.” With that, she stands and heads for the ice.

Both Hota’s and my mouth are wide the fuck open. Shock at the fact that Hailey spoke Japanese is quickly overridden by what she said. It doesn’t translate into English verbatim. The gist of it is…love and a cough cannot be hidden.

Meaning that Hota and I cannot hide our love for each other. And she said it with a smile, the sweetest smile.

“Did you know she speaks Japanese?” Hota asks.

I shake my head because words somehow fail me.

“What the fuck?” he whispers between us in a bit of a daze himself.

I can’t fight my smile. “I don’t know. Maybe we both hit our heads.”

“Um, excuse me.” A tiny voice filters into our already slanted world. When I look up, a girl no more than three feet tall stares down at us. She’s wearing teal from her knit cap to her skates and everything in between. The only thing not teal on her is her jet-black hair and mocha skin.

Where do people find a tiny teal coat?

“Sorry!” Hota puts two and two together way faster than me. He hustles to his skates and hoists me up like I’m not as big as he is. “There you go, miss.” His big hand showcases the newly cleared path to the rink with a flourish.

She laughs. “My name is Coco, not miss.”

“I apologize, Coco.” Hota presses his palms together and bows. “Please forgive me.”

Watching Hota interact with this little girl dissipates the chill from the cold winter night and wet flooring I’d just sprawled across. It makes my insides mushy and produces a weird sense of euphoria unlike any I’ve ever experienced.

“Okay.” Coco toddles toward the rink while I stare back and forth between the two of them.

“Should we keep an eye on her?” Hota’s neck cranes left and right. “Where are her parents?”

About the time the little girl reaches the ice, she transforms from a literal toddler to a fucking Olympic-level figure skater before our very eyes.

“You. Definitely, you. I can’t keep up.” Hota urges me toward the ice.

“Hell, I can’t either.” I gawk at the munchkin doing twirls while skating backward.

“Coco?” A woman’s frantic voice pulls our attention to the left.

She pushes out of the bathroom with her hip, balling up a paper towel and tossing it into the nearest bin as she attempts to run on skates on the foam flooring. The woman is built like a ballerina. Her Afro and face are so perfect, she looks like one of Nat’s model friends. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has graced the cover of a magazine or five.

“She’s on the ice, putting the rest of us to shame,” Hota offers, pointing toward the teal princess.

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