Page 122 of Ice Princess

I watch her step back a few paces and hold the laptop up with one arm.

“Oh, keep in mind that I haven’t given a presentation since high school.”

I nod.

She starts her speech, and I lock in like it’s the finals of the ’87 Canada Cup.

Rebel is as fascinating as a televised hockey game. And I’m not just saying that because of my feelings for her.

As an athlete, the gap between professionals is hard to see because everyone at the top is separated by a tenth of a degree. But the gap between professionals and amateurs is pretty wide.

And Rebel Hart is no amateur. It’s clear that she’s been training for this moment.

As she presents, she doesn’t stammer over her words or second-guess her points. She speaks clearly, boldly and passionately. Her love for the community she wants to serve screams from every pore and stirs the soul.

She was born to be the face of a movement.

As she brings the presentation to a close, I start clapping.

She blushes fiercely.

“That was incredible,” I say.

Rebel battles a smile. “I’m sure I have a lot of room for improvement.”

I shake my head, blown away. The first time I ever swung a hockey stick, I hit myself in the face. This is definitely not the equivalent of a ‘first time’.

“What was the account number again?” I open my phone. “I want to donate.”

A genuine smile eases across Rebel’s face. She laughs and shakes her head. “Your family is the backbone of the Lady Luck Society. You’re already donating tons of money. And time. And effort.”

It doesn’t matter. After that speech, I need to donate more.

Rebel stretches her arms over her head. Something about her seems looser, freer now. “Wow. Doing the presentation actually made me feel a lot better.”

Good. That was the point.

Her eyes slide to me and, when I stare back at her, she blushes even harder.

“Um…” She hesitantly darts past me and locks her laptop back in the bag. “So, what now?”

I lean against the truck and shrug. I didn’t exactly run out of The Pink Garage with a plan.

“Are the shoes comfortable?” I ask.

Rebel glances down and wiggles her toes. “Yeah. They’re great.”

I slip a hand into my pocket, wondering if now is the time to give her the gift but, unfortunately, Rebel scurries past me in the direction of the tree house.

“No way!” she squeals, staring in delight at the renovations.

And I can’t help it.

I smile.

Watching those baby blues sparkle harder than the sunshine makes me feel like I’m walking on clouds. Her exuberance is contagious, and I’m glad to see the excitement return to her eyes. The fake smiles and forced cheerfulness she had in the garage drove me up a wall.

Rebel swings around. “The last time I was here, this thing was two seconds away from falling apart. What changed?”

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