Page 147 of The Overtime Kiss

I break the kiss, panting hard. Her breath is coming in staggered gusts too. She’s clutching my shirt like she doesn’t want to let go.

And the plan is fully formed. “Corbin is in New York,” I begin.

Her brow knits. “Yeah?”

“He’s from here. His family is here. He texted earlier to invite the kids to Christmas cookie decorating tomorrow afternoon with his family.”

Her lips twitch, but she waits for me to say more.

“We can have some time alone,” I say, the words spilling out now. Tumbling on top of each other. But the last thing Iwant is for her to think I’m asking her for another sex date. I cup her face, hold her gaze. “Let me take you on that ice-skating date in the afternoon.”

She twists her fingers tighter around the collar of my shirt. “I can’t wait to skate circles around you, Falcon.”

I tip my head back and laugh.

Forget falling. I’m already there.

I drop a kiss to her lips. “It is on.”

The massive Christmas tree looms over the ice rink, festooned with ornaments and the sparkling lights that flicked on before dawn. It’s noon right now, so they’re soft but still visible. The sun is shining brightly above us at the packed rink at Rockefeller Center.

No surprise—it’s Christmas Eve, but I snagged some last-minute tickets for a slot on the ice.

Now, with hordes of tourists and New Yorkers—some wobbling, some whizzing by—Sabrina skates backward, showing off gorgeous crossovers as I skate toward her, unable to take my eyes off the figure-skating beauty.

“Come on! You challenged me to a skills competition that night in Cozy Valley.” She wiggles her mittened fingers toward me. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“The taunting,” I say. “The taunting.”

But I can handle my own on blades, thank you very much. I spin around and skate backward right past her, then come to a fast hockey stop, spraying ice.

“Show-off,” she teases, and I push off, skating around with her, but then I stop in my tracks. A young couple wobbles nearby. I grab Sabrina even though she probably has noticed them too. But I yank her against me regardless.

“That’s the thing about a big public rink—it’s not the best place for a skills competition,” I say.

She rolls her eyes and swats my chest with her mittened hand. “Oh, please, you just don’t want to admit I’m faster,” she teases.

I drop a kiss on her nose, overwhelmed briefly by how much I want this. These dates, these moments, this time with her. And I’m about to toss out a witty comeback, likelet’s do it again when we get back home, when the wobbly guy gets down on one knee.

“Oh,” I say, blinking.

Sabrina gasps. “Oh my god.”

The man takes out a small velvet box from his jacket pocket, and the woman’s nodding, smiling, giving heryes. Sabrina claps and cheers, and I join in too.

“Congrats,” I say to both of them.

They smile back.

When the woman tugs him up and they kiss on the ice, we resume our pace, passing them as Sabrina calls out, “Congratulations.”

As we loop around the rink, she says to me, “Let’s hope it all works out.”

I’m quiet for a beat.

It’s a stark reminder that romance usually starts with the best of intentions. A date at a skating rink. A football game. Nights cuddled up together. But it can end like it did for Sabrina—in infidelity, humiliation, and estrangement from her family. And for me, it can fizzle out into two people who are better off as friends.

But maybe it doesn’t always have to go wrong. Maybe sometimes, two people can figure it out.

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