Page 154 of The Overtime Kiss

The next night at dinner—we all sit down together around the kitchen island to build tacos and warble theFrozensoundtrack off-tune—Luna clears her throat while making a snowman out of beans. “I have an idea for this weekend,” she says.

“Do tell,” Sabrina says, and I love how easily she fits in.

It’s no surprise, of course. She takes care of the kids, but she’s been spending more time with us post-New York when she’s off-duty too. And each time we hang out—no touching of course—I think we’re closer to telling them we’re…together.

The thought worries me though. They’ve already had to adjust to so much—new routines, new places, new people coming and going. I don’t want to create another change they have to brace for. I want them to feel stable. Certain.

“I’ve been watching some skating videos, and I want us to shoot one together—of Sabrina. Outside. It’s so pretty when the sun is rising, and we can shoot a clip of her at an outdoor rink doing a beautiful free skate. I love those so much. The sun will reflect off the ice, and, Dad, wouldn’t that be cool?”

“Did you know that ice is slippery because your skate creates a thin layer of water, which reduces friction?” Parker interjects as he builds a spaceship from shredded cheese.

“I didn’t know that,” I answer, then look to Sabrina, picturing her skating at dawn—the sun shining brightly as she glides across the ice, the mountains and hills framing her, the trees witnessing her glory. She’s weightless, effortless, likeshe belongs there spinning on blades, flying through air, landing on one foot.

Yes, I love watching her videos alone at night.

But I love watching them, period.

I’ve always crushed on figure skating. Maybe it was because I was always waiting forher. “I’ll be your videographer,” I offer.

Sabrina’s never been shy. She’s never backed down. She’s always gone for it, so I’m not shocked when she says, “Let’s do it.”

And it feels like we’re not just planning for the weekend. We’re building something bigger.

40

CATCH ME IF YOU CAN

Tyler

But getting the kids up before sunrise on Saturday is an ordeal. Even though one of them had the idea. Hell,megetting up before sunrise is a challenge. But I do it, and ten years of early mornings as a dad is good training. Still, Luna yawns and Parker grumbles as we load into my car, the sky still inky dark.

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 achaste 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 myalmostmistake, 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.

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