Page 27 of Suits and Spark Plugs

“Oh, so it’s not just me?” Connor asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Kelly replied.

“What kind of rules has she given you?” Connor’s eyes filled with mirth.

Kelly held up her pointer finger and grinned. “Rule number one: no screaming in my car...” she began.

“Well, that’s my cue to leave.” I turned away.

“You don’t want to stick around and watch us unload it?” Kelly asked while I crossed the shop floor.

I did, but I mostly didn’t. I did not want to spend any more time wondering why Connor’s way of talking jived so well with ours, or why he and Kelly were out car shopping together, or why he’d thought he could touch my hair.

I paused at the doorway into the lobby and called over my shoulder, “I’ve got math waiting for me back inside, but when you get tires on that thing, I get dibs on the first donut run.” Despite my unsure emotions about Connor, Kelly was still my bestie, and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by bowing totally out.

“You’d never guess it, but she loves sprinkles,” I heard Kelly say with a chuckle.

I didn’t hear his reply, but their laughter told me they’d found it amusing. I retreated back to my study cave. What a strange night this had turned out to be. I saw firsthand what Kelly had been telling me. She and Connor were friends. Actual friends. She hadn’t flirted with him at all. She’d been her true self, and I couldn’t fathom what that meant...or why they weren’t dating. I’d always thought friendship should come before love, and they seemed perfect for each other.

* * * * *

The next night I was lacing up ice-skates and cursing Blaine’s attractiveness. Only those sweet blue eyes could have talked me into this. I hated ice-skating. I was bad at it. I figured God had made a mistake when he gave me a curvaceous figure and tiny ankles that didn’t offer the needed support. Plus, ice was slippery and wet. Two of my least favorite things.

However, it was a break, and it was with Blaine. I needed both. Ever since Kelly had planted the idea of letting Blaine in more, I’d been trying. I’d dared to express to him my stress over school, which was an opening. He’d been sympathetic and kind, remembering those days himself, and I’d been caught off guard by the sense of camaraderie I felt by sharing a little part of my life.

“You look really cute on skates,” he said to me as he helped me rise to stand.

“I feel like a yeti.” I glanced once more at him and wondered if he actually ordered fashion magazines and then matched his outfits to them.

He chuckled lightly. “You didn’t have to wear that many layers. You’ll warm up while skating.”

I’d dug around Mom’s closet until I’d found the puffiest marshmallow jacket in the world and layered it over my thinner winter coat. Add in a scarf and wool socks, and I was pretty set. “Yeah, well, I wanted the extra padding for when I fall.”

He somehow performed the magic of walking backwards in his skates while keeping hold of my hands and helping me awkwardly balance-walk out to the ice. If I couldn’t balance well on dry land, how was I going to balance on ice? The question didn’t bear thinking about for long.

“It’ll be romantic. We can hold hands the whole time.” He pulled one of my hands up and kissed the back of it.

“My palms are going to sweat,” I warned. They always got sweaty when I was uncomfortable.

“Doesn’t bother me at all.”

That’s what everyone said, until they had someone else’s palm sweat running down their hand. Infatuation only took you so far. There was also self-respect and a sense of survival deeply embedded in every person.

We made it to the ice, and Blaine held me steady as I placed my feet onto the white death sheet one wobble at a time. I don’t know who was more surprised when I didn’t immediately tank it. Blaine amazingly continued facing backwards and holding my hands, for which I was grateful. I clung to him like a lifeline.

Up-tempo music played over the speaker system, competing with voices and the occasional happy—or terrified?—squeal. I could hear the sounds of skates slicing into the rink, and clung harder to his hands.

“What’s that kid skating with over there?” I inclined my head.

Blaine turned to look. “Oh, those are walkers for learning to skate.”

“That six-year-old is skating better than me thanks to that thing.”

“Yes, but having a much less enjoyable time,” he replied, swinging our hands back and forth playfully. “He doesn’t get to hold hands with you.”

I doubted that kid was jealous. It seemed like leaning on a walker and having some confidence was making this a pretty good experience for him. I also really doubted he was upset about not holding hands with someone at his age. I let it go.

“You’re doing pretty great. Is this a hidden talent of yours?” I asked Blaine.

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