Page 16 of Love and Other Penalties
“I need to figure out what I actually want,” I say.
“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night.” Mae polishes off her second cupcake and reaches for a third. “Now, what were you planning to do with all these cupcakes?”
eight
. . .
The bellabove the cakery door chimes at five-forty-five in the morning, and I don’t need to look up from the batch of pumpkin pie cupcakes I’m frosting to know who it is. We don’t even open until seven, which means my dad let someone in, and I only know one person crazy enough to be up this early in the morning.
Then my father says, “She’s in the back,” and the black plastic door swings inward.
Finn appears in the doorway, still in his practice gear—sans the skates and helmet. His dark hair is damp with sweat, and concern etches lines around his eyes.
“You weren’t at the rink,” he says.
“No.” I squeeze the piping bag harder than necessary, creating a frosting column that’s more like a blobby tornado than the perfectly thick swirl I was going for. I indicate the stool where I’m kneeling to keep my weight off my ankle.
“I’m keeping my promise.”
He steps closer, and I catch the way his gaze travels over my face, taking in what I’m sure are the remnants of last night’scrying session. Fine, and maybe a lot of double-dark chocolate cupcake crumbs. “How’s—how are you?”
“Fine.” It’s mostly true. The swelling has gone down in my ankle, and I can walk without limping too badly. Me as a whole? How can I answer that? No one is ever whole as a whole person, are they?
“Ivy.” His voice comes across my eardrums gentle, patient. “What happened?”
The simple question nearly undoes me all over again. I set down the piping bag and lift my head to face him fully, noting the way his practice jersey clings to his shoulders, the concerned tilt of his head.
“My mother happened.” I lean against the prep table. “She knows about us, and she’s furious.”
Finn’s jaw tightens. “What did she say?”
“The usual. That I’m throwing away my career, that I’m distracted, that you’re going to break my heart.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “She threatened to move my training to another facility.”
I gesture around the kitchen. “This is the only place that’s actually mine.”
Finn studies me for a long moment, then glances toward the front of the cakery where surely my father is stocking the cases with my overnight bake-off. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“Away from here. You look like you haven’t slept at all.”
He’s not wrong. After Mae and Dad left around two in the morning, I’d stayed and tried my hand at carrot cake cupcakes, replaying every word of my fight with my mother, reviewing the story Mae had told.
Trying to figure out whatIreally want.
“I can’t just leave. I have cupcakes to finish, and my dad needs help with the morning crowd.”
“I’m sure your father can handle it.” Finn takes my hand, his thumb brushing across my knuckles. “You need—it snowed overnight, and you like the snow.” He offers me a small smile. “And coffee you didn’t make yourself.”
He’s right on both counts, and I let him help me into my coat and out of the cakery.
Twenty minutes later, we’re walking through Brookside Park with steaming lattes from Mugs & Muffins. Fresh snow covers the ground, muffling our footsteps and making everything look clean and new. My ankle twinges faintly with each step, but I don’t mention it.
“Tell me about when you first started skating,” Finn says, breaking the comfortable silence.
I sip my coffee, letting the warmth spread through my chest. “I was four. My mom took me to a public skating session, and I just fell in love with the way it felt to glide across the ice.” I smile at the memory. “I begged her to sign me up for lessons. Back then, I’d pretend I was flying, or dancing with invisible fairies.” I shrug slightly. “It was fun.”
“When did it stop being fun?”
