“We’re supposed to be dating.”
“I don’t want to look weak on the ice.”
With that he walked away. Because it was an odd time of the day, they could actually get into the next round of skating. He called her over. They rented skates. Within twenty minutes they were on the ice.
After a few minutes of wobbling, working to get his balance, knowing photographers were documenting his efforts, Dean finally found his footing. The first time he glided along for more than a few feet, he burst out laughing.
“All right. It’s fun.”
She skated a circle around him. “I told you.”
“You actually use the same core muscles to balance yourself as you do for snowboarding.”
She gaped at him. “You snowboard?”
“Used to. I had to learn to do a lot of things to be in the places where I could accidentally run into the wealthy people I thought most likely to invest in Suminski Stuff.”
“You make me feel like I should be grateful Mrs. Flannigan invited me to dinner.”
He stopped skating. “You should.”
“I am.”
Silence stretched between them as they studied each other. Skaters glided around them, reminding him that he was stopped, staring at her, taking in that earnest face and those beautiful eyes, and reporters were probably noticing.
She quickly caught his hand and pulled him into the fray. “Let’s get out of everybody’s way, and then I’ll drop your hand.”
He almost wished she wouldn’t. The connection to her felt so nice, so normal, that it should have scared him. Instead, it filled him with the sense that he could trust her to take him places he’d never been.
They skated into a rhythm and she dropped his hand, but he scooped hers up again.
Her gaze flew to his.
“We are supposed to be dating.”
She nodded and smiled as she skated in front of him. “Wanna do a trick?”
“Getting bored with just plain skating?”
“Sort of. But I also think I’d rather get my picture in the paper for doing something cool, than for looking like two spectators who didn’t know what they were doing.”
He laughed nervously. “Seriously? You’re going to make me do a trick?”
“A simple one.” She grabbed his other hand so they stood facing each other, both hands tightly clasped. Then she shifted them so they were skating sideways and that movement became a circle.
He imagined that from the spectator area they looked cute, fun. And they probably did pose a much better picture. But as the world whizzed by and he grew more comfortable, with her and with his skates, he started to laugh. For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t thinking about his company or his troubles. He wasn’t thinking at all.
Except to realize that he really did trust her.
* * *
Kristen noticed the change in him immediately. She stopped their circle and dropped one of his hands so she could pull him behind her. When they got enough speed, she led him into a figure eight.
He called, “Now I think you’re showing off.”
“Nope. Showing off would be teaching you how to do a spin or maybe a lift.”
She expected his face to freeze in horror. Instead, he said, “I could probably spin.”
She pulled him out of their third figure eight and guided him to stand beside her. “You like being good at things.”
“Don’t you?”
She shrugged. “I like doing the best I can.”
“Same thing.”
She said, “I suppose,” but she understood what he meant. As a genius, his version of doing the best he could undoubtedly meant that he had to be perfect. It was why he didn’t want to fall on his face in front of reporters, why he stayed out of the public eye. People were always watching him. Maybe hoping he’d make a mistake.
When their ninety minutes were up, they left Rockefeller Center, walked a bit more around that section of the city and had dinner at an out-of-the-way Mexican restaurant.
She buttoned her jacket as they walked out onto the now snow-covered sidewalk. Christmas lights decorated shop-front windows and doorways. Snow sat on evergreen branches like icing on sugar cookies. Without hesitation, he took her hand and she couldn’t stop a smile.
It was one of the best dates of her life.