“Can I hold it?” a boy asks, eyes wide as he looks up at Zach.
The Keeper of the Cup—a stern-looking man in a suit—steps forward, his hands folded. “Nobody holds the Cup except authorized personnel,” he says firmly.
The boy’s face falls, and my heart aches a little at his disappointment.
Zach crouches down, his grin softening. “Tell you what, bud. How about you and I take a picture together with the Cup?”
The boy brightens instantly, nodding enthusiastically.
Zach glances at the Keeper, who gives a small, reluctant nod and carefully positions the boy’s hands near the base without actually touching it.
“Now smile big,” Zach says, crouching beside him. As the cameras flash, Zach glances up at me, his grin turning into a wink.
“Making dreams come true,” he mouths.
By the time the last fan leaves, my legs ache, and my voice is hoarse from giving directions all day. I’m packing up the clipboard when Zach appears beside me, startling me enough that I nearly drop it.
“Jumpy much?” he teases, his grin softening when he sees my exhaustion.
“You’re still here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” He holds out his hand, his grin laced with mischief. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“Just trust me.”
I hesitate, but something in his eyes makes me follow. He leads me down to the rink, where thelights have dimmed. Then, with a flick of a switch, the arena transforms.
Fairy lights strung along the boards cast a soft glow over the ice, the reflection shimmering like a dream.
“What is this?” I breathe.
“Your break,” he says simply, holding out a pair of skates.
At first, I refuse. “Zach, I’m terrible at skating.”
“Perfect,” he says, grinning. “I like a challenge.”
Reluctantly, I lace up the skates and step onto the ice, wobbling immediately. Zach catches me, his hands firm on my waist.
“Relax,” he says, his voice warm and close. “I’ve got you.”
We move slowly at first, Zach skating backward as he guides me around the rink. I’m hyper-aware of every point of contact between us—his hands on mine, the brush of his arm against my shoulder.
“You’re doing great,” he says, his voice low.
“I’m clinging to you like a lifeline.”
He grins. “I don’t mind.”
As I start to loosen up, he lets go, skating circles around me with obnoxious ease.
“Show-off,” I call, wobbling as I try to keep up.
He stops in front of me, skating backward just out of reach. “Catch me, Carrey.”
“You’re insufferable.”
