I let out a short laugh that feels nothing like humor. “Too much?”
“No,” she replies. “Exactly enough.”
I sink back down into my chair, and only then notice my hands are unsteady. The adrenaline drains out of me in a slow, embarrassing wave.
“We can’t cave,” she says, leaning against the edge of the desk.
“I know.”
She studies me for a second longer, then nods once, satisfied. “Good.”
There’s a beat of silence. The office smells faintly like my mother’s perfume, sharp and expensive. I stand and open a window without thinking. Crisp Colorado air slips inside, clearing the space.
Nina checks her phone. “I’m heading to the club in twenty,” she says. “We have mixed doubles practice.”
I blink at her. “You’re still doing the curling thing?”
She rolls her eyes. “I just go for the beer and the laughs, honestly.”
“I’ve heard otherwise.”
“Please,” she says, slipping her phone into her back pocket. “I am deeply unserious about it. That’s the whole point. It’s a ridiculous sport, if you ask me.”
I cross my arms, leaning back against the chair. “Didn’t you buy your own broom a few months ago?”
“A brand sent it to me.”
“You have custom gloves.”
“They were on sale!”
“And, Nina, you memorized the rulebook.”
She points a finger at me. “Because no one else was explaining it right to me. And if I’m going to stand on ice yelling ‘harder’ at someone, I need to know what I’m talking about.”
I narrow my eyes. “You yell?”
“Oh, I yell,” she says, delighted. “It’s oddly cathartic. Everyone else treats it like they’re auditioning for the Olympics and to me it’s just like recess.”
I can see it immediately—her in some loud sweater, hair pulled back, laughing in the middle of a match while everyone else measures angles and debates sweeping strategy with the seriousness of a doctoral defense.
“And yet,” I say slowly, “you win.”
She shrugs, feigning innocence. “That’s not my fault. Apparently being calm and not spiraling every time a stone goes slightly off line is… effective.”
I let out a quiet huff of laughter. “Shocking.”
“It’s the only place,” she continues, softer now, “wherenobody cares who I am related to. Or what our last name is. Or whether I’m leveraging something.” She pauses. “I show up. I sweep a little. I drink a beer. That’s it. You should come sometime.”
There’s no bitterness in her voice. Just relief.
I study her for a moment. “You like being underestimated.”
“I love it,” she corrects. “It’s very peaceful.”
She grabs her jacket from the chair and swings it over her shoulders. “Anyway, I do it for the bit,” she says lightly, as if she hasn’t just admitted something important. “And if I accidentally get very good at it, that’s between me and the ice.”
“Please, Nina.” I shake my head. “You’re a Pierce. We are naturally athletic and competitive.”
