"Come closer."
The photographer laughs.
"Exactly."
My pulse does something strange.
Colby steps nearer.
Not enough to touch, but near enough that I'm suddenly very aware of how close he is.
The camera flashes again.
And again.
And again.
The photographer finally seems satisfied. "Perfect."
I am absolutely certain it is not perfect. The problem is that part of me wants to see the pictures anyway, which feels dangerous.
The afternoon rush arrives soon after.
The pastry table gets busy.
Children demand hot chocolate.
Parents buy cookies.
Volunteers rest their skates and warm their hands around paper cups.
Normal.
Ordinary.
Comfortable.
And somehow that's the thing that unsettles me most.
Because ordinary is becoming easier around Colby.
Hours pass.
The event slowly winds down, and the crowd begins to thin.
Families head home. Volunteers start packing equipment.
Jillie helps collect stray cups, mostly because Colby convinces her that she's now Assistant Cleanup Manager.
She takes the promotion very seriously.
By sunset, the sky has turned shades of pink and gold. The rink glows beneath strings of lights, and for a few minutes everything feels strangely peaceful.
Then the photographer appears again. "Want to see something?"
I should say no. I know I should. Instead, I follow her.
Mistake, a huge mistake.
