Page 27 of Put a Rink on It

Abitter chill whips through me. It’s not nearly as frigid as Minnesota, but I’m not used to this coast’s cold winters. I tighten up my peacoat and pull my beanie lower to cover my ears. Having forgotten a pair of gloves, I warm my hands with my breath.

I peek at the time. The closer it gets to our agreed-upon meeting, the more nervous I get.

She’ll be here soon.

My “fiancée.”

Damn if that doesn’t have a nice ring to it regarding Marina. No pun intended.

A group of people emerges from the hotel’s doors, Marina among them. My lips smile on their own. I can’t wait to spoil her today.

She doesn’t know everything I have planned, and I can’t wait to surprise her.

When I concocted this plan, I didn’t account for the lack of good public transportation options from Vermont, but she made it clear she didn’t want to drive. The train was way too long a ride, and the bus wouldn’t have gotten her to Boston until this afternoon, but I needed her here earlier for everything to work. I thought she’d balk at my suggestion to take the bus yesterday and stay overnight in a hotel, but she seemed almost excited about it.

I strut toward her, and when she sees me, her smile is automatic, lighting up her face. Enough to nearly bring me to my knees.

A pink wool hat with a white pom-pom adorns her head, and strands of hair fall over her shoulders. Her white wool coat falls to the middle of her jean-clad thighs. A strap hangs on her shoulder, and characteristic Converse sneakers carry her faster toward me.

Something shifted in our relationship last week, right about the time she agreed to do this with me. As if her permission uncorked all of my feelings I’ve kept locked away, allowing me to settle into how I truly feel about her.

I shake these sentiments off, lest I show my hand too early. She’ll never agree to follow through with this if she knows I want more than friendship with her.

Marina falls into my open arms, our embrace too short on the busy sidewalk. I slip my hand into hers, hoping we go unnoticed. We’re nowhere near TD Garden, and I’ve got a hat pulled low on my head and sporting nothing related to hockey.

“You ready for this?” I ask, directing her down the road toward our first destination.

“I think so. It’s…weird thinking about what we’re doing.”

“Good weird or bad?”

“Good. I think.” She chuckles. “Can you tell I’m nervous?”

“Why are you nervous?”

“The nature of the beast. You buying me a ridiculous diamond ring so we can put on a charade for the world. Why wouldn’t I be nervous?”

She’s not the one who should be nervous. I’m monopolizing on that enough for both of us. But she has a stake in this, and I’ll do whatever I can to make sure she gets through unscathed. No matter what ends up happening, I’ll make sure it’s me who ends up looking bad. If it comes to that.

We walk down the street a little way, turning the corner to a spot I scouted out online yesterday. They’re opening early for me. Perks of having hockey player money, even though I don’t think they knew who I was. The woman spoke English well enough, so I’m convinced we’ll be good.

I slow our stride outside the salon, and Marina studies it quizzically.

I take her hands in mine, examining the chipped paint on half the nails. “Knowing what today was, you didn’t have the decency to do them last night? Tsk, tsk, Ships.”

Her head cocks to the side. “Isn’t today about picking out and buying the ring? Surely you’re not proposing? What if the ring needs to be sized? What if I don’t like anything I see? What if I want something custom-made?” The questions leave her mouth rapid-fire, her nerves front and center.

All valid concerns, all of which I’ve considered. She still deserves nice nails for today.

“Let me worry about the details while you enjoy a manicure and pedicure. Choose any option. My treat.” I shouldn’t have to say that, but she’ll balk at the prices and will choose something less. Today isn’t about cost. It’s about spoiling her. Her mouth opens—to protest, no doubt—but I shut it down with a finger to her lips. “I’ll be back in ninety minutes.” From my pocket, I dig out an older iPhone and AirPods, pushing them into her hand. “New book cued up. Enjoy.”

I open the door and shove her inside, satisfied she’s in excellent hands. Her look of bewilderment is the last thing I see as she’s ushered deeper into the salon.

I hop into the town car I hired for the day, instructing the driver to drive around until it’s time to return. Rather than risk getting noticed, I’m hiding out in the car, killing time while Marina gets pampered.

I can’t wait to see what color she chooses.

Ninety minutes later, I return to the salon, two coffees in hand. I scoured the area for the best coffee shop. Hopefully, Caffé Nero—how could I not— is as good as the reviews claim it to be.