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A bright smile stretched across my face. “I’d love that. Thank you so much. I promise I won’t get in the way.”
“I’m sure you won’t,” Niko said over Jasper’s skeptical grunt. “We’re here every afternoon except Sundays from one until six.”
“Then I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot of you.”
Taking on training partners hadn’t been part of my plan. Making friends—and maybe more?—with two very prominent skatersdefinitelyhadn’t been on my mind.
But they were laying low too. Practicing with them wouldn’t cause any actual problems, right?
One thing was for sure: my new life had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.
FIVE
Luciana
“Everything okay, hun?”my waitress asked, stopping by my little table outside the town’s main café with a swish of her white apron.
I smiled up at her, taking a moment to peek at her nametag. I had learned a few useful things from my mother, one of which was that people appreciated it if you made the effort to address them personally.
“It’s all been great, Beth,” I said, poking my fork into one of my few remaining pierogies. The creamy goodness of the cheesy filling lingered in my mouth from those I’d already devoured. “Thank you.”
Honestly, it was hard to imagine everything beingmoreokay than it currently was. Over the last couple of days, I’d joined two of the skaters I’d admired most to practice, and tomorrow I would again. I was spending my Sunday off eating a delicious rendition of my favorite comfort food, not quite as good as my old nanny’s cooking but close.
The weather was warm but not sweltering. Birds fluttered from one awning to the next along Hobb Creek’s main street. Only a handful of cars had puttered up and down the road while I’d been having my lunch.
I couldn’t remember ever enjoying this muchpeacein my entire life.
Maybe I was a small-town girl at heart after all.
A middle-aged couple strolled by, the woman shooting a glance at me that she quickly jerked away when she realized I’d caught her. I chewed on my pierogi without taking offense.
Rafael and Ididkind of stick out here with our darker complexions. Small-town Ontario wasn’t exactly a hub of multiculturalism. And on top of that, I was a newcomer.
No one had been outright unfriendly. I could handle a little wariness.
Really, I’d spent most of my life feeling like an outsider even back in Austin. It wasn’t as if I could have gotten really chummy with any of the other kids at my schools. And I hadn’t wanted to immerse myself in the family business and the people involved in that.
The only place I’d really felt at home was on the ice, and I’d never gotten to enjoy an actual community there, only Coach Balakin’s company.
I was glad no one was badgering me about what I was doing in Hobb Creek, sticking to just observing. No doubt more pointed questions would come once the locals realized I was sticking around, not just visiting as a tourist.
Good thing I had my cover story all set for that moment. I smiled to myself before popping the last delicious morsel into my mouth.
As I drained the last of my cappuccino, a woman who didn’t look all that different from me—other than being at least thirty years older—ambled up to the café door. Her wavy black hair was strung with silver strands, and her tan skin looked about as weathered as my mom’s on the rare occasions I saw her without makeup. But there was a roundness and warmth to her face that I’d never have associated with Mom.
With the chime as she opened the café door, the voice of one of the waitresses rang out. “Oh, Dr. Ribeiro, you made it! Will you have your regular?”
The door closed before I could hear the doctor’s answer. I couldn’t help peering through the window and caught the waitress’s sunny smile as she ushered the woman to a prime spot by the window.
Shewasn’t seen as an outsider, obviously. Maybe there was hope that I’d be offered similar enthusiasm someday.
I tried to imagine myself still living here in thirty years, and my mind balked at the idea. Mostly because I couldn’t picture myself still skating as a forty-nine-year-old.
Well, I wouldn’t be pulling off triples anymore, but if I kept myself limber, I didn’t have to give it up completely.
My last gulp of the bittersweet coffee was spoiled by a puff of exhaust from a grumbling pickup truck that veered a little too close to the patio for comfort. I narrowed my eyes at it as it roared out of view—and noticed a guy sauntering in my direction on the opposite side of the street.
He didn’t fit the typical small-town vibe at all: mid-twenties, sporting a couple of tattoos that poked from beneath his muscle tee, head tipped at a brash angle. About half a block away from where I sat, he turned toward a store and rapped his knuckles against the window.
