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“Have you ever been roller skating?” he asks.
I shrug the sweatshirt on over my sundress, it’s several sizes too big and comes a little above my knees. It’s soft and smells good, like Wyatt. I pull the sleeves over my hands and smile down at them.
“I’ve been a few times when I was a kid, why?” I answer.
I look up at him and like the way he’s admiring the way I look in his sweatshirt. He smiles softly at me and looks back into my eyes.
“Ice skating is a lot like roller skating, except you’re on ice,” he explains.
I roll my eyes. “Thanks, and here I thought we’d be on grass.”
He smirks. “Don’t be so sarcastic.”
“Don’t say things that beg for sarcasm.”
He gives me a funny look before reaching for my hand and pulling me up. He gently leads me toward the opening of the ice rink, showing me how to walk in my skates. He steps onto the ice, and I instantly regret my decision to come.
“Wyatt . . .” I start nervously.
He looks at me, an easy smile on his face and takes hold of both my hands.
“Lucy,” he says reassuringly, “I won’t let you fall. Come on, trust me.”
I let him gently pull me out onto the ice and squeak when I feel my legs start to slide out from under me. Wyatt quickly wraps his arm around my waist, holding me up right.
“Just push your feet like I’m doing, like you’re roller skating.”
I try to mimic his movements, but I just don’t think I’m coordinated enough for this. I instinctively grab hold of the ledge by the plexiglass and look over at Wyatt, eyes wide.
“I may have overestimated the times I’ve been roller skating.”
Wyatt laughs, his breath coming out in a huff. He squeezes my waist reassuringly and pulls me away from the bar.
“Just let go, Lucy, and hold onto me.”
I take a deep breath and do as he says. After a few minutes of us barely skating on the ice, I think I’m starting to get the hang of it. Wyatt loosens his grip on my waist until he’s holding my hand, and we’re skating side by side. I look over at him and grin.
“This is actually kind of fun,” I tell him.
“I told you so.” He grins.
“Why did you bring me here tonight?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I thought you needed to be somewhere you could just relax. Somewhere peaceful.”
There aren’t many people here at eight o’clock on a Tuesday night, so it’s definitely peaceful. Now that I’ve gotten the hang of skating, it is sort of relaxing. The methodical movements of my legs and the sound of the skates on the ice and Wyatt’s hand in mine . . . it feels right, somehow.
“So, how’d you get this job of yours?” Wyatt asks.
“Grocery shopping, actually. I ran into Dr. Fitz, a doctor friend of my dad’s, in the pasta aisle, looking like a hot mess. But he asked how Mom and I were doing, and then mentioned how his practice is looking for a new receptionist. He’s a nice man, and it’s a smaller practice, sort of like my dad’s old office. I think I’ll be happy there.”
Wyatt squeezes my hand and smiles warmly at me. “Good. You deserve to be happy.”
It’s funny how much I needed to hear those words. Ever since my dad died, I have felt so guilty with every smile and laugh. But being here with Wyatt, and hearing him say those five simple words, I remind myself that Dad would want exactly that—for me to be happy.
“I think I’m comfortable enough to race you.” I look over at Wyatt and smirk.
“Oh yeah?” He grins.
