As we continue to skate circles around the rink, we whisper theories about the other couples—which ones seem happily in love, which seem more like old roommates who couldn’t give a damn about each other—and resolve to never fall into the latter category. We trade stories about ice-skating experiences as kids, and the Olympic skaters we’ve met over the years. On some laps, we don’t talk at all, content to enjoy the twinkling lights nestled into the forest and the blur of our hazy reflections gleaming on the slick ice. With Ryan, silence doesn’t feel like pressure.

But there’s one question I can’t get out of my head.

“What’s all this for?” I ask finally.

“A guy can’t take a girl out?” he replies.

“Of course, of course. But, I mean, this is spectacular.”

His cheeks go pink, and I don’t think it’s just from the thirty-five-degree weather.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing you in the gym,” he says slowly. “And at your place, and at mine. But I’ve never really treated you to a real date night, and you deserve that.”

“Oh!” I say, touched.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not, uh, the fanciest guy,” he says sheepishly.

“You?” I joke back. “Huh, never would’ve guessed.”

He smirks. “And I thought about a gourmet dinner somewhere, but I know you love to cook. I know you’d rather cook than be waited on.”

“True,” I admit.

“So I thought your old favorite sushi place would be a treat, and this would cap the night off perfectly. I hope you like it?” he finishes.

“I love it,” I say. “Thank you for planning such a fabulous date.”

I don’t mean to, but I flash back to a “date night” with Tyler. Or, rather, it was supposed to be a date night. Instead, we watched Fast & Furious 6 in silence while we ate Easy Mac. He had told me not to bother with cooking a special meal for date night. He didn’t get that cooking for him felt like another way to show my love. He fell asleep before the movie was over. But this feels entirely different—it’s thoughtful and personal. He put care into choosing something I’d like.

“So you’ll keep me?” he says.

I can hear a note of restrained laughter in his voice.

“Eh,” I joke, pretending like I’m attempting to make up my mind. “I’ll keep you.”