I skate to a stop and pull him gently toward the railing. I steady myself against it and kiss him deeply, slipping my fingers under his scarf to hold him close. It’s true that there’s a certain thrill about kissing someone for the first time, when you can only guess what it’ll feel like, how your bodies will respond to each other’s, and if there will be sparks. But this is thrilling in a different way: comfortable, familiar, easy. I can anticipate the way his lips will move against mine. I know there will be sparks. I can’t believe how lucky I am.

The rink is quieter now; we’re among the last people left. It’s a picturesque moment, but I know there’s a bigger reason tonight makes me so happy. Being here in his arms feels exactly right.

“What an incredible night,” I say.

I have to stop myself from uttering the three little words that almost roll off my tongue next.

“You are incredible,” I say, swallowing the too-soon words and choosing the safer ones instead.

He nuzzles closer and kisses me again. When he pulls back, he hesitates, like he’s trying to determine exactly what to say next. I wonder if the same words are running through his head, too.

“I…” he says.

My stomach does a backflip.

He gazes at me for a moment that feels like an eternity.

“I’m really glad you’re here with me,” he says, pulling me closer for a kiss.

Everything about it—the steady pressure of his hand on the curve of my hip; the scent of pine; the slippery surface of the ice beneath our feet—I commit to memory. I want to remember every detail, because this is the night I know for sure that I am falling in love with Ryan Nicholson, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Chapter 19

• CHAPTER 19 •

A chill runs up my spine when I enter the National Championships arena in Miami. The nervous energy hanging in the air feels just as real as the mingled scent of chalk dust and sweat. I follow Hallie and Ryan around the perimeter to find a spot to settle down, and I can’t help but drink it all in: the crunch of errant bobby pins underfoot; the spare cans of hair spray and bottles of butt glue rolling out from unzipped gym bags; the ritual gestures of gymnasts warming up; the satisfying scrchhh of grips being Velcroed on and off wrists; the anxious parents snapping gum in the bleachers. I savor every bit of it. I feel as if I’ve come home again. The moment I walked through the door, I straightened up, lifted my chin one notch higher, and tightened my ponytail. This time around, though, nobody’s watching me. This isn’t about me.