They were tantalizing, those glimpses of lives, flickering across his ice. Some disappeared forever, leaving their resolution to his thoughtful imagination. Others came back, their stories deepening, darkening or sometimes turning out all right.

He had one hard-and-fast rule. Never meddle. He was here to smooth out the ice, not mess up people’s lives. But it was tempting sometimes, like right now.

There was no forgetting Tony Fiore and the girl he loved, some society debutante named Elaine. Some years back, Fiore had been a hot prospect in hockey, maybe the best ever to cross the ice here. His explosive speed and unfailing coordination had made him a good bet for any team. But it was his love of skating, that rare and genuine feel for the ice beneath his blades, that sharpened his edge. The overcrowded tourist mecca wasn’t his usual place to skate, of course, but one Christmas Eve long ago, he’d stopped in on a lark. And so had the girl named Elaine. Maybe they’d been lonely that day, possibly frustrated by last-minute shopping or needing to kill time before some engagement, yet they’d both shown up within minutes of one another.

It happened all the time, but these two, they were something. From the first moment they saw each other, they practically melted the ice beneath their feet. They were youth and spirit and hope personified, and anyone watching them could tell they were seeing something special.

When the hour was up, they went their separate ways, of course. The Zamboni driver hadn’t been surprised to see them back the next year, and then the year after that, their interest and passion deepening perceptibly each time. They’d changed, as all young folk do. But there was something about this pair that had never wavered. They’d looked at each other as though they were the first to discover the true meaning of love. It was all there in those young, good-looking faces, those glowing smiles, those hands clasped tight.

And then...nothing. It was no big deal and certainly none of his business, but the ice groomer had taken their disappearance as a personal failure. Deep down, he knew what had happened, and he always wanted to believe he was wrong, but he wasn’t. Life had interfered with these two, and they’d been foolish enough to allow it.

Now they were back, and he was anxious to see if they’d finally figured out what he already knew—that they belonged together, not just once a year, but always. After finishing his rounds, he parked the machine and headed over to the concessions area, which consisted of a few tables and benches arranged on a large mat of interlocking rubber squares. At a cheap metal table, they sat across from each other, hands cradling paper cups of thin hot chocolate, gazes anxious with everything the years had done to them.