The afternoon sun was already low when Miles found me in the sunroom, curled up with a mug of tea that had gone cold. He leaned in the doorway, hands in his coat pockets, that easy artist’s smile on his face.
“Jasmine,” he said, voice warm like honey over charcoal. “There’s a private rink about twenty minutes down the mountain road. Frozen solid, no one around. I thought… maybe you’d like to go skating with me?”
I looked up. His dark hair was pushed back, eyes bright with invitation. There was something playful in his tone, but underneath it, a current I couldn’t quite read.
“I haven’t skated in years,” I admitted.
“Even better. I’ll catch you if you fall.”
I smiled despite myself. “Okay. Let me grab my coat.”
The drive was quiet, just the soft crunch of tires on packed snow and the
