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Orm sat in the passenger seat of Prim's car, watching her breath fog the window as she stared at Winter Wonderland Rink. Her phone sat heavy in her lap, open to the notes app where she'd typed "NEW YEAR NEW ORM" in all caps three weeks ago, followed by a list of resolutions that she'd already been avoiding.
1. Try something that scares you.
2. Stop saying no to everything.
3. Talk to someone new.
4. Stop living like you're already dead
That last one had been written at 2 am after half a bottle of wine, but it was also the most honest thing on the list.
"You're doing the thing," Prim said from the driver's seat.
"What thing?"
"The thing where you're about to bail." Prim turned off the engine. "I can see your brain working. You're creating an exit strategy."
Orm wasn't about to deny it. "My exit strategy is saying I feel sick and asking you to take me home. It's not that elaborate."
"Orm." Prim twisted to face her fully, and her expression was kind but firm. "You've canceled on me five times in the past two months. Game night, that concert, brunch, the pottery class, movie night. You keep saying you want to change, but you won't actually do anything different."
"I know." She did know. She'd been watching her own life from the outside for months now, seeing herself make the same safe choices over and over, hating it, but not quite hating it enough to stop.
"So here's what's going to happen," Prim continued. "We're going to get out of this car. We're going to get the skates. And you'll stay for at least one hour. That's it. You don't have to be good at it. You don't even have to enjoy it. One hour of trying something new."
From the backseat, Remy leaned forward. "Also, I already paid for your rental online, so you're financially committed."
"That's entrapment," Orm said, but she was already unbuckling her seat belt.
The December air bit at her exposed skin. The parking lot was packed, families bundling children into puffy coats, teenagers in groups, couples walking hand-in-hand toward the entrance. Everyone seemed to know exactly what they were doing.
The entrance was marked by an archway wrapped in evergreen garlands and white lights. A wooden sign cheerfully proclaimed "SEASON'S SKEATINGS!" The whole scene smelled like pine and hot chocolate from the concession stand.
Through the archway, the rink sprawled before them, an enormous oval of ice surrounded by barriers decorated with lights and snow. Speakers played "Silver Bells," and everything looked festive and terrifying in equal measure.
People glided counterclockwise with varying degrees of competence. Some moved with easy confidence, bodies swaying rhythmically. Others clung to the barriers, inching along with white-knuckled determination. Children darted through the crowd, fearless.
"Look how pretty it is," Prim said, linking her arm through Orm's. "Very romantic. Very festive. Very not-sitting-on-your-couch-alone."
"My couch is comfortable."
"Your couch is a prison you've built for yourself."
Orm wanted to argue, but the statement was too accurate. Six months ago, she'd broken up with her girlfriend of two years, a relationship that had ended not with a bang but with a mutual, almost relieved acknowledgment that neither of them was happy.
Since then, Orm had retreated into routine: same coffee shop every morning, same lunch spot, same desk at work, same empty apartment at night.
Safe. Predictable. Suffocating.
They joined the line for skate rentals, and Orm used the wait time to study the rink more carefully. The experienced skaters bent their knees and pushed off to the side rather than straight back. They never looked down at their feet. They made it look effortless.
Then she saw her.
A girl in a forest green staff jacket was skating backward across the ice, not backward in any ordinary way, but backward while holding the hands of a child who couldn't have been more than five years old. The girl had sleek black hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, sharp features that somehow looked both striking and warm, and she was smiling down at the kid with such genuine delight that Orm found herself smiling without meaning to.
The girl did this little spin, casual and effortless, before seamlessly returning to guide the child forward. She moved across the ice with the easy strength that came from years of practice.
Stop staring at the hot skating instructor.
The girl skated the boy over to what appeared to be his mother, said something that made them both laugh, and then skated toward the exit gate. She stepped off the ice and headed toward the rental booth.
"Looks like she works there too," Remy murmured from behind them.
"Earth to Orm?" Prim waved a hand in front of her face.
Orm blinked. They'd reached the front of the line.
The rental booth was warmer, heated by a small space heater. Behind the counter stood the same girl, and up close, she was even more striking.
Sharp cheekbones and a defined jawline, smooth skin with a healthy flush from the cold, expressive dark eyes that seemed to take everything in at once. A small mole on her left cheek. A name tag that read "Ling" in cheerful red letters. Small snowflake earrings that caught the light when she moved.
"Hi!" Ling's smile was bright and genuine, reaching all the way to her eyes. "Shoe sizes?"
Prim and Remy called out their sizes while Orm's brain temporarily forgot how numbers worked. She was too busy cataloging details: the way Ling's ponytail had come slightly loose, a few strands framing her face. The small scar cutting through her left eyebrow.
"And you?" Ling asked, looking directly at Orm.
"Seven," Orm said, tucking a strand of her ashy brown hair behind her ear. "Size seven."
Ling's gaze lingered on Orm's face for a beat longer than necessary, curiosity brightening her expression. "First time skating?"
"That obvious?"
"The death grip on your friend's arm is a pretty strong indicator." Ling's smile widened, playful. "Also, you're looking at the ice like it personally wronged you."
Despite her nervousness, Orm laughed, a genuine laugh that showed her gums, the unguarded smile she usually tried to hide. But somehow, with Ling looking at her, she didn't mind. "It hasn't wronged me yet. But I'm anticipating future grievances."
"Realistic. I appreciate that." Ling's eyes were warm, amused. "Better than the people who come in all confident and then eat ice thirty seconds later."
She disappeared into the back room, and Prim immediately leaned close. "She's cute."
"I didn't notice."
"You absolutely noticed. You laughed."
"I laugh at lots of things."
"Not lately, you don't."
Ling returned with three pairs of skates, setting them on the counter. But instead of handing them over, she leaned against the counter, giving Orm her full attention.
"Okay, real talk," Ling said. "Have you ever been on ice skates before? Even once as a kid?"
"Never."
"Alright. Crash course." Ling held up one finger. "One: lace them tight. Like, tighter than you think they need to be. You want ankle support, or you'll be wobbling all over the place."
Another finger. "Two: don't try to walk in them—you're basically on knife blades. Small steps only."
A third finger. "Three: everyone falls. Everyone. It's literally part of the process."
"That's supposed to be encouraging?"
"It's supposed to be realistic." Ling's expression was kind. "But here's the actual encouraging part: I'll be out there the whole time. If you need help, wave me down. I'm very good at catching people before they hit the ice."
"And if you want one of these—" Ling gestured to a stack of plastic walker-frames leaning against the wall, "—there's zero shame. Plenty of adults use them."
Every logical neuron in Orm's brain screamed yes, take the help. But she'd come here to be brave, and something in her refused to back down now.
"I'm good," Orm heard herself say, straightening to her full height. "But thank you."
Ling raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "You sure about that? Because I'm going to be out there, and I'd rather not spend my whole shift scraping tall girls off the ice."
Tall girls. The specificity of it made Orm's stomach flip.
"Absolutely not sure," Orm admitted. "But I'm doing it anyway."
"Brave or stubborn?" Ling asked, something approving in her expression.
"Can't it be both?"
"Fair enough." Ling pushed the skates across the counter, and her fingers brushed Orm's in the exchange, brief contact that Orm felt all the way up her arm. "Well, good luck out there, brave-and-stubborn. Try not to break anything important."
They found a bench near the ice, and Orm wrestled with her skates while Prim and Remy laced theirs up with annoying ease.
"She was definitely flirting with you," Prim said.
"She was doing her job."
"Her job is renting skates, not calling you 'tall girl' and looking at you like that."
"Like what?"
"Like she was deciding whether you were cute or interesting and landed on both."
"You're reading into things." But Orm's face was warm.
Orm followed Ling's advice and laced the skates tighter than felt comfortable, until her feet were locked in place. When she tried to stand, the world immediately tilted sideways.
Her ankles wobbled. She grabbed Prim's shoulder with one hand and Remy's with the other, clinging with desperate strength. Her height, usually an advantage, now made her feel even more precarious.
"Oh my god," she said. "How do people walk in these?"
"You don't walk, you waddle." Remy demonstrated, taking tiny steps toward the ice entrance. "Like a penguin."
Orm attempted to follow and nearly went down immediately. This is a mistake.
Through the entrance to the rink, she caught sight of Ling again. Ling was kneeling on the ice next to an elderly woman who'd apparently fallen, helping her up with gentle patience. Once the woman was steady, Ling skated a slow lap with her, one hand supporting her elbow, talking the whole time. The woman was smiling, her earlier fear replaced with determination.
Ling guided her to the barrier, checked that she was okay, and then skated away backward.
I want that, Orm thought, and she wasn't entirely sure if she meant the skating or the confidence or Ling in general.
"Ready?" Prim asked, already at the entrance to the rink.
No. "Yes," her mouth said.
The ice entrance was a small gate in the barrier, and beyond it lay the rink proper, vast and terrifying and packed with people who all seemed to know what they were doing. The music had switched to "Baby It's Cold Outside."
Orm stepped onto the ice.
Her skates immediately tried to escape in opposite directions. She grabbed the barrier with both hands, her knuckles white, her entire body rigid. The ice was slippery, which she'd known intellectually, obviously, but experiencing it was different. Under her blades, she could feel it wanting to send her flying.
"Hold the wall and shuffle forward," Prim called, already ten feet ahead. "We'll go slow!"
Orm attempted a shuffle. Her left skate slid forward while her right stayed planted, leaving her in an unintentional split that made her yelp and scramble back to the wall.
A kid wearing light-up skates zipped past and called out, "You gotta actually move your feet, lady!"
"Thanks," Orm muttered. "Super helpful."
She got both feet back underneath her and attempted another shuffle. This time, she moved forward approximately two inches. At this rate, she'd make it around the rink by midnight.
Around her, the rink teemed with life. An elderly couple skated past holding hands, moving in perfect synchronization. A teenager did a small jump, landing it cleanly. A dad with a baby strapped to his chest glided by one-handed.
This is humiliating.
Then she saw Ling again.
This time, Ling was in the center of the rink with three kids, teaching them something. Demonstrating a move that involved crossing one skate over the other. The kids tried to copy her, their movements clumsy but enthusiastic.
One of the girls fell, and Ling was there instantly, helping her up and saying something that made the kid laugh instead of cry. Then Ling did the move again, slower this time, breaking it down into steps.
Orm couldn't hear what she was saying, but she could see the patience in every gesture, the genuine joy on Ling's face as one of the kids successfully completed the move. Ling clapped and did a little celebratory spin, and the kids cheered.
Orm took a breath and released the wall.
For three glorious seconds, she felt almost stable. Her skates glided forward, and she thought, Oh, maybe I can—
Then her right skate hit a rough patch. Her left foot overcompensated. Her arms windmilled in wild, desperate circles as her body pitched forward, the ice rushing up to meet her face—
Hands caught her waist.
The fall stopped. The world stabilized. Orm found herself pulled upright against someone's body, held steady by confident hands.
"I've got you," a voice said near her ear. "You're okay."
Orm's brain took several seconds to catch up, mostly because it was very preoccupied with cataloging sensations: hands on her waist, someone's front pressed against her back, warm breath against her ear despite the cold air, and the smell of peppermint.
She turned her head and found herself inches from Ling's face.
"Hi," Orm said.
"Hi yourself." Ling's mouth curved into a smile, and the warmth reached her eyes. Up close, they were deep brown with flecks of amber, currently sparkling with amusement. "You okay?"
"I'm—yes—sorry—" Orm tried to step away, and her ankles immediately betrayed her. Ling's hands tightened on her waist, keeping her vertical.
"Easy," Ling said, her voice patient. "Don't try to move yet. Breathe. Get your balance."
Orm breathed. Her heart was hammering, whether from the near-fall or from Ling's proximity was unclear.
"I thought you had this under control," Ling said, teasing. "No walker-frame needed, remember?"
"I was wildly overconfident," Orm admitted, and despite her embarrassment, she felt her unguarded smile appear. "Turns out ice is slippery. Revolutionary discovery."
"You should write a paper." Ling's expression was fond as she shifted to Orm's side, one hand still resting on Orm's elbow. "Okay, so. We need to start with the absolute basics. Can you stand upright on land?"
"Usually, yes."
"Ice is different." Ling demonstrated a proper skating stance, feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, weight slightly forward. "You're standing like you're on solid ground. You're not. You need to commit to the instability, lean into it a little. Show me how you're standing."
Orm tried to replicate her normal standing posture, weight back, knees locked, feet close together.
"Okay, no. That's all wrong." But Ling said it kindly, without judgment. "Your feet are too close; you have no base. Your knees are locked, which means you can't react when the ice shifts. And your weight is back, which is why you keep almost falling backward. Watch me."
Ling demonstrated again, and this time, Orm forced herself to focus on the technical details. Feet apart. Knees soft. Chest slightly forward.
Then Ling skated a small circle around Orm, backward, and returned to her starting position.
"Okay, I'm sorry," Orm said, "but the backward thing? How is that even possible?"
"Practice. Lots of it." Ling smiled. "I've been skating since I was six. My parents used to bring me here every winter; it was our thing. And then I started working here in high school, and then after college I never left." A shrug, vulnerability crossing her face. "Which probably sounds weird. Most people think it's not a real job."
"It's not weird. You're obviously good at it."
"Good at a thing nobody thinks is a real job." Ling laughed, but there was an edge to it. "Sorry. That came out more bitter than I meant. My parents have been dropping hints about 'real careers' lately."
"Well, your parents are wrong," Orm said firmly. "You make it look like art."
Ling blinked, her expression softening. "I—thank you. That's..." She trailed off, then seemed to shake herself. "Okay, enough about me. Time to actually teach you something. Hold onto me."
Ling offered both hands, palms up. Orm stared at them for a beat too long, noticing the calluses on Ling's palms, the strength in her fingers, how they were slightly pink from the cold.
Orm placed her hands in Ling's. Even through her gloves, the connection felt electric.
"I'm going to skate backward," Ling said, her voice slipping into teaching mode. "You're going to let me pull you forward. Don't try to do anything fancy. Keep your knees bent and let your skates glide. Got it?"
"Got it," Orm lied.
Ling started moving, and Orm felt the gentle pull forward. Every instinct screamed to lock her knees, to fight it, to grab for something solid. But Ling's hands were so steady, her gaze so confident, that Orm forced herself to relax.
"Good," Ling murmured. "That's good. You're doing it."
They glided forward a few feet, or rather, Ling glided backward while pulling Orm along. But Orm's skates were actually moving across the ice, which felt miraculous.
"Don't look at your feet," Ling instructed. "Look at me. If you look down, you'll psych yourself out."
Orm looked up and found Ling watching her with focused attention. Not judging, not laughing, paying attention, like Orm was the only person on the rink.
"Try pushing a little," Ling said. "With one foot. Gentle push to the side."
Orm tried. Her right foot slid out in something approximating the right motion, and she actually glided forward on her left skate for a few inches under her own power.
"Yes!" Delight lit up Ling's features. "Exactly like that! See? You're skating!"
"I'm being towed by someone who actually knows what they're doing."
"Semantics." Ling grinned. "But seriously, feel how when you pushed, you moved forward? That's the whole game. Push, glide, push, glide. You'll find the rhythm."
They continued across the rink this way, and Orm found it easier when she focused on Ling's face instead of her own terror. She noticed more details: the way Ling's ponytail swished with each movement, how she occasionally bit her lower lip when concentrating, the elegant line of her neck.
After they'd covered nearly half the rink, Ling slowed to a stop.
"Okay," Ling said. "Time to try it on your own."
"Absolutely not."
Ling released Orm's hands and skated backward a few feet, staying close but not touching. "Come on. A few strokes. You can do this."
"Your confidence is severely misplaced."
"My confidence is based on evidence." Ling's expression was encouraging. "I've taught hundreds of people to skate. You're doing better than most. Besides, I'm right here. If you start to fall, I'll catch you again."
Orm took a breath. Adjusted her stance. And pushed off with her right foot.
She moved forward. Actually, forward, on her own power.
Exhilaration flooded through her, immediately followed by panic as she tried to push with her left foot, overcompensated, and felt her balance tipping.
"Knees bent!" Ling called out.
Orm bent her knees. Her body found its center again. She pushed with her right foot, then her left, and she was moving, slowly, arms out for balance, but she was moving.
"Yes! Like that!" Ling was grinning. "Look at you! That's at least five whole feet!"
"Don't mock my five feet of progress."
"I'm not mocking, I'm celebrating."
After another few strokes, her right skate hit a rough patch and she lurched forward. Ling was there in an instant, hands catching Orm's waist, steadying her. They ended up close again, and Orm's hands instinctively gripped Ling's shoulders.
"You're getting really good at that," Orm said, her pulse still racing.
"At catching you?" Ling's eyes were bright, amused. "Yeah, you're keeping me busy tonight. Not that I mind."
"You don't?"
"No." Ling's voice was softer now. "I don't."
They stood there for a moment, closer than necessary. Then Ling seemed to remember herself and stepped back.
"Come on," she said. "Let's try side by side this time. Might feel more stable."
Ling positioned herself next to Orm, one hand resting lightly on Orm's lower back. They pushed off together, and it was easier this way. Ling's presence beside her felt grounding.
"Push, glide, push, glide," Ling murmured, matching her pace to Orm's. "You're doing great."
"You're a liar."
"I'm not lying. Five minutes ago, you couldn't let go of the wall. Now you're out here gliding around. That's progress."
"I'm basically crawling."
"Crawling is still moving forward." Ling's hand pressed slightly more firmly against Orm's lower back. "Besides, everyone starts somewhere. I definitely did not look graceful my first time. I fell constantly and cried twice."
"I find that very hard to believe."
"It's true! Ask my mom, she has embarrassing video evidence." Ling smiled at the memory. "I was so mad because my older brothers picked it up immediately, and I was the one who'd begged to come skating. Classic younger sibling rage."
"You have brothers?"
"Two. Both ridiculously athletic, both extremely annoying about it." Ling paused. "But they're also the ones who taught me that falling is part of learning. You get up, you try again, you get better each time."
"Is that why you work here? Family tradition?"
"Sort of. I—" Ling hesitated. "I love that moment when people surprise themselves. When they realize they can do something they thought was impossible."
Whatever else she was about to say was cut off as Orm's right skate caught an edge, and she pitched forward.
Ling caught her again, both arms coming around Orm's waist, and they stumbled together for a few feet before Ling finally stabilized them both.
"Okay," Ling said, her voice unsteady. "That one wasn't your fault. There was a rough patch."
"Sure. Let's blame the ice."
"I'm serious! Look." Ling carefully maneuvered them around to show Orm the divot in the ice. "See? Evidence."
They were still standing close, Ling's arms around her waist, and Orm was acutely aware of every point of contact.
"Miss Ling!" A small voice piped up. "Miss Ling, watch me!"
Ling released Orm with obvious reluctance, stepping back to watch the little boy from earlier attempt a spin. He made it about three-quarters of the way around before losing his balance.
"That was so good!" Ling's expression transformed with genuine delight. "You almost had it! Try keeping your arms closer to your body; that'll help. Want to see again?"
Ling demonstrated, pulling her arms in tight and executing a perfect spin.
The boy tried again, this time making it further.
"Better! So much better!" Ling high-fived him. "Keep practicing, okay? You're going to land it."
The boy skated off happily, and Ling turned back to Orm with an apologetic expression. "Sorry. The kids know me, so they're always showing off."
"Don't apologize. You're really good with them."
"I love working with kids." Ling shrugged, turning self-conscious. "Most of my college friends think it's weird that I'm still doing this instead of climbing a corporate ladder. But there's something magical about helping people learn to skate, you know?"
"You're helping people do something that scares them. You're creating moments of joy. That's valuable."
Ling held her gaze. "You keep saying things like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you actually see what I'm doing here. Like it matters." Her voice was quieter now. "Most people see it as a temp job until I figure out what I really want to do."
"Well, most people are idiots. What do you want to do?"
"This." Ling gestured at the rink, her expression lighting up. "Maybe not this exact job forever, I've been thinking about getting certified as a proper skating coach, teaching year-round at an indoor facility. Actually making a career of it." A self-conscious laugh. "My parents are very supportive in that way where they say they're supportive, but you can tell they're worried I'm not being 'practical.'"
"Practical is overrated."
"Is it?" Ling tilted her head, studying Orm. "What do you do?"
"I'm a data analyst for a healthcare company." Orm made a face. "Which is exactly as boring as it sounds. Eight hours a day staring at spreadsheets."
"Do you like it?"
The honest answer was no. "It's fine. It pays the bills."
Ling's expression suggested she heard everything Orm wasn't saying. "That's not exactly a ringing endorsement."
"No," Orm admitted. "It's not. But it's safe, and I'm good at it, and it doesn't ask anything of me except to show up."
"And that's what you want? A job that doesn't ask anything of you?"
The question hit deeper than it should have. "I don't know what I want," Orm said honestly. "That's the problem."
A beat of silence stretched between them, weighted with understanding.
"Okay," Ling said finally, her voice taking on a new note of determination. "New goal: by the end of tonight, you're going to skate all the way around this rink on your own. No help, no hands to hold."
"That seems wildly optimistic."
"I prefer 'confidently ambitious.'" Ling held out her hand. "Come on. Let's see how far you can get."
They skated together for another ten minutes, Ling gradually reducing support. First, moving from Orm's side to skating ahead of her, then increasing the distance between them.
"Ling! Hey!" A voice called out from across the ice.
A girl skated toward them, tall, athletic, with long blonde hair and a bright smile. She was good on the ice, moving with easy confidence.
Ling's face lit up, warm and familiar.
"Sam! Hey! I didn't know you were coming tonight!"
"Last-minute decision." The girl, Sam, skated up to them. She was wearing a university hoodie. "I texted you like an hour ago."
"Oh god, I haven't checked my phone. It's been busy." Ling gestured at the rink. "But it's so good to see you! How's the team doing?"
"Good! We won regionals, so we're headed to nationals in January." Sam's smile was radiant. "Coach says I have a real shot at making the podium this year."
"Sam, that's amazing!" Ling reached out and touched Sam's arm, excitement radiating from her. "You've been working so hard, you totally deserve it."
"Thanks. I couldn't have done it without all those extra sessions you did with me over the summer." Sam's hand lingered on Ling's shoulder, friendly and familiar. "Seriously, you were great."
Orm's stomach dropped. They know each other well.
"You did all the work," Ling was saying. "I gave you some pointers."
"You're too modest." Sam laughed, then seemed to notice Orm for the first time. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your lesson."
"You're not interrupting," Ling said quickly. "This is—" Ling turned to Orm. "Sorry, I didn't actually get your name?"
"Orm," Orm said.
"Orm, this is Sam. She's on the university skating team; she's amazing. Sam, this is Orm. She's learning to skate for the first time tonight."
"Brave!" Sam said warmly. "First time is always the hardest. You're doing great, though. I saw you out there earlier."
"Thanks," Orm said, trying to smile.
"Hey, are you free after your shift?" Sam asked Ling. "A bunch of us are grabbing a late dinner at that Indian place you like. You should come."
"Oh, I—" Ling glanced at Orm, then back at Sam. "Maybe? I'm not sure yet."
"No pressure. Text me if you can make it." Sam pressed Ling's shoulder again. "Nice meeting you, Orm! Good luck with the skating!"
Sam skated off, and Orm felt herself starting to retreat.
"Sorry about that," Ling said. "Sam and I trained together over the summer. She's really talented."
"She seems nice," Orm said, her voice more neutral than she intended.
"She is." Ling was watching Orm carefully now. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, fine. Maybe I should take a break. My legs are getting tired."
"Orm—" Ling reached for her hand, but Orm was already moving toward the barrier.
Orm made it to the wall and clung to it, feeling ridiculous.
A minute later, Ling materialized beside her, stepping off the ice to stand on the rubber matting.
"Hey," Ling said softly. "Talk to me. What happened?"
"Nothing. I'm tired."
"You're not tired. You're upset." Ling's voice was gentle but direct. "Was it Sam? Because she's a friend. And she has a girlfriend."
Orm felt her face heat. "I wasn't—I didn't think—"
"You did, though." Ling closed the distance between them. "Which is okay, by the way. I get it. But I want to be really clear about something."
Orm made herself look at Ling.
"I see hundreds of people come through here," Ling said. "I help a lot of them learn to skate. It's my job. But I don't—" A pause. "I don't usually spend this much time with someone. And I definitely don't feel like this."
"Like what?"
"Like I want to keep talking to you even after my shift ends." Ling's expression was open, vulnerable. "Like I'm hoping you'll say yes if I ask for your number. Like I'm nervous right now because I'm not sure if you feel the same way."
Hope flared in Orm's chest. "You're nervous?"
"Terrified, actually." Ling laughed, but it was shaky. "Because you're interesting and funny and you say things that make me think. And you looked at me like maybe you were interested, but then Sam showed up, and you shut down, so now I'm not sure if I'm reading this right."
"You're reading it right," Orm said quietly. "I was interested. I am interested. I got in my head about it."
"Because of Sam?"
"Because you're you," Orm gestured at Ling, "and I'm someone who can barely stand up on ice. It felt like maybe I was making something out of nothing."
"You weren't." Ling reached out and took Orm's hand. "To be completely clear, I think you're cute. I've been finding excuses to keep teaching you instead of helping other people. And I really want to keep talking to you after tonight. Does that help?"
"Yeah," Orm said, a smile breaking across her face. "That helps."
"Good." Ling held her hand. "Now—do you want to keep skating? Or do you want to take that break?"
"Keep skating," Orm decided. "I'm not done yet."
They pushed off together, and this time when Orm glanced at Ling, there was no uncertainty, only warmth and possibility.
They spent the next twenty minutes working on technique. Ling was patient and encouraging, gradually letting Orm skate longer distances on her own. By the time Ling's shift was winding down, Orm had completed nearly a full lap without help.
"See?" Ling said, skating backward in front of Orm. "I told you you'd get it."
"I'm still basically a disaster."
"You're a disaster who can skate now. That's progress." Ling slowed to a stop, and Orm stopped next to her without falling. "My shift ends in about fifteen minutes. Would you want to get hot chocolate? The stuff here is terrible, but it's tradition."
"I'd really like that," Orm said.
"Yeah?" Ling's smile was bright.
"Yeah. Definitely."
"Okay. Good." Ling looked almost relieved. "Meet me by the rental booth when you're done?"
Orm nodded, and Ling skated away to help a family who'd arrived.
Orm made her way back to where Prim and Remy were taking a break by the barrier.
"Look who's still standing," Remy said, grinning. "And looking very pleased with herself."
"I can skate now," Orm said. "Sort of."
"We saw," Prim said. "We also saw you having a very intense conversation with the hot skating instructor."
"Ling," Orm corrected, unable to keep from smiling.
"Oooh, Ling," Remy said, waggling their eyebrows. "So what else did you get?"
"We're getting hot chocolate after her shift ends."
Prim and Remy exchanged looks.
"So you're staying?" Prim asked.
"Yeah. You guys can go if you want. I can get a ride share home."
"We're staying," Remy said. "We need to see how this plays out."
The next fifteen minutes passed quickly. Orm practiced a bit more, getting steadier each time. When she finally made her way off the ice and changed back into her regular shoes, her legs were shaking, and she was pretty sure she'd have bruises and be sore tomorrow.
But she also felt more alive than she had in months.
She found Ling by the rental booth, finishing up with the last few customers. Ling had changed out of her staff jacket, now she wore an oversized cream cardigan over a soft forest green sweater. Her black hair was down, falling past her shoulders in waves.
"Ready?" Ling asked, smiling.
"Absolutely."
They walked together toward the snack stand, close enough that their hands occasionally brushed. Behind them, Orm could hear Prim and Remy trailing at a respectful distance.
"So," Ling said. "Tell me something about yourself that's not work-related and not about how bad you are at skating."
"Um." Orm's brain temporarily blanked. "I... read a lot? That's boring. I—I used to paint. In college. Haven't in a while."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. Stopped having time, I guess. Or stopped making time."
"What did you paint?"
"Mostly landscapes. Places I wanted to go but never did." Orm felt her cheeks warm. "It sounds silly."
"It doesn't sound silly at all." Ling's voice was soft. "It sounds like maybe you're scared of wanting things."
Before Orm could respond, they reached the snack stand.
The stand was decorated with candy cane stripes and garlands, and directly above the ordering window hung a sprig of mistletoe, its white berries catching the string lights.
"Two hot chocolates, please," Ling said to the woman working. "Extra marshmallows on both."
"You got it, honey," the woman said, her eyes twinkling as she looked between them. Her gaze flickered meaningfully up at the mistletoe.
While they waited, soft snow began to fall, gentle flakes that caught in the lights and drifted down. The flakes landed in Ling's dark hair, on her eyelashes, dusting her shoulders.
"Oh," Ling said softly, looking up.
"It's pretty," Orm said, but she was looking at Ling, at the way the light caught her features, at how the snowflakes made her look almost otherworldly.
Ling looked back at her, and the air between them shifted. They were standing close, close enough that Orm could see the way her cheeks had flushed pink.
"Orm," Ling said quietly.
"Yeah?"
"I'm really glad you came skating tonight." There was no mistaking the warmth in Ling's eyes now.
"Me too."
Ling's gaze flickered up to the mistletoe, then back to Orm. "There's this tradition—"
"There is," Orm agreed, her mouth dry.
"Where if two people are standing under mistletoe—" Ling bit her lower lip, nervous.
"They kiss," Orm finished.
"Would that—would that be okay?"
Instead of answering with words, Orm leaned down and pressed her lips gently to Ling's.
The kiss was soft and sweet, tentative. Ling's hands came up to rest on Orm's waist, and Orm cupped Ling's face gently with one hand, feeling the warmth of her skin despite the cold air. Her thumb brushed Ling's cheekbone, smooth and cold from the winter air. Ling tasted like peppermint chapstick and possibility.
When they pulled apart after a moment, both of them were breathing harder, their faces flushed.
"Wow," Ling whispered, her eyes bright and happy.
"Yeah," Orm whispered back.
"Two hot chocolates!" the woman at the stand announced, amused.
They pulled apart, both flushed and a little dazed. Ling accepted the cups with a shaky laugh, handing one to Orm.
"Thank you," Ling said.
"Anytime, honey. You two enjoy."
They moved to a bench slightly away from the main crowd, settling close together. The snow continued to fall gently around them.
Orm tried her hot chocolate. "You were right. This is terrible."
"Told you." Ling took a sip and made a face. "But the company's good?"
"The company's very good."
They sat quietly for a moment, existing together in the snowfall and lights.
"Can I ask you something?" Ling said eventually.
"Sure."
"Earlier, you said you didn't know what you wanted. Was that true?"
Orm considered the question. "Mostly. I used to want things when I was younger. I wanted to travel, to paint, to live somewhere with mountains. But then I graduated and got a job and started dating someone, and those wants felt... childish, I guess. Impractical."
"So you stopped wanting them?"
"I stopped letting myself want them." Orm looked down at her cup. "It seemed safer. And then one day, I woke up and realized I didn't want anything anymore. Not really. I was existing."
"And now?"
"Now I'm here. Sitting on a bench with terrible hot chocolate, covered in snow, and I—" Orm stopped, surprised by what she was about to say. "I want things again."
"What things?"
"I want to paint again. I want to go somewhere I've never been. I want..." Orm looked at Ling. "I want to see you again. Tomorrow. And maybe the day after that."
Ling's smile was radiant. "Those all sound like good things to want."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Ling shifted closer. "And for the record, I want to see you again, too. Definitely tomorrow. Definitely the day after that."
They sat like that for a while, hands almost touching on the bench, talking about small things, Ling's brothers, Orm's friends Prim and Remy, favorite movies and books. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and comfortable silences.
Ling lifted her cup to take another sip, and when she lowered it, there was a dollop of whipped cream on her upper lip. She didn't notice, continuing to talk about a skating competition she'd watched as a kid. "—and I remember thinking, that's what I want to do. I want to make people feel that way when they watch me skate. Like anything is possible, you know? Like—"
Orm watched the white spot, feeling a shift inside her. All night she'd been cautious, careful, playing it safe even while trying to be brave. But sitting here with Ling, covered in snow, drinking terrible hot chocolate, she didn't want to be careful anymore.
"Ling," Orm interrupted gently.
"Yeah?"
"You have whipped cream on your—" Instead of finishing the sentence, Orm leaned in and kissed her.
This kiss was different from the first, less tentative, more sure. Orm's lips caught the sweet whipped cream, and she felt Ling's surprised intake of breath before Ling melted into the kiss, her hand coming up to cup the back of Orm's neck.
When they pulled apart, Ling was staring at her with wide eyes, her cheeks flushed deeper.
"You had whipped cream," Orm explained, feeling bold and terrified and alive. "On your lip."
Ling's expression transformed into something delighted. "That was—you're—" She seemed to lose her words, then laughed. "You're full of surprises."
"Good surprises?"
"The best surprises." Ling set down her hot chocolate and took Orm's hand properly, lacing their fingers together. "So, cards on the table? I'd really like to see you tomorrow. And I'd really like this to be the start of something. Is that too forward?"
"Not too forward at all." Orm held her hand. "Tomorrow. Coffee?"
"It's a date," Ling said deliberately, making it clear.
"A date," Orm repeated, warmth flooding through her.
They exchanged numbers, fingers fumbling with phones because neither wanted to let go of the other's hand. Eventually, reluctantly, they had to stand and walk toward the parking lot.
The rink was shutting down now, lights dimming one section at a time. Other couples and families were making their way to their cars, voices carrying softly through the night air.
"I should—" Ling started, gesturing vaguely toward the staff parking area.
"Yeah," Orm agreed, but neither of them moved.
They stood there under the string lights, snow falling around them, neither wanting to be the first to leave.
"Tomorrow," Ling said. "Ten o'clock? There's a coffee shop on Main Street—"
"I know it," Orm said. "I'll be there."
"Good, because I'm already looking forward to it."
Orm leaned down and kissed the small mole on Ling's left cheek, soft and deliberate.
Ling's breath caught, her cheeks pink, whether from the cold or the kiss, Orm couldn't say.
Then Ling tilted her head and found Orm's lips with her own, the kiss deeper this time, more insistent.
Ling's hands found Orm's waist, pulling her closer with a confidence that made Orm's heart stutter.
Orm's arms went around Ling's neck, and suddenly they were pressed together, the snow falling around them unnoticed, the world narrowing to just this, Ling's mouth on hers, the warmth between them despite the winter cold.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard.
"Goodnight, Ling," Orm whispered.
"Goodnight, Orm."
Orm made herself turn and walk toward Prim's car. After a few steps, she looked back. Ling was still standing there by the rink entrance, illuminated by the string lights and falling snow, watching her go.
Ling raised her hand in a wave, one small gesture that made Orm's chest feel too full.
Orm waved back, the image burning itself into her memory: Ling in her cream cardigan, black hair dusted with snow, waving goodbye with that soft smile, the lights of Winter Wonderland glowing behind her.
She looked back once more before reaching the car. Ling was still there, still watching, refusing to leave until Orm was safe.
Orm climbed into the passenger seat, unable to stop smiling.
"Well, well, well," Remy said from the backseat. "Look who's glowing."
"Shut up," Orm said, but she was still smiling.
"Did you see the way she looked at you?" Prim asked, pulling out of the parking lot.
"And you were so smooth with that whipped cream move," Remy added. "Very romantic."
Orm felt her face heat. "Are you two going to tease me the entire ride home?"
"Probably," Prim said. "But we're also proud of you. You stayed. You took the chance."
Orm's phone buzzed.
Ling: Made it back to my car. Still thinking about you. Still smiling. :)
Warmth spread through Orm as she typed back.
Orm: Me too. See you tomorrow?
Ling: Definitely. Sleep well. <3
"She sent you a heart emoji, didn't she?" Remy asked.
"How did you—"
"You have a face, Orm. It's very expressive."
Orm leaned her head against the window. Her legs ached. Her ankles felt wobbly. Bruises probably already forming.
But she felt more alive than she had in months.
They drove in comfortable silence for a while.
"So," Remy said. "Coffee date tomorrow at ten. What are you going to wear?"
"Wear something you feel good in," Prim advised. "She already likes you."
They pulled up in front of Orm's apartment building, and she climbed out of the car, then leaned down to look at her friends through the open door.
"Text us tomorrow after the date," Prim said. "We want details."
"I'll text you," Orm promised.
"And Orm?" Prim's expression was soft. "I really am proud of you."
Orm laughed, closing the car door and watching them drive away. Then she headed up to her apartment, her heart still light, her phone heavy with possibility in her pocket.