by Ellie Hall
“Lottie, I want to promise you the present and the future. I want to devote my life to you. To us. Will you marry me?”
The light above shines bright, concealing the arena. They can’t hear what we’re saying. Only see the bold spectacle of Rusty and the shiny ring. It’s just us.
I meet his ice-blue eyes. It’s in them and not the ring that I see the promise.
“Yes,” I say. “But only if you’ll skate with me.”
“Now?”
“Now and when things get hard, slippery, melty.”
His lips quirk with amusement. “I’ll skate with you forever.”
His lips curl into a smile and he slides Oma’s amber stone on my finger. I saw her wearing it when we’d first arrived. Then she wasn’t. She must’ve given it to him. Rusty and everyone here is a part of me now. This is home.
“You are home,” he whispers as if reading my thoughts.
Then, lacing or hands together, we do a victory lap. The applause and cheering are louder than when the Storm won and until I trip on an ice shaving, I feel like the luckiest woman on earth. Of course, Rusty catches me.
But I can live with my luck, good or bad, because I have love.
I ask, “So we went from fake boyfriend-girlfriend to real fiancés, right?”
He kisses my nose. “Yes. Soon we’ll be real husband and wife. No more of this fake nonsense.”
There’s a little celebration after the showcase, featuring Cookie & Cupcake items and complimentary cocoa.
Oma sits nearby while skaters and spectators alike congratulate me on a spectacular performance. Although I know it wasn’t my best and certainly wouldn’t put me in the ranking for any kind of medal or award, each turn, leap, and landing however exceptional or poor led to my healing.
In these fleeting months when my life went from routine, mundane, a black and white negative to a color image, filled with friends and food, kissing and questioning, my life became bigger, much bigger than the one I’d fit myself into back in Manhattan in that stifling office with the soft boiled egg and spider knuckles.
Everyone also congratulates Rusty and me. My parents make their way through the mob and while I have a hundred questions for what brought them here and how—a private jet? I’m so glad they saw my performance.
After hugs, words of encouragement, and congratulations, I wipe the tired smile from my lips just as another pair land on mine.
Rusty takes my hand, leading me past the bathrooms and locker rooms and toward the Zamboni garage. We sneak inside like we have several times before. Without opening my eyes and without thinking, my lips melt into his. I leave the planet and am enrapt in the kind of quiet that’s loud enough to silence everything else.
It’s just us and that’s more than enough.
His hands thread in my hair. My fingers wrap around his shoulders. Our kisses deepen and spread and fulfill a promise now and later.
When we part, I let out the last of the breath I’ve been holding onto since the attack. “When I said thank you out there, I meant it more than just as your typical expression of gratitude. I wish there were layers to words sometimes. Like, thank you to the third degree. Because not only do I want to thank you for coming here tonight, but for helping me to heal.” My fingers brush my cheek.
“You did the hard work on that one.”
I shrug a shoulder. “You helped.”
Rusty kisses my cheek with the scar. His lips land on my chin, my forehead, and then he says, “I love you, Cupcake,” before his lips land on mine.
I reply that I love him too, but the words are lost in a kiss.
Epilogue
The night I skated in the showcase with Rusty, my parents, and Oma in the audience, the moon may as well have fallen from the sky. Then in the weeks that followed, the stars came with it. I mean that figuratively, of course. With my luck, that would destroy the planet and my good fortune.
While my parents were in town spur of the moment, Rusty and I got married. It wasn’t the most elaborate affair, considering it was short notice, but the ceremony was intimate and meaningful at a seaside church. Magnolia was the ring bearer and very proud of her new job.
However, the reception at the Ice Palace was epic. I’m pretty sure the entire population of Seaswell and then some showed up minus Jared.
I tried to convince Rusty he could come if he brought a truck full of baking flour for the new biz. You know, forgiveness and all that.
Mostly, we have Zoe to thank for the bonanza complete with our first dance as a married couple on the rink at the Ice Palace—I’m living my own version of a princess fantasy. I only tripped over my dress twice. Thankfully there weren’t any broken bones, blood, or stitches.
My friends from Manhattan joined us, and I had to explain that we acted fast on saying I do because Oma is traditional and we decided to relocate here...with her. I think she’d miss Magnolia...and her mazdēls. Maybe even me and my cupcakes.
My friends from New York weren’t thrilled at the prospect of losing me to the north, but Rusty won them over when he did karaoke with me at the reception. Our official song is Singing in the Rain.
I also know how to say three things in Latvian. Pīrāgī for those delicious little bacon pies and paldies, meaning thank you. But there’s one more and it’s just for Rusty, but I’m still working on my pronunciation.
We’re going to keep Oma company and be cozy all together this winter on Starboard. But I’ll be busy with Cookie & Cupcake. Rusty is working on transferring to a local hospital but has managed to cluster his shifts so he’s here on the weekends. Thank goodness for weekends!
I’m in the middle of texting Colette when the scent of bacon frying downstairs brings me to my feet.
Me: My nose tells me breakfast is almost ready. I should investigate.
Colette: Is he making you breakfast in bed again? What a guy! Just don’t slip on any bananas.
Me: Magnolia will do anything for bacon so we try to keep to the kitchen. She’s very well trained but also extremely spoiled. I blame her daddy.
Colette: Well, you’ve given me a lot to think about.
Me: Let me know your plans. Whatever you do, I’m here for you.
Colette: Thanks. If you have any spare courage, you know my address.
Me: I’m fresh out. But I do have some bad luck. You probably don’t want that. I add a winky face.
Colette: I disagree. You have the best luck. I miss you!
Me: I’ll be back in Manhattan next month. I’ll see you then and I promise to bring cupcakes.
Colette: If I’m still here...I sometimes forget there’s a world beyond the City.
Me: Wait? What?
But she doesn’t reply. She’d mentioned admiring me for changing things up and being brave for leaving town, but not that she wanted to leave. On second thought, she did ask me about Germany and Latvia—not that I’ve ever been, yet.
In a half-awake-phone-first-thing-in-the-morning haze, I wander downstairs as my stomach rumbles.
“You’re bright-eyed today.” Rusty pours us coffee.
“Surprising, since I was up half the night thinking about new flavors.” I give my head a little shake to stop obsessing over what Colette meant.
“Any plans for today, Cupcake?”
“Not much. Getting ready for the grand opening so I only have, you know, a millionty things to do.”
He flips a pancake and the muscles of his arms flex. I fan myself.
“Since it’s officially summer...and we never went on a honeymoon—”
“Oh, you bet we will though. I have an entire plan.”
His eyes sparkle and dance with amused appreciation. “I know you do.” He sits down and pulls me onto his lap.
“We haven’t taken a trip because of my new business and your insane work schedule, Dr. Koenig.”
“Speaking of that, I got the approval for the transfer. Starting next month, I’ll be working merely fifteen minutes away.”
I leap out
of his lap and jump up and down. “Seriously?”
He joins me, picking me up around the waist and I koala hug him.
“That’s great news. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Koenig.”
“Doctor sounds cooler, but I like it when you call me that.” I brush my nose against his.
Rusty slowly lowers me onto my feet.
“Remember your idea for us on spring break. I thought we could do something similar for the summer instead of the honeymoon.”
“But next summer...” A European tour, including family in Germany and having Oma meet us in Latvia.
He places his finger over my lips, silencing me. “Yes, as soon as I’m settled at the new hospital, I will put in for a month off next year.”
“At least.”
He laughs. “In the meantime, I want us to have a little summer fun.”
“We live at the beach, but I like the sound of that. Keep talking.”
He shifts from foot to foot. “Well, it’s kind of a surprise, but go put on a bathing suit.”
After breakfast, Magnolia leads us along a trail and away from the harbor. We cross train tracks and an old rusty boat.
Rusty holds my hand as we scramble over rocks. We pause with the town to our backs like a secret through the branches and leaves. In front of us, the river empties into the sea and the sun sparkles on the water.
I look down at a gap between a train bridge thingy and the water. I leap back.
“This is the trestle. It’s safe enough. Used to come here when I was a teenager.” Rusty’s smile is wide. Daring. He jogs to the embankment and pulls off his shirt, revealing those killer abs—and now they’re all mine. He’s all mine.
Rusty pads to the center of the trestle, facing the ocean. “Feel like flying?”
“What?” My eyes bulge.
“When I wanted to get out of here, I used to jump.”
“Rusty, it seems dangerous. With my luck, I might—”
“You’re missing the point.”
I tilt my head.
“Taking this leap reminded me that I’m still alive, especially when it felt like I was suffocating. When I didn’t see a way out, I took flight, imagining I was soaring, swimming far, far away. But I realized that everything I wanted to escape was inside. Can’t escape that. So now, the point of this jump is for fun. To be free. Lottie, I want you to leap with me.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. You should. There’s nothing like the freefall to remind you to appreciate the landing, to remind you that change and excitement and living are possible. It’s just a jump away.”
I shake my head. “Rocks?”
“It’s high tide. Nothing below other than fresh, running water.”
His smile is anything but tame as he steps closer to me. Instead of taking my hand, he removes the pins from my hair, letting it fall loose around my shoulders.
The look he gives me rivals the sun beaming in the sky.
He twines his fingers around mine and I’m keenly aware of time up here, on this bridge, with my husband.
Nothing will stop its passage despite my occasional desire to do so. All we have is now. So with barely a moment to pause and think, I step to the edge.
Rusty grips my hand tightly. “I’ll never let go again.”
“Promise?”
He nods. “On the count of three.”
“Wait.” But I have no excuse, no counter-argument as to why this is a ridiculous and dangerous thing to do. It’s time to throw my bad luck to the wind. In the distance, the train whistles, counting down this leap for us.
My toes curl around the edge of the railroad ties.
Rusty smiles and then we’re airborne. My screech turns into a whoop and too soon, we’re smacking into the water with Rusty still holding my hand.
I don’t hurry to the surface, but let the water wash over and through me. When we bob up, it’s like shedding a silky blanket.
Rusty’s strong arms wrap around me. Dangerous? Scary? I could stay like this forever. I think I will.
He kisses my cheek, then whispers, “Life is fleeting. Let this sink in. Let it stick. Don’t rub it off.”
And I laugh, loud and true and robust because my friends and my family imprinted me with a beautiful, buoyant, exuberant life to live.
Magnolia runs into the water and the three of us splash and play—tossing her the frisbee. I feel complete with my husband and best friend. For the record, I love dogs. Well, this one.
We remain on the bank, not counting minutes or words or anything other than the rise and fall of our chests. We’re halfway between the ocean and the river, one leading inland and the other to our new home. I roll onto my side, edging closer.
Rusty grins and his lips are mine, fitting together and amazing me. When we part, his eyes shine bright with the kind of silence that we just shared, of our lips meeting, our breath joining. The kiss fills me with the buzzing feeling that’s overwhelmed me since we first kissed and one I hope to experience always.
“The word puzzle means both to amaze and the interlocking of two or more pieces that fit perfectly. That’s us.”
I beam a smile. “Even though you’re a man of few words, you always say the right thing. I love you, Dr. Koenig,” I say, but in Latvian.
This time his reply is silent and said with a kiss.
An Impossible Love Story Excerpt
Read the first chapter of Colette & Antonio’s Story, the next in this standalone series of romcoms
Chapter 1
Eat, Pray, Leap!
Colette
I’m not crying. My eyes are just leaking. Is there a plumber for this kind of thing?
It isn’t fair to feel grief this dense on such a sunny day. It’s summer. I should be outside, at least.
My phone beeps with a text.
I quickly stash the piece of paper under my pillow as if I’m a teenager and my mother came in and caught me looking at something naughty. Not that I would. I’m a southern girl. As proper as they come.
Minnie’s name appears in the little bubble.
Minnie: Come meet me. It’s a beautiful day. You should be outside.
Like I said.
Me: How do you know I’m not outside?
Minnie: I was just imitating a nagging parent, dragging you out of bed.
She wasn’t wrong...and I am still in bed, but I’m definitely no longer a teenager even though my thoughts and heart feel trapped in time. I glance at the digital clock. Let’s not even talk about what time it is.
Me: Okay, Mom. What should I do outside? Have any chores that I need to do?
Minnie: Ha ha. Meet me for iced coffee and we’ll take a whimsy.
Me: A what?
In response, she takes a selfie in front of our favorite coffee shop.
Peppy, positive people encourage you to seize the day. Lately, for me, it’s more like snooze the day. I used to be one of them, grabbing life by the horns and doing all the things plus ten more.
I drag myself to my feet. As I pass the floor-length mirror, I give a lazy salute. Then wrinkle my nose.
Marcus would hardly recognize me. Is this what he’d want? Broken Colette? Sad Colette? Crying Colette?
I don’t dare answer that question because the girl he knew and loved was bubbly Colette. Sparkly Colette. Cheerful Colette.
And I was. For a long time, I bucked up and crushed life. I excelled in school, top of my class. I’m bilingual—bonjour! I could probably ace a calculus exam if I sat down to take one, even though it’s been twelve years since I graduated. Okay, okay. Maybe not calc. But I can still recite Shakespeare fluently.
My physics teacher suggested an engineering track for me. Instead, I studied law and passed the bar on the first try. That was the plan, and I stuck to it even if life didn’t turn out like I expected.
All of this is to say, I’m smart and not ashamed of it. However, none of that prepared me for how to handle this sadness that follows me out
the door of my building. I’d bucked up, but now I’m just buckling under this sadness that’s getting heavier by the day.
No one warned me that over ten years in, grief can still be sticky. Kind of like Manhattan in the summer. Minnie said it’s beautiful outside. More like humid and that’s saying something, considering I’m originally from South Carolina.
The armpits of my shirt are soggy and I still have five blocks to go. I should’ve worn a tank top. Or stayed in bed with the air conditioning and plenty of tissues.
The AC at the café we dubbed Dude Taco’s Dad’s Coffee Emporium welcomes me. We also call it Man Bun Barista’s Beanery and the Dating Dare Café—a long and funny story, but I digress. It’s actually called Forty-Nine West because it’s on the west side of Manhattan and located on Forty-Ninth Street. The owner, Bash, wasn’t too creative on that front. But his coffee, croissants, and pastries are divine.
My eyes itch. Nope. Not allergies. It’s the croissants, I swear. Thankfully, I can eat gluten all day every day, but it’s the memory attached to croissants and why I took French in high school that gets me. Gets me all the time lately.
Minnie waves me over, seated at our usual table. Catherine won’t set foot in here, but the rest of us keep tabs on Bash for Book Boyfriend Blog purposes.
Not that I’m looking for a boyfriend. No sir-ee. But my best girlfriends don’t know that. No, ma’am.
Minnie dives in, talking a mile a minute.
“Wait. What?” I glance at the empty espresso cup. “How many of those have you had?”
“You took ages to get here.”
“It’s not easy to look this good.” My beauty pageant winner grandmama would be rolling over in her grave if she saw me in this state. No full face. No lip liner. No glue-on lashes. Mascara and gloss are enough for me.
“I had the idea to be a tourist in the city this summer. For instance, have you ever been to the top of the Empire State Building?”
I tip my head from side to side. “No. As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”
“See? There’s so much to do right here.” She goes on, citing more places to visit.