Page 33 of Something’s Brewing

They moved in slow arcs, the space between them closing, narrowing.

“I used to figure skate,” she admitted. “Not by choice. My mom thought it was more . . . appropriate.”

He snorted. “Let me guess. Mason played hockey.”

“Of course he did. I watched him from the other side of the glass in my sequins and white tights.”

Garrett’s expression shifted—just barely. Not quite a smile. Not quite sympathy.

“You must’ve hated that.”

“At first.” Her voice softened. “I hated every minute of it back then. But all those early mornings and endless hours on the ice taught me discipline and made me strong. I had figure skating to thank for my strength during boot camp.”

They glided in silence for a few beats, the music echoing off the boards.

“I almost forgot how this felt,” she said quietly. “The cold. The movement. The way it clears your head.”

Garrett’s voice was quiet too. “You look like you belong out here.”

Something fluttered in her chest. She turned slightly, skating backward, watching him as he mirrored her motion with an ease that surprised her. “You skate well.”

“Grew up on a lake,” he said. “Played hockey all through school.”

They circled again, a slow orbit. Closer this time. It was just them on the ice. Moving.

Unspoken tension settled between them, not sharp or awkward—just present. Like the beginning of a question neither of them was brave enough to ask.

Finally, Garrett broke the silence with a quiet breath. “You’re something else, Madison.”

She didn’t respond because part of her didn’t know what to say. And the other part? Hoped he would kiss her. She didn’t know why, but she’d always been drawn to Garrett Reid.

The sound system clicked as the next song started, softer than the last. The lights above the rink seemed to dim just slightly, and the first quiet piano notes of Taylor Swift’s “You Are in Love” filtered through the speakers.

The chill that slid down Madison’s spine had nothing to do with the ice.

She pushed off again, slower this time, letting the long glide stretch beneath her. The rink had emptied. Roman and the girls had filed out, gear bags thudding softly behind them, their laughter echoing down the tunnel. A few Blizzard players lingered by the benches, chatting, stripping off gear, but none of them paid attention to Madison and Garrett.

Garrett skated closer, his strides smooth and controlled, eyes locked on hers. He didn’t speak, didn’t smile—just moved with her. Orbiting again. Matching her pace.

The music swelled as the verse gave way to chorus. Madison exhaled, feeling the moment slide through her.

Garrett coasted closer yet, so near now she could feel the warmth coming off him even in the cold air. Their hands brushed again. This time, she didn’t even think about pulling away.

His hand found hers, carefully, like he wasn’t sure she’d let him. She did. And they skated like that—slow, connected, and quiet—as the song unfolded around them, Taylor’s voice ringing out as she sang about home and true love.

Madison glanced up at Garrett, and he was already looking at her. And something in her chest cracked open . . .

The last note lingered through the rink like a breath they were both holding.

When it faded, neither of them moved right away.

Finally, Garrett spoke, voice soft. “Didn’t expect that.”

She swallowed. “Me either.”

She stood there in the middle of the rink, heart thudding in her chest, suddenly and completely certain of one thing: She wanted him something fierce. Her lips pressed together, barely holding back a smile. “You’re saying you don’t regularly slow dance to Taylor Swift in a hockey rink?”

He gave a soft snort. “Can’t say it’s part of my routine.”