The cold air feels better than ever, even that I want to take my helmet off and let it blow through my curls, too - I don't - but it takes me a bit to realise I'm blushing. No one's ever treated meeting me like a gift. A few have stuck their mobiles in my face to get a picture, but that doesn't feel at all the way Bitty makes me feel.

Like I'm a person. That he likes me.

My skates falter, and I look down and realise that there's too much heat coming off of me, my blades slipping too deep into the ice. "Shit," I mutter, "Sorry," and look helplessly at Bitty. "Sometimes it happens when I'm happy, too."