To be honest, I thought I'd have to do a bit more arm-twisting, have to sell it a little more, but Jack agrees almost right off the bat and, for a moment, all I can do is stare at him in surprise before letting out a quick laugh.

"Oh goodness, now you're putting me on the spot," I tell him, watching as he skates away. Jack's always so gorgeously fluid when he skates. He obviously has the training of a hockey player and not a figure skater, but he moves so gracefully I'm sure that someone off the street wouldn't have any idea.

And it's good to see that months off the ice haven't hurt that grace any.

I bite my lip for a second and then force myself to take a breath. There's no reason to be nervous -- it's just Jack. Even if I fall or flub somehow, I know he won't judge me. And it's not like he hasn't seen me do this before, though this time I'm not in fully hockey gear.

I wait for a little break in the skating before pushing off, easily slipping into a glide around the rink to gain speed, ignoring the weight of Jack's gaze on me as I jump into a quick one-foot axel and then straight into a sow, landing perfectly before flipping to skate backwards and then melting into an easy scratch spin. It's exhilarating, honestly. Even if I'm not really warmed up at all and I turn at the end to see what Jack thinks.