Milli

  The moment I walk through the front door, I’m hit with the familiar scent of vanilla candles–and the low hum of the dishwasher in the background. It feels like any other evening. Except it’s not.

  Because I’m actually going to be partner skating with Jax again.

  My mom looks up from her laptop at the kitchen counter, eyebrow raised. “You’re home late. Everything alright?”

  “Yeah.” I say, setting my bag down, trying to sound casual. “More than alright, actually.”

  Her brows knit together, “Oh?”

  I take a breath, steadying myself. “So, I kind of got invited back to skate at the Everharts’ private rink. With Jax. As his partner.”

  Her hands freeze over the keyboard. “You what?”

  Before she can spiral into full-on interrogation mode, I rush to explain–how his parents were there, how the coach suggested a run-through, how we actually did it, and it worked. Better than before.

  When I finish, Mom just stares at me for a moment, then sighs, but there’s a tiny smile tugging at her mouth. “You’ve thought this through?”

  “Yes,” I say quickly. “Completely. It’s not just a whim–it’s real. They want me to train again.”

  There’s a pause. Then she nods slowly. Mom knows how much I love ice skating. “Alright. If you’re serious, we'll make it work.”

  “Really?” The answer caught me off guard. I’m also surprised at my own feelings. A few months ago I would say ice skating is just a hobby. Something I do on the side, not a die hard passion. I was more into theatre, and acting. I still am, but this time. This chance to be Jax’s skating partner. I can’t refuse, I don’t want to. I’ve bonded with him, and skating together on the ice was infinitely better than skating alone or with my friends. It’s something I will never get used to, but I don’t ever want to stop.

  She gives me that look–the one that says she’s pretending to be stricter than she is. “You’ll need to stay on top of your grades, Milli. We can’t have your schooling fall behind.”

  “Already on it.”

  I grab my laptop and flop onto the couch, opening my email. My fingers fly over the keyboard–messages to my teachers explaining the new schedule, asking if I can shift to more online coursework for a few months. Mrs. Petersen responds immediately, concerning drama class. Her message is very understanding, giving me different exercises to practice, script writing and character development, and checking in once a week to share what I’ve practiced. English and history should be easy to manage remotely. Science…not so much.

  Still, I make it sound neat and professional: I’ll be training for a regional skating partnership opportunity, but I’ll stay caught up on all work and submit everything on time.

  Once the emails are sent, I send a little message to Abby before texting the group chat with Alice and Avery.

  You guys will NOT believe what happened.

  What now?

  ?? Spill.

  I’m skating with Jax. Again. As his partner.

  WAIT WHAT—

  Omg you mean ice skating or like

  “we’re both falling in love on ice” skating

  ?? The first one.

  Uh-huh. Sure.

  I grin despite myself and toss my phone aside just as April bounds into the room, hair still damp from her shower.

  “Milliiii!” she sings, hopping onto the couch beside me. “Mom said you were skating again! Is it true? Are you and Jax gonna be all dramatic and spinny and sparkly?”

  “Maybe not sparkly,” I say, laughing. “But yeah. I’m skating with him again.”

  Her eyes go wide. “So you’ll be like a team?”

  “Pretty much.”

  April grins, bouncing in place. “Called it. Totally called it. I knew you two would end up back together!”

  “April,” I warn, but she’s already doing an exaggerated little twirl, pretending to fall dramatically into the cushions.

  I can’t help laughing–partly at her, partly because it all still feels surreal. A few weeks ago, everything was auditions, rehearsals, cocoa, chaos. Now I’m stepping into something bigger.

  Something that could actually change things.

  Later, when the house quiets down, I curl up in bed, laptop still open, new training schedule half-finished. My phone buzzes once more–a message from Jax.

  Thanks for today. You were incredible out there.

  Hope your ankle survives me tripping over it tomorrow. ??

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  I smile at the screen, my heart doing that little flutter again.

  Guess we’ll see. Don't be late.

  I set the phone down, staring up at the ceiling, the faint hum of the heater filling the silence.

  Tomorrow’s going to be different. Harder. Busier. But it feels right.

  The Frostveil mansion feels even bigger in daylight. Sunlight spills through tall windows, scattering gold across the marble floor. My footsteps echo faintly as May leads me through the hallway toward the private rink. Her brown eyes look at me with warmth as she speaks.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Everhart are in the viewing gallery,” she explains softly. “The choreographer and tailor arrived about ten minutes ago. And…” she smiles a little, “Jax is already on the ice.”

  I nod, clutching my skate bag a little tighter. “Thanks, May.”

  The moment I step inside the rink, I can feel the difference–the air is colder, the atmosphere sharper. It's not just a place to skate anymore. It’s a stage.

  Jax glides across the ice, clean lines and fluid turns, focused but visibly more at ease than the last time I saw him. His coach stands near the barrier, watching closely, while a woman with dark hair in a neat bun flips through a thick binder–the program designer, apparently.

  “Ah, Milli Brooks,” she says when she spots me. “Perfect timing. I’m Liana. I’ll be designing your performance program–choreography, themes, tempo, all of it. We’re building a paired sequence for the winter circuit.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, trying not to sound intimidated.

  “Likewise.” Liana smiles faintly, assessing me in that brisk, professional way. “We’ll go over pacing and structure in a moment, but first, the tailor needs your measurements. Clara?”

  A woman in her fifties with soft gray curls steps forward, carrying a small leather case. “Hello, dear. Don’t be nervous. We’ll get this done quickly.” Her presence is kind and comforting.

  I glance at Jax as I step off to the side. He’s leaning on the barrier now, watching. When our eyes meet, he offers a small smile that somehow makes everything feel less overwhelming.

  Clara begins measuring my arms, waist, and inseam, murmuring notes to herself. “You’ve got a good build for skating,” she says approvingly. “Strong shoulders, flexible back. We’ll make something sleek, but expressive—fits the theme.”

  “The theme?” I ask.

  Liana answers from nearby. “We’re going with ‘Frost and Flame’. Duality, balance, trust. His element is control–yours is energy. It’s meant to feel like two forces learning how to move as one.” Frost and Flame. The irony, two performances with Jax, Ember and Frost for the play, and now Frost and Flame for a skating program to perform.

  I blink. “That’s beautiful."

  Liana’s smile softens. “It should be. When it’s done right, the audience won’t just see skating–they’ll feel the story.”

  Clara finishes with a final note and packers up her case. “I’ll have the prototype dress ready for you to test in a week. We’ll need to make sure it moves with you–no stiff seams.”

  “Thank you.” I say, trying to sound like I belong here, like this isn’t completely surreal.

  When they step aside to discuss fabrics and cuts, I wander closer to the ice. Jax skates up to the buried, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead.

  “So,” he says, breath misting faintly in the cold air, “you’re getting the full Everhart treatment now.”

  I laugh, “Apparently so. A choreographer, a tailor, a whole production team. What did I get myself into?”

  He grins, the edge of playfulness returning to his eyes. “Something big. But I think you’ll like it.”

  “You sound awfully confident,” I tease.

  He shrugs. “I’ve seen you skate. I’m allowed.”

  Liana claps her hands once, calling us back to attention. “Alright, you two. Let’s walk through the first sequence together–off the ice first. I want to see your natural movement before we adapt it.”

  I step toward him, heart skipping just a little as we move side by side. The mirrored glass along the rink wall reflects us both–his steady calm beside my bright energy. Frost and Flame.

  Liana claps once, the sharp sound echoing through the rink. “Alright, we’ll start simple. No skates yet. I just want to see your rhythm together–how you move.”

  Jax and I stand side by side on the practice mat beside the rink. He’s taller by almost half a foot, his posture naturally upright and composed, while I can feel my pulse thrumming with restless energy.

  Liana steps between us, hands moving as she speaks. “The story begins with distance. Frost and Flame—opposites circling one another, cautious but curious. Then, contact.”

  Her gaze flicks between us, “You’ll mirror him at first, Milli. Don’t follow–match. There’s a difference.”

  “Got it,” I say, shifting my weight, trying to focus on her words instead of how aware I suddenly am of Jax standing so close.

  “Music,” Liana calls. One of the assistants presses play on a nearby speaker, and a haunting violin-driven melody fills the rink–something between a waltz and a storm.

  I exhale and start to move. My steps are lighter, flowing in time with the rise and fall of the notes. Jax moves opposite me–controlled, deliberate, every motion precise. It’s like we’re drawing invisible patterns in the air, two halves of a single design that doesn’t quite meet.

  “Good,” Liana says softly. “Now, bridge that space. He turns–you reach.”

  Jax steps forward, gliding easily even on flat ground. I mirror him, reaching out. When our hands finally touch, a flicker of something sparks between us–not just warmth, but recognition.

  Liana pauses, watching intently. “Hold. Right there. Don’t move.”

  We freeze, my hand fits in his, his grip firm but careful. The silence between notes feels heavier than sound.

  “That.” Liana murmurs, circling us slowly. “That’s your story. The hesitation. The draw. Don’t lose that when you’re on the ice.”

  I swallow, trying to steady my breath. My heart doesn’t seem to get the memo.

  The music swells again, and we move—spins, steps, the faint rhythm of synchronized turns. At one point, he catches me around the waist to steady a misstep, his touch brief but grounding. I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks even in the chilled air.

  “Nice recovery,” he murmurs, smiling just enough to throw me off balance again—emotionally, not physically.

  I roll my eyes to hide the grin threatening to break through. “I meant to do that. Testing your reflexes."

  “Sure you did.”

  “Alright,” Liana cuts in, hiding her own faint smile. “Take five. Then we’ll try it on the ice.”

  As she steps away to consult the coach, I move toward the benches, pretending to fuss with my laces. Jax follows, quiet for a moment before saying, “You’re a natural at this.”

  “At what?”

  He tilts his head slightly. “Us. This partnership thing. It fits.” Confessions perhaps?

  I laugh softly, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. “You mean I didn’t completely embarrass myself?”

  “Not even close.” He glances out at the rink, where the light scatters across the ice like broken glass. “Feels good, doesn’t it? To move like that again.”

  There’s something in his voice–relief, maybe. Gratitude. I nod. “Yeah, it really does.”

  Liana calls us back over. “Alright, skates on. Let’s see if this story holds when the ground isn’t quite so forgiving.”

  As I lace up, I can feel the nervous thrill returning–not fear, exactly, but that mix of adrenaline and excitement that makes my chest tighten. When I step onto the ice beside Jax, the cold rush beneath my blades feels like coming home to something I didn’t know I missed.

  We take our places. The music begins again.

  And for a few breathless minutes, it’s just us–frost and flame, balance and motion, two forces learning to trust the space between them.