He raises his glass. “To my wife, for letting me kidnap her on our first date.”
Clink. “To my husband, for keeping me upright on the ice. Mostly. And thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Our meal is lobster risotto and lamb chops, roasted endives, and white chocolate mousse for dessert. We talk quietly, but mostly just enjoy each other’s company. The flickering candles, the ice, the sight of him across from me, his presence—it’s all completely perfect.
When we’re done, Luka skates around to help me out of my chair. I’m like a wobbly newborn fawn.
“This isn’t going to end well,” I shriek.
“I’m here,” he soothes. “And I’m gonna hold on to you no matter what, so don’t worry.”
I catch his eyes, the promise in that statement running through me. My heart feels full.
Luka makes a slow spin, pulling me along while I grit my teeth and try to get my balance. Then he puts an arm around me and we glide over the ice. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. We find a rhythm together and before I know it, I’m not thinking about my feet or my balance or falling down. I’m gliding with my husband’s help. His support is the only thing I’m focused on and as we spin across the ice, it almost feels like flying.
Finally, just before we call it quits, he gives me a few pointers and then instructs me in skating toward him across the rink. I’m slow, a little jerky in my movements, but I make it all the way across. Without falling. Not even once.
“I’m an ice skater!!” I yell, collapsing into his arms. “Olympic skate team, here I come!”
We both laugh.
“See?” he says. “There’s nothing to it. It’s all practice and muscle memory.”
He kisses me, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding me close.
As I lose myself in the touch of his lips, I think about the fact that I’ve come back to my husband a few times already—and each time our relationship has healed, grown, and gotten better.
Now we both just need to figure out how to stay.
Luka
Chapter 17
“Aman’s balls are sacred, Brooklyn.”
My wife rolls her eyes at me. “He’s a dog. He doesn’t really care about his balls.”
Sitting in the veterinarian’s office is giving me the cold sweats, especially since my poor dog is smiling at me and wagging his tail like he thinks he’s about to go in for a spa treatment.
“He’ll care when he notices they aren’t there anymore,” I insist. “Are you sure this is necessary?”
Brooklyn puts her hand on my knee. “Luka, he’s tried to hump our couch so many times, he’s ripping the leather. It’s time.”
“What if he gets depressed? We’ll have to put him on doggie Prozac. Do you want that?”
“Luka.” She pulls out some paperwork from her purse and holds it out to me. “See that, there? We agreed to get him neutered when we adopted him. The vet has to sign those papers to show that we’re compliant, otherwise Kibby goes right back to the rescue. The balls gotta go.”
“But—”
Just then, the vet tech calls Mr. Kibbles back. Instead of just handing over his leash and leaving like I’m supposed to, I tell the tech I’ll take him back myself. We already met with the vet at the pre-surgical appointment, so really this should be a drop and run, but I can’t walk out on my dog like this. Sensing trouble, I’m sure, Brooklyn hurries to follow me down the hallway.
The vet is bustling around in the operating room with her surgical mask on already, and I take this as the final opportunity to plead my case. She must notice the trepidation on my face, because she comes right out into the hall, giving me an expectant look.
“Mr. Zoric, is there a problem? Did you think of more questions?”
I can feel my anxiety peak as my eyes skip over her shoulder and take in the operating table and the gleaming tray of surgical instruments waiting in the room. “Not really. No.”