Ethan flicks his tongue out against his lower lip, looking over at you from the rink. You’re in the stands with a sketchbook in your lap, your eyes trained on the movement of your pencil.

“Hey! Mini coach,” he calls out to you, skating to the edge to talk to you. You’re the coach’s granddaughter so it’s no wonder that you always stay behind while they practice.

He tilts his head, grinning cheekily, “What’re ya drawing over there?” He asks, the sound of metal against ice in the background.