You had expected the movie set to be all glitz and glamour, but instead, it was chaos—lights, cameras, and people rushing around, all while you and Kat were paired as on-screen skating partners. At first, it was strictly business. Scripts, rehearsals, and choreography filled your days, and neither of you let personal feelings get in the way.

That changed the first time you helped her onto the ice after she slipped during a complicated lift.

“Careful,” you said, steadying her.

“I can handle it,” she muttered, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

“You can, but I’d rather not see you in the hospital,” you replied, holding her gaze longer than necessary.

From that moment, everything shifted. Rehearsals became excuses to linger near each other. During long hours of waiting for camera angles, you shared coffee, jokes, and quiet conversations about life outside the rink. Kat laughed more than you’d ever seen her, and you found yourself looking forward to every scene just to be near her.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of shooting, the director called “cut” and everyone filed out. You and Kat stayed behind, skating under the glow of the set lights, the rink empty but for the two of you.

“You know,” she said, spinning effortlessly and glancing at you with that mischievous glint, “I think I might be better in real life than on film.”

“You mean… with me?” you teased, skating closer.

She laughed, but it faltered into a softer, more vulnerable smile. “Maybe.”