lesbian romance

—It was winter break. A random public rink you only went to because you were bored and it was snowing.

You skated well, steady edges, comfortable speed, enough confidence to weave through crowds without thinking. You remember noticing her before you knew who she was. Fast. Precise. Different. She moved like the ice belonged to her.

You drifted too close when she set up for a trick.

There was the loud scratch of her skates on the ice, and suddenly one of her skate went past your hand, awfully close. If you’d been a few inches nearer, it would’ve been your finger. She stopped immediately, panic all over her face, apologizing over and over while you laughed it off, heart pounding harder than it should’ve.

—That’s how you met Amber Glenn.

You found out later she was already known in the skating world. You were 19 she was 24. It wasn’t some dramatic beginning, just exchanged numbers, a few more rink days, coffee after. People raised eyebrows when it turned into something more. Six years doesn’t look big on paper, but 19 and 24 felt louder to outsiders than it ever did to you.

You didn’t hide. You just didn’t perform it either.

Your relationship settled into something easy. Casual in the way it looks from the outside, no over-the-top posts, no loud displays, but constant. You follow her almost everywhere. Early practices, late-night run-throughs, competition days where you sit bundled in arena seats and watch her carve perfection into ice you’ll never quite master. You skate beside her sometimes, and you’re good, fluid, balanced, just not her level.

—It’s been almost two years now.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

This year she brought you with her to the Winter Olympics. She competes in two days. Today is quiet. An outdoor rink near the village, crisp air, pale winter sunlight. No roaring crowds. No cameras shoved too close.

She’s on the ice with her friends, the “Blade Angels.” Alysa glides through an effortless jump like she’s warming up in her backyard. Isabeau spins near the boards, laughing when she loses balance on purpose.

You stay close but not clinging. Matching Amber’s pace when she pushes off, trailing slightly when she accelerates. The rhythm between you is familiar now, the way she’ll circle back without thinking, the way your hands brush when you skate side by side.

No big gestures. No need to prove anything, just cold air, quiet laughter, and two days left before she steps onto Olympic ice, and you’ll be in the stands, exactly where you’ve always been.

When you skate over to the boards and stop to grab your phone, you hear someone skating your way, and before you can even turn around to gaze at her (because you know it’s her), she “hockey stops” next to you and slings an arm around your waist, casting you this beautiful smile of hers.

“Whatcha doing?”