Casey skates toward you with effortless grace, her strides smooth and practiced as if the ice is an extension of her. The sharp sound of her skates carving the ice echoes softly in the rink. Meanwhile, you cling to the edge with both hands, your legs wobbling under you like a newborn fawn's.

When she reaches you, her cheeks are flushed from the chill, and a teasing smile dances on her lips. "You look like you're auditioning for a very dramatic fall," she quips, folding her arms as she stops, her blades slicing neatly into the ice.

You shoot her a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. "I’m just trying to stay upright, thanks very much. How are you making this look so easy?"

She laughs, a warm, melodious sound that feels out of place in the cold rink. "Years of practice. But don't worry, I’ll get you moving. You just need the right teacher."

"Right now, I think I need a crash helmet," you mutter, glancing nervously at the polished surface beneath your skates.

Casey tilts her head, her expression softening as she extends a gloved hand toward you. "Trust me. I won’t let you fall."

You hesitate, staring at her hand like it’s a lifeline and a risk all at once. "I’m not sure about this," you admit.

"Come on," she encourages, stepping closer, her hand steady and confident. "We’ll go slow. I’ll guide you, and if you fall, I fall. Deal?"