I put my much-loved copy of Thoreau’s Walden back in my shoulder bag and checked my watch. Gabe was late again. I smiled and shook my head. In the few months since I’d first met Gabe, I had learned that the only way he was ever on time for anything was if you told him he needed to be there half an hour earlier than the set time.

“More tea, miss?”

I nodded at the waiter and let him refill my mug. Sipping the hot liquid, I leaned back in my seat and reflected on the odd sequence of events that had led to this unusual friendship.

I was in Lake Placid, N.Y. for their annual fly-fishing competition. My dad had been a national fly-fishing champion, and I was determined to carry on his legacy. I actually came in second, but considering I had only been competing for three years, I was pleased with my result.

I’m still not sure what led me to the Olympic Center the day after the competition. I don’t go in at all for any indoor sports—and to me, ice is simply water in which you cannot fish. Still, since I was in Lake Placid, twice host of the Winter Olympics, I figured I should at least check everything out.

There was some competition going on in the main rink (they actually had four rinks in the Center—four! What a waste of good water). I watched the little girls twirling and leaping in their sparkly dresses with a mixture of amusement and amazement. I had never had a “girly” upbringing. Dad taught me to fish about as soon as my little hands could hold a rod. I was more comfortable in waders and a fishing vest than skirts.

I couldn’t see the point in all their prancing and preening, but I was able to recognize the athleticism and grace they showed. It seemed an odd combination, but I suppose most people would have thought that a girl who skipped her high school prom to go on a fishing trip odd. To each his own.

As I stood watching and smiling, musing over these things, I gradually became aware of a man standing close to me. He was clearly engaged in the competition: he followed each performer intently, clicking his tongue with disapproval over some, clapping enthusiastically for others, and watching one particular little girl so closely I thought he was going to pitch over the rail and land on the heads of the spectators seated below.

That girl apparently finished quite well, for he nearly deafened me with his cheering. I must have winced or something, because he looked over and gave me an apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” he said, his clipped tone clearly marking him as a native of the United Kingdom. “That’s my little sister down there. I’m rather proud of her.”

“So it would seem,” I answered dryly.

He laughed, white teeth flashing in a breathtaking smile, and introduced himself as Gabriel Greye.

And that was the start of my friendship with Gabe. He was a figure skater himself (showing my ignorance, I had thought only girls went in for that sort of thing, but Gabe proved me quite wrong). He was professional now, but in his amateur days had actually won his national championship twice, and even gone to the Olympics.

He was fascinated by the fact that I was a fly-fisherman. He’d never so much as held a rod in his life. I was equally fascinated by his stories of figure skating, and despite our completely different backgrounds, we soon grew to respect and admire each other. Gabe had a great sense of humor and a strong sense of family, both of which I liked. I’m not sure what he saw in me, but I was thankful for the friendship. Growing up the way I did, I hadn’t had much chance to make many close friends. This relationship with Gabe was something new to me.

Our friendship was made even stronger by the discovery that we—coincidentally enough—lived in the same city! Apparently it’s hard to find good coaches and facilities in the U.K., so Gabe brought his sister to the States to train. I had never known that our city was noted for its excellent training center.

Between his professional engagements and my competitive schedule neither of us was actually in the city very much, but we tried to get together once every other week or so just to chat.

“Hey there, beautiful,” said a polished voice. “Mind if I join you?”

I set my tea down and smiled wryly up into that laughing face. Gabe was ten years older than I, and not strictly handsome, but his twinkling brown eyes, heartstopping smile, and charismatic charm turned the heads of women eighteen to eighty. “You’re late.”

“And this surprises you?”

I laughed. It never ceased to amaze me how Gabe could lighten my life. Things had been pretty rough in the last couple of years and there were days that I thought I had forgotten how to smile.

Gabe changed all that. He teased me, flirted harmlessly with me, bolstered my self-confidence, forced me out of my protective shell. I wished wistfully that he had been my older brother—my life might have been quite different. But I was glad enough to have him in my life right now, regardless of the past.

I waved the waiter over and let Gabe give his order before speaking again. “So what’s new?”

“I have a friend who wants to meet you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Gabriel,” I said exasperatedly. “Who is it this time?”

Gabe had been horrified when I told him I’d never had a boyfriend. He maintained it was an important part of every person’s life, and insisted on trying to hook me up with any of his numerous friends and acquaintances. To my protests that I had neither time nor inclination for a boyfriend, he waved his hand airily and kept right on.

“His name is Alex—Alexander Blythe. He just turned pro this season and he’s trying his hand at coaching. A couple youngsters at the club here are looking for a good coach, so I recommended Alex to come here. He showed up last week, and I told him all about you, and he’s very interested.” Gabe ended this rapid-fire delivery with a meaningful wink.

I shook my head. “No.”

“No what?” Gabe’s eyes widened innocently. “I haven’t even suggested anything yet.”

“You don’t need to,” I said firmly. “I already know the routine. You’re going to have me go out with him on a double date with you and whichever lady you’re pursuing this week, and then persuade me to go out with him on my own, despite the fact that neither of us are interested, and after a week or so of torture you’ll finally agree that we don’t fit together and start looking for a new guy for me.”

Gabe was laughing so hard I thought he was going to choke on his tea. “Do I really do that to you?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then I am sorry. I’ll have to think of a new approach.”

“Why can’t you just let me be?” I asked.

He shook his head sorrowfully. “Because, my dear, you simply have no clue about life. How you managed to survive without me all these years is a mystery to me, but now that I’m here, it’s obviously my duty to guide you.”

“Yes, you’re certainly a marvelous role model,” I said sarcastically. “How many women have you dated this month alone? Five? Ten?”

“Dear me, such judgment! As a matter of fact, only three. And the reason I date so many is that I’m trying to find the right one.”

“How can you tell if any of these women are the right one when you’re only with them a few days?”

Gabe turned serious. “The fact is, I’ve wasted most of my youth flitting from relationship to relationship. I know it looks like I’m doing the same thing now, but I really am searching. I just don’t feel like I‘ve got much time left, and so I don’t have time to waste on a woman who doesn’t seem like the right match.”

I didn’t have much to say in response. Gabe had a trick of turning a light-hearted conversation to a serious one in a heartbeat (and back again) and I still wasn’t quite able to keep up with him.

“Now, about Alex,” he said, demonstrating one of the aforementioned topic changes. “Obviously a double date is not your cup of tea. How about if I have him meet us for coffee here one day? That would be a casual, non-threatening introduction. And if you don’t like him, I promise not to push you.”

I still didn’t really like it, but I could tell it was the best I was going to get. “Very well,” I conceded.

“Excellent!” Gabe beamed. “And look, what a coincidence—here he is now!”

I looked toward the door to see a young man around my age walking toward us. Short, like most figure skaters, he nevertheless exuded confidence and the same sort of magnetism Gabe had. I wondered if it was an unwritten rule that all male figure skaters had to be charming.

His dark brown hair was brushed back out of his face, his clear blue eyes sparkled, an engaging smile highlighted his undoubtedly handsome features; in his white polo shirt and blue jeans he looked like the poster boy for healthy, all-American living.

I glared at Gabe. “You so set me up.”

He grinned infuriatingly. “You said you’d agree to coffee.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean now.” Alex cut my tirade short by walking into earshot.

“Gabe,” he said, his voice bearing the faintest of accents. “And this must be your lovely friend you told me about?”

I couldn’t help but blush. I’m not lovely—at 5’10” I was a couple inches taller than both he and Gabe (and a good many more guys), and my jutting jaw and hatchet nose were way too strong for a female face. If I had long, soft curls I might have been able to disguise my features slightly, but unfortunately I had adopted a pixie cut in high school and I still wore my brown hair short.

Still, even knowing that Alex was politely lying, it was pleasant to hear his smooth voice call me lovely.

“She is indeed,” Gabe said, resting his hand comfortably on my arm. “Shannon Grayce, meet Alexander Blythe.”

I rose to my feet and held out my hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Instead of shaking it, Alex bent his head and kissed my hand. “The honor is all mine.”

I blushed again.

Author's Note: Although this story features figure skating and Lake Placid, it is not in any way connected to my other skating story, More Than Gold. All characters are fictional and created out of my own head; they are not based on any real figure skaters or fly-fishermen. As always, reviews are very much appreciated!