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I tilted my head. “I don’t think those two have anything to do with each other. ”
I’d ice-skated when I was little, in the pre-California days, and I’d been decent enough at it. I had trophies. I mean, everyone who took skating classes got trophies, but still. They were very exciting.
Once we’d moved to the Bay Area, there were a lot less chances. The city put a rink up in Union Square, and there was something delightful about skating underneath palm trees, but it was ridiculously expensive so I hadn’t gone very often.
But I was more than willing to go with Abe.
When we arrived, a long line curved outside the booth. Abe frowned at it. “Usually, I’d just cut to the front, but I’m guessing that wouldn’t go well with our supposed anonymity. ”
I patted what I could reach of his cheek through my glove and his scarf. Really, it was more like fabric bouncing off each other. “Welcome to how the other half lives. ”
It took an hour to get onto the rink, and I’d never had so much fun waiting in line. We drank hot chocolate and made up stories about all the other skaters and people around us.
To my surprise, Abe could skate, and while I wouldn’t be going for the gold anytime soon, I managed not to fall down and to almost keep up. In time, we worked up such a sweat that we were able to discard our scarves, hats and jackets, leaving us both in bulky sweatshirts piled over other layers. We spun around and around, until I felt almost stable on my skates. I glanced over at Abe with a broad grin.
Which, of course, was when I managed to tangle my legs and jar my entire body to a stop. I started to trip forward, but Abe managed to swing back and catch me, spinning me safely into his arms. We clung to each other and laughed dizzily, our breath puffing white in the air. “Maybe enough for now. ”
We’d returned the skates and started working on all our extra layers when I felt twitchy. Was it just me, or were an inordinate amount of people looking our way?
Of course they were. We’d taken off the scarves and hats that hid our features, and also landed ourselves in tourist central. Abraham might not usually be tabloid bait, but he certainly had been for the last few weeks.
The mutterings began to pick up, and a few people held up cell phones. Good God, seriously?
“Hey!” one woman called. “Aren’t you that football player?”
“Not today,” Abe said, and we grabbed the rest of our things and sprinted out to the street, where Abe hailed a cab by practically jumping into the street. We tumbled inside the taxi, gasping and staring at each other. My heart beat wildly.
“Where to?” the cabbie said, bored and monotone for only a heartbeat before he turned around and gaped at us. “Krasner, no shit? What the fuck, man?”
My mouth fell open, and Abe’s started shaking, and then we started laughing and didn’t stop until we made it home.
* * *
“All right,” Abe said later, as we lay in bed. “Guess that was a bad idea. ”
“I’ll say. ”
He dropped down on the bed. “This is amazing. I thought for sure we were safe. ”
I mournfully plucked at one of my braids. “Now even my lovely red locks aren’t safe. ”
He laughed. “I hope your mom sees those pictures and believes it’s real. ”
“Oh, God. ” I flopped back on the bed. “So much for going out on dates. ”
He rolled over to face me. “Let’s get away. ”
I propped myself up on my elbow. “What d’you mean?”
He gestured impatiently. “Leave. Take a vacation from all of this. ”
“How? We both have jobs. ”
He shot me an arch look. “Well, I don’t think anyone’s going to be in your office tomorrow, given that it’s Christmas. ”
I shrugged. Good point. “Actually, no one’s really going to be in the office until after New Year’s. Though we’re all supposed to be working from home. ”
He bounced upright. “And I don’t have to be anywhere until the second. ”
“And where will we go?”
“Somewhere we can be anyone. ”
I laughed.
He propped his head up. “I mean it. Let’s get out of here. ”
“I don’t exactly have the cash. ”
He shrugged. “I do. ”
We hopped a metro-north train and took it until we hit Lake George. We tossed out the idea of Lake Placid, where our grandparents used to vacation, but it seemed filled with enough athletes to be risky. Besides, George (did they just do the name here, a la Tahoe?) was slightly closer.
We checked into our bed-and-breakfast at two o’clock. The yellow-with-red-shutters Victorian perched on top of a gently sloping hill, surrounded by evergreens and sky. Snow blanketed and softened everything, a pillowy white cushion atop the peaked roof, and weighing down green branches. Our breath puffed white in the cold air, and we had to stomp the snow off our feet before going inside.
Everything looked just like I’d hoped: wooden paneling and brocaded upright chairs, lines of bookshelves and a crackling fireplace.
The receptionist smiled at us widely. “Merry Christmas. ”
Sure, why not. At least he was honest; if he said “Happy Holidays,” he’d be way late for anything except Christmas and New Year’s. “Merry Christmas. ”
“Do you two have a reservation?”
Abe glanced at me and smiled. “We do. Mr. and Mrs. —Rosenfeld. ”
My eyebrows shot up and I smiled at him. The idea of play-acting a married couple was silly but fun, and my name definitely provided more anonymity than Abe’s.
The receptionist typed away and then handed us two keys. “Second floor and down the hall. Breakfast starts at eight and goes until ten. ”
Our room was tucked under the eaves. Out the windows, tall, snow-draped trees spread out in every direction. I felt a rush of tension drain out of me and my shoulders relaxed. Abe came over behind me and began kneading the knots in my neck. I groaned in appreciation and leaned my head forward. “This is perfect. ”
“The inn or the massage?”
“I meant the trees,” I murmured. “But the other two are pretty wonderful, too. I’d turn and kiss you, but I don’t want the massage to stop. ”
He laughed and kissed the top of my head. “Greedy little thing. ”
“Mm. ” My bones slowly turned to water. “I’ll give you a massage later. ”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured into my ear.
Later that afternoon, we went for a walk on the trails behind the bed-and-breakfast. The woods were wrapped in fog, wisps of white that curled and twined through the red-brown trunks of century-old pines. Compared to the terrible temperatures of the past few weeks, the forty-degree weather felt pleasant and fresh, like spring in December. I’d pulled on a knit hat and hung a scarf around my neck, but loosely, and I didn’t have to hide my face from the wind.
Instead, I looked around with pleasure. Despite the faded quality that the mist wrought, of ghosted-out trees and short tunnels of vision, the nature close to us looked bright in comparison. Green moss on trees shone like summer ponds, and the few dead leaves that clung to spindly branches looked more red than brown.
And the white of the day-old snow was so bright and endless, like a paper without depth or end, interrupted only by the sharp green of evergreen shrubs.