Her biggest rival was a girl her age named Fiona Temple. Fiona beat her once and only once, but that was all it took for Fiona to believe the only thing that stood in the way of her stardom was Izzy Banks. Fiona hated her and spread rumors about her whenever she could. Fiona’s parents leaked stories to the media. Grace would never forget the time, age twelve, when Fiona told other skaters Grace was a rich bitch and how everything was easier for her. Grace had cried and told Winnie all about it. “Never let them see you cry!” Winnie had said. “Never! Lift your chin and beat her instead! Beat the tights off her!”

That’s what she wanted to do, but it was so hard not to feel hurt. So she lifted her nose in the air, ignored them, and they started calling her a stuck-up snot who had everything handed to her.

And then she did something that caused a world of trouble. Winnie had warned her to keep her mouth shut, but she couldn’t stay silent. She accused a famous skating coach of sexual misconduct with one of his students, a minor. She quickly learned speaking out gets you treated like a leper, even if it’s true. True or not, a smarter person would have proof to offer before opening her stupid mouth. When she asked her coach’s advice Mikhail had been blunt. “He is piece of shit but it will get you nothing to say so.”

That world-famous coach was not prosecuted and ultimately sued Izzy and Winnie. They settled, giving him money. A year after Grace retired from competitive skating the coach was arrested and eventually convicted of sexual misconduct with minors.

She’d been right. Vindicated. For what good it did her.

She hadn’t been completely without friends growing up, but her few relationships had been superficial and strained. When the girls doubled up in hotel rooms to save money, Winnie rented spacious quarters for the two of them and Mikhail, removing Grace yet again from her contemporaries. The only skaters she didn’t actually fear were on the men’s team. And most of them truly wanted to be nothing more than friends.

She couldn’t look to her parents as models for a healthy, strong love match. Her mother had married her father because she needed a keeper. Her father had married her mother as he had married a young skater before her, one who bore him a child twenty years before Grace came along. As much as she had always adored her father, she understood—he had a type. Young, vulnerable, needy, willing to do whatever he demanded because they were convinced he’d help them win.

She could, however, look to her parents to see what she didn’t want in a relationship.

Her other advisors on romance were in the bookcase—the romances and some classic chick flicks. She and Iris had debated them often enough. Some were pure fantasy, some unreasonably coincidental, but some of her favorite contemporary romances revolved around very strong women and men with integrity. And then of course she studied their fictional presumptions, mistakes, missteps, blunders, and from them she learned. Or at least hoped she had.

She had been unprepared for Troy. She had wished for someone like Troy for a long time but assumed that kind of man would never happen into her life.

Troy had kissed with such amazing skill and tenderness. And there was passion—hot, deep, panting, groaning passion. Grace wanted to fall in love with him, something she attributed to her lack of experience. But she thought about what he’d said to her. “You aren’t with anyone, I’m not with anyone and it seems like we might as well enjoy the moment. Right?”

So. He was just lonely and had finally accepted that Iris had moved on. She didn’t care. She loved his mouth, his arms, his hands. She would try very hard not to fall in love with him.

Grace snuggled down into her blanket on the couch and thought it didn’t matter at all. She never imagined she’d have this with anyone and certainly not the very guy she lusted after. They had kissed for an hour. He didn’t rush her, didn’t push her, didn’t treat her like someone he was using to pass the time and it was delicious! She decided to close her eyes and dream about him, dream about them taking it to the next level. She was twenty-eight; she so wanted to know what that was like.

Instead she dreamed of Mikhail, the little Russian in his sixties with a cane he pounded for emphasis, shouting in half Russian and half English. It was so unfair, she thought, slowly rousing to the sound of knocking that was not Mikhail’s cane.

She was suddenly afraid and her heart started racing. Who could be pounding after one in the morning? Then she saw that it was starting to grow light and at just that moment she heard Troy’s voice. “Gracie? Gracie? It’s me,” he called softly.

She opened the door for him. He was holding a bag. “What in the world are you doing here at the crack of dawn?”

He looked at his watch. “It’s nine, Grace.”

“Nine? It looks like the sun isn’t even awake!”

“It’s a gloomy day. I brought breakfast and then I’m going to take you storm watching.”

“Why?” she said, frowning.

“Because the swells are huge and I think you need me to show you how to have fun.”

“I beg your pardon, I know how to have fun.”

“Working all the time, then working out for diversion. Nah, you definitely need a coach. We’ll start small—just a little sightseeing. There are big swells, the waves will be awesome.”

“But it’s cold.”

He put his bag on the little table. “And it’s kind of wet. You should dress warm, but first, breakfast.” He pulled some fast-food breakfast burritos and potato pancakes out of the bag. Lots of them. On the bottom were two large coffees.

“Hungry, Troy?”

“Starving.” He sat down and peeled the wrapper off one of the breakfast burritos. “Come on, Grace. Let’s do it. This is going to get you all excited. Promise.”

“I was going to catch up on some paperwork since the shop is closed today. Accounting and stuff.”

He shook his head. “See what I mean? This is exactly why I came over. I don’t know you that well but I already know you’re working too much. I have two jobs and still manage to take some days off.” He took a big bite. “It’s New Year’s Day. It’s a holiday.”

She sat opposite him and reached for one of the burritos. He was right. Not only was he right, she’d told him last night she needed to find more balance. “Do you have an aversion to making plans?”