18. #UnexpectedProposal, December 2017

"Remember me?" The voice sounded cheerful and insistent, the way it had always sounded.

She nodded, pulled her sleeve over her palm and dabbed away the frustrated tears. "Hi, Pavel. Believe it or not, I thought of you recently. I ran across some of your mixes. They are pretty good."

"Oh, cool." His posture was perfect, but he hinged his blond head forward a little, making the thick curls bounce with every step. "Have a few minutes to talk? I'd buy you lunch, but I'm fasting till breakfast tomorrow. Life's a bitch that way."

"That's okay, I'm not hungry." That was an honest truth. Her stomach clenched so badly, she doubted even her mother armed with a pot full of biryani could have made her eat a single bite.

"Oh, sure, rub it in." A grin lit up his face, full of easy if superficial charm. "Let's sit in the lobby."

Walking next to Pavel, Daya couldn't help but notice how much he'd grown in the past few years. She tried to remember how old he was. Eighteen? While he did not sport bear-like proportions, his Germano-Slavonic frame telescoped out enough for him to stand out among other skaters. It surprised her that he had to fast—she'd have expected him to burn through calories like a jet engine.

"How have you been?" she asked once they found a couch out of the way and sat down.

"Just had my big birthday," Pavel said. "Twenty-one. Can't skate juniors no more, I'm in seniors now."

Technically, in singles, he'd aged out a couple of years ago, but maybe he was trying ice dance. Who knows... she didn't pay attention to anyone but her direct competitors by the end.

"You don't look a day over seventeen." Actually, he did. When his cheeks flushed pink from exertion at the arena, it imparted something boyish on his face. Now, after his complexion returned to pale, it had moved past the manhood threshold.

She felt sorry for him. This was an unpleasant milepost where you were forced to ask yourself what now? and who pays the bills? Coaches, skates, ice time, costumes... it all added up to a hefty bill, and the government grants depended on the results.

Daya herself powered through it, thanks to her parents' and Shanti's generosity, but it caught up to her too.

He must have guessed at her thoughts. His lips quirked with amusement. "I'll live."

Even though he had a low brow common among the Russians, his eyes lit up when he was happy. They made her think about the video game posters at Mike's place, where half of the characters had unrealistic jewel-like eyes.

Pavel's came as close to green as existed in nature. They were distinctive from brown, but nothing like emeralds. The beach-blond eyelashes made the color more vibrant though. In the rink's floodlight, he'd look almost as good as Mike's elves.

Pavel broke the silence that settled over them. "I've overheard what Brighton had told you."

Daya bit her lip. "Uh-huh."

"I've been thinking about coaching a year or two back, chatted with some of them... serious-like. See, they want to package us to look our best, like presents. Some need bows, or that stupid crinkly paper, others—just a bit of a ribbon. And we all should fit into a gift bag..."

None of this was news to her, but why did he have to bring it up? She'd tear up on his shoulder if he wasn't careful.

"When Brighton looks at you, he sees strong athleticism, good speed, some passion. Technical flaws here and there, small mistakes." He fluttered his fingers in the air to show how inconsequential the mistakes were.

That dismissal of the problems was the only reason Daya didn't take off, but she shifted to the edge of her seat.

Pavel either didn't notice or didn't care. "What he does not see are the long lines and the sweet vibe that rules ladies singles. So, yeah, it's hard work to get music and choreo that will present you to your advantage. It's easier with the others, who fit better."

"Are you going somewhere with this?" she asked through her teeth.

"And with synchro... you are a diva, Daya, not a team sports personality. Or you'd be in hockey."

Daya pushed up to her feet. One more word of 'comfort' out of him, and she'd flood the premises with the tidal wave of tears. "Go to hell, Pavel."

She dashed towards the exit, but he caught up to her in a few long strides. "Wait!"

The aplomb one needs to skate into the middle of a huge empty space dressed in tights; or climb back to their feet after falling onto their butt in front of a live audience, smile and go on, worked its magic. She hit the brakes for Pavel.

"Singles and synchro is not all there is." He turned her around to face one of the wardrobe mirrors and stabbed at it with his thumb. "Tell me what do you see?"

She looked at her own reflection, right next to Pavel's. Pairs, the genius here is talking about pairs.

The tears dried up, but she didn't feel like laughing either. Instead, Daya shook her head. "Pavel, I did pairs for two years, and it was a disaster."

"Pah! It was a disaster because Brandon was a disaster. You were right for it. You had to be, for me to spot you." He made an a-okay circle with his thumb and forefinger. "Look again in the mirror. What do you see?"

Chill ran up her spine. Not fear. Premonition. Her winter jacket was already unzipped, so she shrugged out of it and let it fall to the floor. She could see what Pavel had been guessing at. He had an eye for balance. The top of her head came right under his chin, their proportions were well-matched, their complexion contrasted to create a pleasing visual.

But, but, but... "Pairs are not like singles, Pavel," she said with a wistful sigh.

"Tell me about it!"

Pavel's self-satisfied expression could have been unpleasant, if he did not ruffle his hair to take the edge off. "I'd been helping a friend whose partner is out of commission for a few weeks because of a back injury... Trained it here and there before, even took a workshop—they never say no to an extra man. Always had it in the back pocket, you know?"

"Just like the coaching?"

"Yup. Skating is all I know, so what else is out there? I enjoy competing though. And you can still be a star at thirty in pairs. In singles... phew."

"You can leave your brain on ice too," she muttered, remembering the close calls and the terrifying accidents. "Anyway, there are lists full of ladies seeking partners. Endless possibilities for you if you want to give it a shot."

"Oh, I know," Pavel said. "I was mulling it over, just as I was running. What I wanted in a partner. Someone who is good, who would fight tooth and nail, and would walk off the ice together every time, no matter what, because they know what it means to have a bad day. Then you walked in, and it was like a finger of fate pointed at you. "

With all that bubbly enthusiasm, he was asking for someone to stick a needle into his balloon.

She smiled thinly. "Didn't you just say I was a diva, not a team player?"

"Nah. Hockey is where a bunch of peeps all fight over one tiny puck. That's teamwork. Pair skating is where two peeps are like one, and they shine. Mind blown! " His fingers exploded out of his fists to show a flash of lightning, and the revelation... As a trained figure skater he could have talked with his hands better than that.

Oblivious of her critical eye, Pavel served the next slice of his pie-in-the-sky. "With a good coach, you and I—"

"I'm not kowtowing to Brighton again!" Daya sputtered.

"Oh, Brighton is a good coach—"

She scoffed.

"What I am trying to say, even with a good coach we could do all right. With a brilliant one—"

There is a huge value in silence, in a well-placed pause. Pavel lit this particular pause on fire with a million watt Disney-fireworks smile. "Do you think I'd ran after you if I had Brighton in mind?"

"Pavel? What are you not telling me?"

He leaned in to whisper dramatically into her ear, despite the lobby still being deserted.

"Be-lo-u-so-va." The citrus smell of his chewing gum touched her nostrils. He moved back, crossing his arms over his chest, and watched for her reaction.

So, he had an ace up his sleeve. Belousova put half-a-dozen Russian pairs on the podium, and that's just in Daya's memory.

Not that Daya would pack up her bags and move to gloomy St. Petersburg. Despite saying that she'd do anything, well, she did have her limitations. Besides...

"Did not Belousova retire a few years ago?"

"Yup. Retired to move in with her son in Canada, and baby-sit her grandkids," Pavel confirmed. "But last year they've asked her to take a look at Seguin-Bilodeau before the Olympics... She is even traveling to Korea with the team. Does this sound like someone who is enjoying a quiet retirement?"

"And you've talked her into coaching you? Without a partner? This sounds crazy."

"Well, not in so many words... She promised me to take a look if I found a partner by the time she is back in Canada."

Daya noticed the care with which he talked about the coach and couldn't shake the feeling that there was some sort of favor exchange involved.

"You know her?"

That question earned her an eye roll. "Not all Russians know all other Russians, my friend. There is 150 million of us and counting."

"Sorry." It didn't matter, really. Either way, it sounded too good to be true, and it was. "Pavel, I am only here for three more days before going back to Alberta. I have a job in Calgary now. I can't uproot myself on a long shot like that. We don't even know if we jive..."

He smiled away her words, watching her in the mirror instead. Their eyes met in its fake glimmering surface. "How about we find out?"

He made an inviting gesture with his arm. "Off the ice, come to the gym, no strings, we'll see if I can even heft you up?" He framed it as a question, but it was a rhetorical one.

"On my own," he said into the pause, "I'm an overgrown junior. On your own, you're too athletic for your own good. Together, we could be magic."

She noticed that he avoided the touchy subject of age this time. The temptation got the best of her.

"Oh, what the heck! Why not?"