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Don’t go on frozen lakes. That’s what Maria had been told all her life. The risk of misjudging the ice wasn’t worth it.
Natasha had grown up with a different lesson. When they had woken up in a winter wonderland this morning, a frozen lake had been her very first thought. Since arriving at their holiday house, temperatures had stayed well below freezing. But the snow had just fallen last night, reinforcing Natasha’s plans.
When they first came here, Maria’s ingrained fear had fought those plans hard. But Natasha had nagged, “It’s just a tiny lake. It’s been frozen for weeks and temperatures are still dropping. I promise it’s safe.” She had pulled Maria along, accepting no further objections.
Now, five years later, Natasha led her through the woods again, anticipation glowing in her eyes, the same skates dangling from her shoulder.
Next to the lake, they covered an old trunk with their picnic blanket for a makeshift bench. Natasha swapped her winter boots for her worn-in skates in a flash, while Maria wrestled with the stiff leather and tiny hooks. Natasha shifted her weight and tapped her fingers impatiently as she waited.
When Maria was finally finished lacing up, Natasha all but pulled her upright, smiling miles wide. That alone made all this hassle worth it, Maria thought. Hand in hand, they staggered through the snow toward the lake’s shore.
Natasha stepped on the ice, testing it with one foot first despite her promises about freezing temperatures. Then she shifted her weight carefully, listening for any cracking. But the forest and the lake both remained in peaceful silence.
Eventually, Natasha took the leap, fully entering their rink. “Come on,” she said at once, and Maria followed. She was far less graceful, but over the years she had learned to stay upright and bend her knees. Still, she couldn’t compete with a childhood spent on frozen lakes.
Natasha bloomed on the ice; her smile wider, her eyes brighter, her red hair a stark contrast to the pale surroundings. She pulled Maria closer, took her other hand too, and looked up at her. The delight in her face shifted into genuine gratitude. “Thank you”, she said, “For letting me drag you here every winter.”
Maria smirked. “Of course.” She didn’t tell Natasha — not yet — that unexpectedly, she had found joy in this annually activity too. It was more fun to let Natasha believe she owed Maria something for enduring the terrible ordeal of spending quality time together.
Natasha rose onto the toe picks of her skates to kiss Maria, her lips hot against the winter air. And just when Maria leaned in to deepen it, Natasha pulled away. She winked, turned, and shot off. Three powerful strokes carried her toward the lake’s centre, her hair streaming behind her like a torpedo fire.
Maria smiled, watching Natasha carving arcs into the ice; the view wasn’t half bad. Then she pushed off too, launching the futile chase for the rest of the kiss.