Grace Dillon's flower shop was very quiet on the day after Christmas. She had no orders to fill, no deliveries to make, and she'd be very surprised if her shop phone rang at all. Most people were trying to recover from Christmas; many families were away for the holidays or had company to entertain.

Grace drove to North Bend to grab an early skate before the rink got busy. Figure skating classes were suspended over Christmas break and people, mostly kids who wanted to try out their new skates, would dominate the rink later in the day. Grace loved these secret early morning skates. She had a deal with Jake Galbraith, the rink owner. She could call him and if it was convenient, he'd let her skate for an hour or two while they were getting ready to open. He didn't want to charge her, but she paid him fifty dollars an hour anyway. It was a point of pride.

He smiled at her when she came in and told her to have a good skate.

She stretched and then stepped onto the deserted ice, closely following the Zamboni ice resurfacer that had just finished. She warmed up with forward and backward crossovers, backward half swizzle pumps, figure eights, scratch spins and axels. She noticed Jake was watching, leaning his forearms on the boards. She performed a forward spiral and a leaning tower spiral. She executed a perfect sit spin next. She circled the ice a few times, adding a jump here and there. She had been famous for her straddle split jump, touching her toes with her fingers. When she looked for Jake again, he had disappeared.

Suddenly, the music started, filling the rink with the strains of "Rhapsody in Blue." She glided into an arabesque, arms stretched, fingers pointed, wrists flexible. She saw that Jake had returned, was watching her every move. She went for a double axel and fell on her ass. She got up, laughing to herself. She glided around the rink a few times, tried the jump again and landed it, but it wasn't pretty. The music changed to another Gershwin tune. She'd practiced to this music as a little girl; it was familiar and comfortable. Her earliest memories of skating always filled her with nostalgia and comfort. That was before the competition got really fierce.

She'd been on the ice for an hour when the music segued into Alicia Keys's "Girl on Fire" and it lit her up. Her signature music. She was on fire! She skated like she was competing. When she was fifteen, stronger but lighter and more flexible, she could really catch the air. She noticed other people watching--a guy leaned on his broom and gazed at her, a couple of teenage girls who worked in the skate rental shop had stopped working to watch, the Zamboni driver leaned a shoulder against the rink glass, hands in his pockets. Two hours slid by effortlessly. She slowed and got off the ice when she heard the sounds of people arriving to skate.

"Beautiful," Jake said. "It's been a while since I've seen you."

"Holidays are busy at the shop," she said. She tried to get to the rink on Sunday mornings, but the past month had been frantic--wreaths, centerpieces, two weddings and increased day-to-day traffic in the shop.

"You should spend more time on the ice. I have a long list of people looking for a good coach."

She shook her head. "I don't think I'd be a good coach. I don't have time for one thing. And I'd never go back on the circuit, even with students. I left that world."

"I thought the day would come that you might be interested in going back, maybe not in competition for yourself, but coaching. I think on name alone you'd make a fortune."

"I left the name behind,...