Tracy Del Campo
Samantha pulled the laces tight on her skates. A broken ankle was the last thing she needed at her age. You’re not a teenager anymore. The unwelcome words courtesy of her inner voice made her grimace. Thanks for reminding me.
She had come across the Riedell skates the previous week, tucked in a closet among a trove of other long-forgotten things. Once a competitive figure skater in high school, she had placed the skates on the shelf years ago. And there they remained, untouched, for decades.
Nostalgia swept over her when she spied the cardboard box, its edges worn. She lifted the lid. The tick-tock of time had yellowed the leather of the once-white boots.
Since retiring and losing her husband, Samantha had become a homebody. Concerned, her adult children were pressuring her to get out more. Exercise. Enjoy life. So here she was. Skates polished. Blades sharpened. Returning to the ice at fifty-seven. What was she thinking?
Music droned overhead. Nothing familiar. The lyrics? Unintelligible. Metal lockers slammed amid the low hum of chatter. The crowd was thin that weekday morning. Good. The fewer eyes on her, the better. She tugged on a pair of gloves and pulled a matching knit hat on over her ears. A scarf followed. “Here goes nothing,” she muttered, her breath visible in the frosty air.
Sam inched along the rink’s edge, clinging to the wall for support. Eventually, she mustered the courage to let go and stepped away from the railings. Things were going smoothly until her scarf fell. Great. Attempting to retrieve it, she teetered and tottered this way and that, her skates slipping and sliding beneath her. Arms flailing. Teeth clenched. She held her breath, preparing for the inevitable.
Instead, strong arms intercepted her, righting her on the ice. Sheepishly, she expressed her gratitude before taking a moment to compose herself. Raising her gaze, she found warm brown eyes studying her.
“Sam?” A smile touched his lips. “Is that you?”
She went still. “Sc-Scott.”
Memories and emotions came rushing back. Suddenly it was 1985, and she was seventeen again. She was a junior that year, with an affinity for neon clothes and permed hair teased to perfection. Reeking of Aqua Net hair spray and Love’s Baby Soft perfume. He was a senior. A hunky hockey player who sported acid-wash jeans, polo shirts, and feathered bangs.
They had crossed paths at the ice rink earlier that year. Both doing homework in the bleachers in between practice sessions. Both noshing on junk food from the concession stand. She helped him with British literature. He helped her with linear and quadratic equations. He was sweet. Funny. Down-to-earth. Not the personality she was expecting from a popular jock. Before long, she had developed a crush.
Sam kept her romantic feelings to herself, worried they were one-sided. That fall, he left for college. They never saw each other again. Until now.
On the cusp of sixty, he had aged well. Thick waves of salt and pepper gave off George Clooney vibes. And the fine lines that framed his eyes? Endearing. His current style included dark denim and a cashmere sweater topped with a quilted puffer vest. It suited him well.
“How long has it been?” His dimples were charming. Just like she remembered.
“Almost forty years.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
“I know.”
“You look amazing.” He held her gaze.
She felt herself blush. “Thank you. So do you.”
“Do you come here often?”
“No, actually. This is my first time back after a long hiatus. And yourself?” she asked, with a tilt of her head.
“I typically skate at the city rink, but they’re closed today. Issues with the pipes and refrigerant.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “So how does it feel to be back on the ice?”
A sigh escaped her. “My feet seem to have a mind of their own.”
“Would you like some help?”
Say yes. “I think I’ll take you up on your offer.”
He wrapped a sturdy arm around her waist. Samantha’s pulse raced.
“Remember… toes out, heels in, chin up.”
Scott held her close as they glided across the ice, their bodies moving in perfect synchronization.
“You’ll be doing salchows in no time,” he whispered, his breath brushing her cheek.
The session ended when the Zamboni lumbered onto the ice. In the concession area, they found a table by the window and sat down. Removing her hat, Sam smoothed her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. They sat facing one another, warming up with hot cocoa, a plate of nachos on the table between them. They reminisced. Caught up. Laughed.
The butterflies? Still there.
He grew quiet, looking out the window for a moment, before returning his attention to her. “I regret not asking you out, Sam.”
She swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you?” Her fingers curled around the paper cup.
“Fear of rejection. And I didn’t want to jeopardize our friendship if the feelings weren’t mutual.”
“That’s too bad.” She peered at him over the rim. “I would have said yes.”
He straightened and quirked a brow. “Perhaps we have serendipity to thank for this unexpected reunion.” His lips stretched into a smile. “Will you have dinner with me tonight? I’m thinking someplace warm, with comfortable seating and a fancy menu that doesn’t include nachos.”
Her cheeks lifted. “I’d love to.”
Arms entwined, they strolled to the parking lot as snow fell softly from the February sky.
In 2024, Tracy was awarded the grand prize in the Scrivenings Press NovelStarts Contest. Her other wins include the 2022 ACFW First Impressions Contest, and the 2022 Spark Flash Fiction “Love Unleashed” Contest.
Fond of history, Tracy also fancies old houses, classic movies, museums, road trips, rainy days, and a good cup of coffee. Born and raised in the Midwest, she now resides in Southern California with her husband, and is the mother of two.
Tracy’s other Spark Flash Fiction stories include: A Season of Change, A Date with Fate, Mrs. Boyd’s Ambrosia, and A Ticket to Des Moines.
Connect with Tracy on Instagram.
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