"Um. Five. Entries, or. Tickets. Um. Two adults, three are under ten," Roman said.

"What part of America are you from?"

"New Jersey. But I've lived here longer."

"Never shook the accent."

"Uh. No?" Roman scrunched his face up a little. "Kind of stuck with it."

"Hoboken?"

"Yeah?"

"Cake Boss."

"Never met him. Can I have some skates or—" I've lived here for over half my life because I fell in love and, oh, how stupid that was and now I feel like I'm stuck here sometimes and can you give me the damn skates so I can slit my throat with them? Thank you so much, I hope the blood stain isn't too hard to get out of the ice.

"I love Cake Boss."

"Okay."

"What ever happened to him?"

"You know, I don't know—"

"On the house, buddy. Be the boss."

"Thanks."

"Yeah."

"You going to get their shoe sizes—"

"Yeah, man."

Roman stared at him, raised an eyebrow. "So..."

The worker winked at him. "Cake Boss."

"Shoe size."

"If he signs an autograph for you," – Florence came out of bloody nowhere – "Can we get those skates, pretty please?"

"Are you Lisa?"

"Sure."

"Wicked."

"Just—Here—" Florence reached over the counter.

"What are you—" Roman started, eyes wide. Hands raking through his hair.

Florence shoved a pen and receipt paper into his chest. "Here. Buddy."

Roman messily scribbled on the paper. He wasn't even sure he spelt Valastro right. That didn't seem to matter. The worker was on... something. Roman held the paper and pen out. "Here?"

"Thank you so much."

"How about those skates, sweetie?" Florence asked. She rattled off the sizes without having to look at the kids' shoes.

Skates were handed over.

Florence added her and Roman's sizes. He barely knew his own shoe size. "In adults, please?"

Two more pairs of skates.

"Thank you so much. Enjoy your autograph." Florence smiled at them, then Roman. Took her and his skates in her hands. Motioned with her head to the girls' skates. "Come on."

"Um."

"Any day, babycakes."

"Huh—"

"Skates. Please." Florence smiled at him.

Was he in Hell? He was in Hell.

Roman grabbed the three sets of skates and nearly sliced his damn hand off. Sacrifice him. Use his blood for a ritual, he didn't care. Florence gave one last smile to the worker and led him away from the booth.

"Lisa?" Roman asked.

Florence looked down and laughed. "Worked, didn't it?"

"You know the Cake Boss is white, right?"

Judging by the expression on her face, she did not.

"You're one of a kind, Flo."

Florence laughed into the back of her hand. Tried to muffle it and failed immensely.

"Careful—" Roman laughed with her, gently taking his skates from her hand. Four pairs to her one. He'd carry hers too if he thought he could do it without cutting his hand. "You're going to cut yourself."

"Thanks, doc." Florence elbowed his side, Roman squirmed.

"Pretty sarcastic when I do have a PhD, Meadowlark." Roman grinned despite the questions his doctorate caused. (Was that one of the reasons?) (Had he spent so much time on his dissertation that he didn't notice the foundation of his marriage crumbling beneath him?) (Sometimes thinking too hard simply made him happier he had therapy appointments prebooked.)

"How come you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You... you laugh and it's like..." Florence shook her head. "Never mind."

"No, no—" Roman reached his arm out, blocking her path. Careful to not cut her with the skate blades. He was so, so fucking selfish. A sliver of a compliment and he was begging at her feet. "What were you saying?"

Florence's eyes searched his. "Fishing for compliments there, Rome?"

Roman laughed. "Always."

"Shithead."

"Potty mouth," Roman said. "There are kids around here. How dare you."

Florence brushed her bangs out of her eye. "Dummy."

"You can call me a lot of things, Flo," Roman said, laughing, "But don't call me dumb."

"You do lose Trivial Pursuit every single time we play it."

"Your parents lose Trivial Pursuit to us," Roman said. "We come in second."

"Second is still losing."

"It's not fair—"

"Against a Nobel Prize winner and an EGOT?"

"Exactly."

Florence laughed. "You say that every time."

Roman narrowed his eyes, leaned his head a little closer to hers. "That's because every time, it's true. He has, like, 13 Grammys."

"Come on, Cake Boss," Florence said, poking him in the cheek with a small laugh. "We have skates to tie."

Roman wasn't sure what was more painful.

One. Putting skates on under tens while they argued with him that they were too tight and he assured them they needed to be tight enough that they wouldn't fall out.

Two. Spending a grand total of ten minutes on the ice at the outdoor rink before he lost Florence while helping Lyra skate and the next time he spotted her, she was leaning against the boards talking to a man who was seemingly there with his son and no one else.

"Daddy," Raya said.

"Yes?"

"Who's mummy talking to?"

"Dunno." Someone good-looking. Who was leaning a little toward her. Someone who made a lot of eye contact and smiled with dimples and it was not a smile Roman wanted to compete with. (It wasn't a competition.) (Second place was still losing.) (Was he even on the leaderboard?)

"Is he going to be our new daddy?"

"I will never stop being your dad."

"You said it's rude to stare," Navi said.

Roman sighed softly. "Good listening."

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing. Your mom can do what she wants."

"Why are you still staring at her?"

"You ask a lot of questions, Navster."

"Still staring."

"Here." Raya took his hand in hers, placed something in it.

Roman finally managed to tear his gaze from Florence and outdoor ice rink Adonis to see what she'd given him. "No."

"It's just snow."

"As opposed to?"
Raya shrugged. "Ice."

"That's still..." Roman unfortunately looked at Florence again. Always would. "... Wrong. Mostly."

"What if he didn't know it was you?" Raya asked.

"That would be lying."

"Not lying if they don't ask you," Navi said.

"Who told you things like that?"

Navi shrugged. "Esmé."

Roman shook his head. He didn't want to turn his kids against Maverick's sister, but... "I'm not throwing a snowball at him. Your mom can talk to whoever she wants."

He wasn't sure how her pulling her phone out had made those words so false. That seeing his ex-wife, who was an adult and could do what she wanted, hand her phone to a man who was, arguably, attractive, made his heart feel like it had fallen out his ass and somehow that had triggered his throwing arm.

Raya thought it was hilarious.

Roman was appalled at his own behaviour. He turned away. Always one to tear his gaze from car accidents.

"Where did that hit him?" Roman asked.

Navi winced.

"Please don't tell me it was the head."

"I won't tell you."

"Oh my God—" Roman turned. "I'm going to apologize, that's so—"

Raya scooped up some snow in her hands.

"Ray—"

Threw it without even thinking twice. Hit some poor boy around her age and knocked him straight on his ass. A perfect target, he immediately threw it back at her.

Before Roman knew it, or could bother to skate even remotely near Florence and the ice rink man, the snowball fight had begun. He was raising an evil genius and his feelings about that? Complicated. Everything was complicated.

An outdoor rink full of adults and their kids shouldn't have become a warzone. But, it was. Push carts to help new skaters on the ice became barricades, ways for people to hide from snowball assailants. Roman skated with Lyra in his arms, she was not the best skater, Raya and Navi clung to the back of his coat as he tried to find Florence.

He would always try to find Florence.

The chaos of the snowball fight, far too intense for something in London only 10 days before Christmas, made Roman want to jump into the hockey benches and hide until it had passed. Then he turned around. Heard Lyra laughing in his ear, Raya and Navi threw snowballs at onlookers and ice rink Adonis was nowhere to be seen. Florence was...

"Rome?"

Throwing a snowball right in his face the moment he turned around.

And, dear God, if he could listen to her laugh like that for the rest of his life, he'd die a damn happy man.

"Oh, it's on—"

And, so, the snowballs flew. Maybe he'd used Raya as a shield, which only made her erupt in giggles. Navi had the best aim out of the five of them, somehow topping Roman's direct hit to the Adonis.

Florence snuck up behind him and slammed a too large to throw ball of snow on his head. When turning around, Roman lost his balance. Sue him, they were on ice.

When he was in school, one of the things that made him consider the world in a new light was the accident mentality. The idea that if there was a crash, or something of the like, the human psyche acted on protective instinct. Arms would involuntarily reach out towards the ones people loved the most, even if there was nothing anyone could do to save them.

A tad overdramatic of a thought for when he slipped on ice while wearing a tiny blade but the point stood. He reached out for Florence, grabbed her wrist as he fell.

"Oh my God—" Florence laughed at he took both of them down.

She landed beside him and, truly, he thought that was Nirvana. That laugh. The way she buried her head in his shoulder like they were a couple in their seventies with decades of inside jokes to never forget. The bed of snow they had fallen on was soft, like the snowball. Not quite ice yet, just fluffy and light. Kind of like Florence's curls.

"Klutz," Florence said through her laughter.

"You're the one who stealth attacked me."

"I think our goblins started it," Florence said, her laughter slowly dying down.

Roman brushed her hair from out of her eye. Like it was instinct. Like he wasn't dying at the fact that she had snowflakes freckling her hair and cheeks and he wasn't allowed to kiss any of them. "How do you suppose that?"

"I saw Raya hit that kid."

"I thought he deserved it."

"For what?"

"Existing," Roman said. "As a boy."

"Like you?"

"Yes."

Florence laughed. "I was talking to a man who didn't seem that bad."

"Yeah?"

"Raya hit him with a snowball too."

"Did she?" Roman was an ass for letting her take the fall for him, but Florence didn't look annoyed. He didn't feel as bad knowing that she was at least laughing at the fact it was their daughter.

"Decent shot, too," Florence said. "Thank God."

"He looked... nice." Handsome. Charming. Everything Roman had tried to be.

"I talked to him for maybe five minutes," Florence said. "And he managed to tell me where he worked, how important his job was, and that he was likely in line for CEO."

"Impressive."

Florence scoffed. "If even remotely true, why the hell would he tell me that?"

"Probably because you're beautiful," Roman said, "and he thought wow, I'd love to date her, maybe even marry her."

Florence snorted, slapped his shoulder. "You're so corny."

"Can't say I haven't thought it," Roman said.

Florence laughed. "Okay. But, we were kids when we met. Thank you very much. He was a grown-ass-adult. I said not that bad sarcastically."

Roman shrugged. "We were adults."

"Barely." Florence laughed. "And you were pretending to be stupid. Not because you were pretending to be Ivan freakin' Pavlov in psychology one."

Would that have made her stay?

"I'm just saying," Roman said, "I can understand the mentality. I'm in—I've been in love with you before. It's not hard."

Florence searched his eyes for a moment. He wanted to suffocate himself in the snow the more time that passed as she did. It wasn't meant to be a surprise he loved her, he'd written wedding vows about it. Told her he'd love her forever and still hadn't given up on that.

"That's not true," Florence said.

"You were about to get his phone number," Roman said. "It's pretty true that everyone who meets you falls in love with you."

"I was pulling my phone out to say I was getting a call," Florence said. "Try to get away."

"Looked pretty googly-eyed to me, Flo."

"I don't do googly eyes."

"I've seen your googly eyes."

"You haven't seen shit."

"I've actually seen everything," Roman said. "Thank you very much."

"You—"

"We have three kids, Florence," Roman said. "Not to be foul—"

"Oh, God, don't—"

"I've been in you and I've seen people come out of you. I know you."

"Disgusting." Florence covered her face with her hand. Mostly to hide the fact she'd laughed. "You didn't have to say it."

"It's a fact."

"It's in the past."

Ouch. Teasing Florence about their relationship was not as fun when she pointed out it was not in the present. Noted.

"Doesn't erase the fact I've been down—"

"You are foul." Florence laughed.

"You've had all three of our kids," Roman said. "Unless there's something you want to tell me, I think we're past that point. Divorced or not."

"Can we skate more?" Raya asked.

"No naps," Navi said.

"But I'm so tired—" Roman said, grabbing Navi's hand pulling her over as she erupted into laughter. Never one to be a tickler, but in dire circumstances like being requested he stop making Florence laugh, he needed to pull out the big guns. "Dad is old. Always needs naps."

"Don't go throwing old out willy-nilly." Florence laughed, pushing herself upright. "I'm still older than you, you plonker."

Roman laughed. "How dare I forget what a cougar you are—"

Florence swatted him in the shoulder in spite of her laughter.

"Two whole years between us," Roman said. "You graduated high school—"

"And you were in tenth grade," Florence said, "Relax."

"Cougar."

"Roar!" Lyra said, baring her fingers as the world's most intimidating claws.

Roman pointed to their daughter. "See? That's you."

"I'm leaving now."

"Heard that before."

Roman needed to think before he spoke. Sometimes he hurt himself more than anyone else. Florence might've tried, but no one was as good at hurting his feelings as he was.

Florence chuckled and rolled her eyes. Pushed herself up from the ground. "You're doing me a big favour. And I—well I think it's going well—so can we not, please?"

"Sure."

"And for whatever it's worth," Florence said, pulling Roman to his feet carefully, "there still isn't anyone who's made me laugh quite like you know how to. So. Thank you. For that."

*

"When she touched my hand, I think a part of me died."

"You're a counsellor yourself, right?"

"Yes."

"So you recognize how concerning a statement like that is to me? As your therapist?"

"I haven't even told you about how she said I was funny," Roman said. "That made me want to walk in front of a semi."

"Roman."

"Not literally." Well. Sort of.

His therapist sighed, pinched the bridge of their nose. "I'm going to need to call my therapist after this."

"I think that you should keep that to yourself," Roman said. "Because I'm your patient."

"You've got, just, a string of therapists needing therapy."

"I would blame Florence for the chain."

"Interesting."

"What?"

"That's the first time in the last ten months you've actually said to blame her for something," the therapist said. "Most of the time you blame yourself."

Roman sat up straight. "Really?"

"Roman," they said, "you were given divorce papers and you still tried to find a way to say it was your fault."

Roman bit his lip. "Is that necessarily progress?"

"For you?" They almost smiled. "Definitely. You've spent these last few months saying that you messed up. You wanted to know if there was anything you had done. Not once would you listen to me that maybe this wasn't something you were at fault for."

"I—" Roman collected his jacket from the chair he sat on. Stood up. "Okay."

"You still have ten more minutes."

Roman held his hand out, waiting for his therapist to shake it. "Thank you."

"That's it?"

"That's it," Roman said. "I'll be back next week."

"We can still talk about this—"

"I'd rather go home and cry, thank you."

"You can cry here."

"Not with Little Women on, I can't."

"Which version are you watching?"

"Greta. It's my favourite Christmas movie."

"Enjoy. See you next week," they said. Never looking less convinced that Roman was fine. Even after that first appointment ten months before when Roman walked in, promptly announced he was divorced, and cried for the next hour without uttering a single other word. "Text me if you need anything."

"I think I made progress today."

"I think you did too."

"Thank you."

"You're sure you're okay?"

"Absolutely not," Roman said. "But I'd rather get myself home before I cry than cry here and have to cry in a cab."

"You really worry me sometimes."

"I'm not going to jump off Tower Bridge," Roman said. "I promise."

"Sometimes that's what people say before they jump off the Millennium Bridge."

"I won't jump off any bridges," Roman said. "I have three kids to take care of."

"That's not always enough."

"They're always enough."

*

Being curled up on his ex-wife's couch with a blanket wrapped around him felt like his lowest point, especially when that couch was his bed.

As it turned out, his lowest point was watching Little Women and crying harder than he ever had when Laurie said I have loved you ever since I've known you, Jo because he had never quite understood what it was like to feel so entirely rejected until the last few months had passed and the woman he loved since the moment he'd saw her had rejected him.

Roman wanted to be John. Sweet, sweet John. Florence would be his Meg until they were old and grey and they would love each other no matter what, in rich or poor, because that was what they did. Nothing could stop Meg from loving John—it was written in the stars.

With the events of the last couple months, Roman was Laurie. Poor Laurie. Laurie who would do anything for Jo and married Amy when he realized Jo wasn't the one for him. Amy who loved him back for who he was despite how in love he'd been with her sister. (Maybe the analogy wasn't working.) (If the analogy was working, that made Everleigh his Amy March and Roman wanted no piece of that. Dear God.) (Maybe that made Maverick Laurie and Everleigh Amy and Jo was whoever it was that Maverick had been engaged to before he dated Everleigh and maybe that meant Roman wasn't even part of the story and that he was destined to be unloved.)

"Roman? Are you home?" The door closed quietly behind Florence.

"Mhmm." Roman sat up. Wiped his eyes. Pulled the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders. Flicked the TV so it played some channel that wasn't his blu-ray of Little Women.

"You okay?" Florence asked. "You sound..."

She walked into the room. Placed her hands on her hips.

"I'm fine."

Florence looked at the TV before looking back at him. "Tell me you're not crying because Brendon Ellis lost."

Roman laughed weakly. "No."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Won't be the last."

"Are you all right?"

"Were you going to ask me something?"

"I just wanted some help with putting away groceries, but if you're not okay, I can do it myself."

Roman shook his head, shrugged the blanket off. Pushed on his knees as he stood up. "I got them. You can sit."

"No, it's—"

"I got it, Flo." He slid past her.

Florence smiled softly. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"Would you tell me if it was Brendon losing?"

"He can't lose," Roman said. "He's adad now."