They did not open the envelope immediately. They walked to a bench near the Christmas tree, sat, and let the rink's daytime clamor wash over them—less magic than Friday night, more real, blades grinding, a coach barking counts, the food cart already steaming for the early evening crowd.
Rowan opened the envelope.
The photograph was black and white, slightly soft at the edges the way twin-lens film sometimes was, and painfully clear at the center. Theo's hand at Rowan's back. Rowan's glove at Theo's waist. Their faces close, not quite kissing, not quite speaking, caught in the ridiculous holy second after almost-falling. Behind them, string lights hung like a net of pale stars. The Christmas tree was a dark shape with brightness caught in its ornaments. At the far margin, almost cropped away, the ghost of a taxi's yellow had become a gray suggestion.
"Oh," Theo said, uselessly.
Rowan stared until her eyes stung. "We look like people who haven't decided to leave yet."
"Is that good?"
"It's accurate," she said. "Accuracy is rarer than romance."
Ned approached then, flat cap in his hands for once, glasses reflecting the pale sky. He did not ask if they liked it. He waited.
"It's a good frame," Rowan told him.
"It's an honest one," Ned said. "Good is for calendars." He glanced at the print, then away, as if too much looking might wear it thin. "June—my wife—used to say the rink was where strangers practiced becoming less strange. I take that personally now. You two looked like you were practicing hard."
Theo cleared his throat. "What do you do with the ones people don't claim?"
"I keep a box," Ned said. "Not as trophies. As weather reports. Proof the cold season still makes people reach." He settled the cap back on his head. "You don't owe me a story. But if you ever want cocoa and an old man's opinions about staying, I'm here most December evenings until the lights come down."
He started to leave, then paused. "One more thing. The pose I asked you to hold? You were already holding it. I just made you admit it long enough for light to catch up."
When he was gone, Rowan set the print on her knees carefully. "I have news," she said.
Theo's stomach dropped with professional efficiency. "Minneapolis."