Escaping with Nick (Winter Retreat in Evergreen Lakes #1)

Chapter 1

Daria

The resort shuttle hits another pothole, and my stomach lurches along with it.

I grip the handle above the window and try to look like I'm totally fine with this decision—coming alone to a singles retreat in the mountains where I'll be surrounded by confident, outdoorsy women who probably look amazing in thermal wear.

This was a terrible idea.

"First time at Evergreen Lakes?" the driver asks, catching my eye in the rearview mirror.

"Yeah." I force a smile. "My friend convinced me it'd be fun."

"The Single Woman’s Escape to Evergreen Lakes retreat, right? You'll love it. Great group this year."

Great. As in great competition for the hot ski instructors I saw in the brochure. Not that I came here for that. I came here to... what did Shayna say? "Put yourself out there, Daria. Take a risk. Be visible."

I stare out the window at the snow-covered pines blurring past. Visibility. That's always been my problem—too much of the wrong kind (these curves can't hide in a crowd) and not enough of the right kind (boys looked right through me in high school; men do the same now).

The Evergreen Lakes Resort materializes through the trees like something from a postcard. Rustic timber beams, enormous windows glowing warm against the winter afternoon, mountain peaks rising behind it like sentinels. It's beautiful. Romantic, even.

Which makes me feel more alone.

I grab my duffel from the luggage pile and trudge toward the entrance, my boots crunching in the packed snow.

Through the glass doors, I spot a cluster of women already laughing together by the stone fireplace, and my chest tightens.

Of course, they've already bonded. Of course, I'm late to my own fresh start.

"Welcome!" A perky brunette with a clipboard intercepts me at check-in. "You must be Daria! I'm Kelly, your retreat coordinator. We're so excited you're here."

"Thanks." I shift my duffel to my other shoulder. "Sorry I'm late—"

"Oh, you're right on time! We don't start orientation for another hour. Let me get you checked in and show you to your suite."

Suite. Right. Because I'm sharing with three strangers who are probably all a size two and have never experienced the unique joy of chub rub.

Kelly hands me a folder bulging with schedules and activity options. "You're in the Aspen Suite with Madison, Claire, and Joelle. They arrived about an hour ago—super sweet girls, you'll love them."

I nod as if I believe her.

The suite is gorgeous with exposed beams, a fireplace, and mountain views through floor-to-ceiling windows. Three of the four beds already have suitcases on them, personal items scattered across nightstands. I take the remaining bed by the window and sit on the edge, exhausted.

What am I doing here?

My phone buzzes.

Shayna: You there yet? Send pics! And DON'T chicken out.

Me: Made it. It's beautiful. Terrifying, but beautiful.

Shayna: You've got this, D. Remember, relax and make this trip all about you! Meet a man and have some naughty fun. You’re a catch. Hugs.

I stare at her message, wanting to believe it. Twenty-three years of evidence suggests otherwise, but maybe that's the point of coming here. New place, new people, a new Daria who doesn't assume she's invisible.

The door bursts open, and three women tumble in, laughing and pink-cheeked from the cold.

"Oh my God, the hot tub is amazing—" The tallest one stops when she sees me. "Hi! You must be Daria!"

"That's me." I stand, tugging my sweater down over my hips.

"I'm Madison." She's stunning—willowy, blonde, effortlessly pretty. "These are Claire and Joelle."

Claire waves, dark pixie cut framing delicate features. Joelle grins, curvy like me but carrying it with confidence I've never managed.

"We were just exploring," Madison says. "Want to come with us? There's still time before orientation."

"I should unpack—"

"Unpack later!" Joelle grabs my arm. "Come on, we'll show you around. Plus, we need to scope out the instructors before orientation. Strategic planning."

I let myself be dragged along, oddly grateful. They keep up a steady stream of chatter as we wander through the resort. They point out the dining hall, the spa, and the equipment rental room. Other retreat participants wave as we pass, everyone buzzing with first-day energy.

"Okay, but did you see the guy at the front desk?" Claire fans herself. "The one with the tattoos?"

"I saw the hiking guide," Madison says. "Tall, dark, and broody. Very my type."

They're at ease in a way I envy. Like they know they're allowed to want things. Like desire is something natural instead of embarrassing.

We end up back in the suite with thirty minutes until orientation. I stare at my suitcase, debating. I packed options—safe baggy sweaters, and a few fitted thermal tops Shayna insisted I bring.

Be visible, she'd said.

I pull out a deep green thermal henley that hugs my curves, and pair it with jeans that fit instead of hiding me. I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and immediately want to change.

The fabric stretches across my chest, clings to my waist and hips. I look... curvy. Undeniably, obviously curvy.

"That color is gorgeous on you!" Joelle appears behind me, touching up her lipstick. "You should wear it."

"It's not too... much?"

She meets my eyes in the mirror. "Honey, there's no such thing. You look hot."

I don't believe her, but I don't change either.

The orientation takes place in the main lodge, a soaring space with a massive stone fireplace and mounted snowshoes on the walls. Organizers arrange chairs in a semicircle facing a small stage area. Women trickle in, filling seats, and I move toward the back.

"Where are you going?" Madison tugs me toward the front. "Best view from here."

My stomach flips. Front row means visible. Means if I make a fool of myself, everyone will see.

But isn't that why I came? To be seen?

I sit between Madison and Joelle, twisting my fingers together in my lap.

Kelly takes the stage with that same perky energy, welcoming us and walking us through the week's schedule.

Skiing, snowshoeing, spa treatments, group dinners, and something called "fireside connection circles" that sounds both wholesome and mortifying.

"And now I'd like to introduce our incredible activity staff," Kelly says. "These folks will be leading your adventures this week, keeping you safe, and making sure you have an unforgettable experience."

A line of people files onto the stage. I scan faces, trying to seem interested and not terrified, when my eyes catch on the man at the end of the line.

Tall, broad-shouldered, in a fitted thermal pullover.

Dark hair silvering at the temples, close-trimmed beard following a firm jaw.

Maybe mid-thirties, with the weathered look of someone who spends more time outside than in.

When he crosses his arms, the fabric pulls tight across his chest and biceps, and I forget how to breathe.

"This is Nick Callahan, our lead ski instructor," Kelly says. "He's been teaching for over a decade and knows these mountains better than anyone. You're in excellent hands."

Nick steps forward, nodding at the crowd. His voice is deep and warm when he speaks, like aged whiskey. "Looking forward to getting you all on the slopes this week. We've got everything from beginner bunny hills to advanced runs, so whatever your level, we'll find your sweet spot."

His eyes scan the crowd as he talks about safety and respecting your limits, and I tell myself he's just doing his job, looking at everyone equally.

But then his gaze lands on me.

Holds for a beat too long.

I freeze, heat flooding my cheeks. He doesn't look away. Doesn't scan onto the next person. His eyes—gray, maybe blue, I can't tell from here—stay on mine, and something flickers across his face. Recognition? Interest?

No. Impossible.

He looks away, and I can breathe again, heart hammering against my ribs.

"Did you see that?" Joelle whispers.

"See what?" I try to sound casual.

"The ski instructor. He was checking you out."

"He was not—"

"He was." Madison leans over. "That was not a professional sweep-the-crowd look. That was a hello-beautiful look."

I shake my head, but my pulse is racing. They're wrong. They have to be wrong. Men like him don't look at women like me that way.

The rest of the orientation blurs. More staff introductions, logistics, and a reminder to stay hydrated at this altitude. I nod along, but I'm not processing anything. I'm too busy trying not to look at Nick while being aware of where he's standing.

When Kelly dismisses us for dinner, everyone stands in a chattering mass. I hang back, letting others funnel toward the doors, when a voice beside me makes me jump.

"Are you here for the ski lessons?"

I turn and Nick is right there, close enough that I catch his scent—pine and something clean and masculine. My mouth goes dry.

"I—yes. I mean, I'm here for the whole retreat, but skiing is part of it, so—" I'm babbling. Oh God, I'm babbling.

His mouth curves into a slight smile. "First time skiing?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"No." His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Just asking. Good to know skill levels before we hit the slopes."

"Total beginner," I admit. "Like, I'll fall approximately a thousand times."

"Everyone falls. It's how you learn." He's still standing close, still looking at me like I'm not invisible. "Are you planning on booking any private lessons? One-on-ones can help build confidence faster."

Is he... suggesting I book time with him specifically? Or is this a sales pitch he gives everyone?

"I... uh, I hadn't thought about it."

"Think about it." His smile widens. "I'll be teaching the beginner group sessions, but if you want focused attention, private lessons are the way to go. You can book them at the front desk. I’m Nick." He puts out his hand, and I take it, not expecting a mini-explosion to race up my arm.

“Daria.” I stumble over my name, and blush as I drop my gaze.

“Nice to meet you, Daria. Think about those private lessons.”

Focused attention. From him.

"Okay," I manage quietly. "I'll think about it."

"Good." He nods once, then turns to talk to another staff member.

I stand there for a full ten seconds before my legs remember how to work.

Madison materializes at my elbow. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"Daria." She grabs my shoulders. "That man just gave you his full attention and suggested private lessons. Private. Lessons."

"He's just being professional—"

"That wasn’t professional. That was interested." Joelle appears on my other side. "You're booking those lessons, right?"

"I don't know—"

"You're booking them." Madison links her arm through mine. "Come on. Front desk. Now."

I let them propel me forward, my mind still spinning. He looked at me. Really looked at me. And unless I'm delusional, there was something in that look. Something warm and aware and focused.

Something that made me feel, for the first time in as long as I can remember, visible.

At the front desk, I book two private lessons. One tomorrow morning, one the day after. The clerk confirms them and hands me a receipt.

"You're all set with Nick for nine a.m. tomorrow."

Nick. Nine a.m. Tomorrow.

I fold the receipt and slip it into my pocket, trying to ignore the way my hands are shaking.

This is probably nothing. Just a professional instructor being friendly to a nervous beginner. My imagination runs wild because I want to believe someone like him could see someone like me.

But as we head to dinner and I glance across the dining hall, Nick’s eyes find mine again. This time I don't look away. I hold his gaze for three heartbeats before he nods, an almost-smile playing at his lips.

And I think—maybe just this once—I'm not invisible at all.