Snowed Under (Aspen Peaks #2)

1. Cooper

W hat a disgusting day. For most people, anyway.

The freshly fallen snow from last night’s unexpected storm provided a blanket of cloud-like crystals that trickled down from the mountaintop toward the lodge. For an average local, this would mean a day of staying inside. A day of reading by a fireplace or sitting on the couch and binging an entire season of a beloved sitcom. Having their face pressed to the window, watching as the sky poked hundreds of holes in itself and let the snowflakes fall like tiny gifts to the earth. A day to take everything slowly, a minute at a time.

For me, it meant speed. Heart-racing, blood-pumping, wind-chilling speed. Post-snowstorm days like this meant empty slopes, fresh powder, and adrenaline like you’ve never felt. This weather was a skier’s dream. A mountaintop stretched out before you, a vast expanse of pristine snow shimmering under the winter sun. Even if you’d seen something similar fifty times, the sight still had your heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Below, the hill dropped away sharply, a steep slope disappearing into the distance. This raw anticipation would bubble, a thrilling mixture of nerves and adrenaline. That was what I lived for—the rush of flying down the mountain, the sharp wind in my already messy short hair, relishing the freedom only speed could bring me.

I looked up at the mostly empty hill, finding only the workers in hi-vis vests at the top where the lift was being tested. I momentarily imagined how I had done it a million times before. Pushing off with a powerful thrust of my poles, feeling the snow crunch beneath my skis, controlling the earth beneath me, or feeling as though I did, at least. My chest expanded with a deep breath, and I closed my eyes. My feet were at the top once more. Instantly, gravity took hold, and I pictured hurtling down the hill, faster and faster with each passing second. The wind whipped past my face, roaring in my ears like a symphony of exhilaration. The more speed I gained, the sharper my senses became, every nerve tingling with awareness. The world around me became a white and baby blue kaleidoscope, the snow fading into streaks as I carved a path through the mountain, leaving scars of travel in my wake. My muscles tensed with each turn, responding instinctively to the shifting terrain beneath me.

Despite the breakneck pace, it brought me a sense of control, a connection to the mountain that was both primal and profound. Every twist, every turn, was a dance, a delicate balance between speed and precision, power and finesse. It brought me to life in a way solid ground never could. My whole being thrummed with energy. The rush of wind, the sting of the cold, the burn in my muscles, the heat in my thighs as I pushed myself further—

“Mr. Cooper?”

The tiny Minnie Mouse voice broke into my vision. Like a picture catching fire, it burned slowly in one corner, consumed by black smoke. Then, all at once, it dissipated into thin air like it had never existed in the first place.

I ripped my gaze from the vast mountain before me and settled it on the pink-covered three-foot-nothing human wearing Elsa skis. Her goggles stared right up at me, reflecting my own goggles in the blue and purple lens.

“Are we starting soon?” she asked with a head tilt, making her helmet bob a little to the side, a sign that it wasn’t on tight enough.

I knelt, adjusting my own skis, and lifted my hands to Abigail’s white helmet. I grabbed the strap and pulled it tight, leaving no slack.

Skiing down the mountain would have to wait until my shift was over in another six hours. When all that virgin snow would be packed down and probably smothered in ski lines. That was the only thing I didn’t love about my job: being so close to home and yet never being able to fully reach it. It was the purest form of torture, and yet I wouldn’t trade it for any other career out there. It spoiled me.

“Yeah, kiddo. We’re about to start.” I patted the top of her helmet with my glove and smiled at her. She looked out at the snow like it was calling for her. A feeling I had known all too well since before I was her age.

I could see it in her gaze, the connection to the snow. Certain people picked up the art of skiing like they were just walking. Like every movement came naturally to them. Years of teaching these classes allowed me to point them out almost instantly. I could see it before they touched a hill. It was the way they buckled their gear like they’d done it a hundred times before. How there was no hesitation when they locked their boots into the skis. They may stumble a bit when they get settled, testing the weight of their skis, but for the most part, they took to it like a duck takes to water. I would know because I was the same way the first time I came out here.

Besides working for my family, it was the best part of my job at the resort. I got to see this raw talent, to mold and shape it like pottery until they were almost as good as me. Almost.

Abigail turned to me with expectant eyes. I snorted. Impatient. Every single one of them was. “We’ve got one more joining us today.”

A giant relief on my end, considering all three of my classes had dwindled over the last month. Ever since a smaller, albeit much newer, resort opened up on the other side of Aspen on Ajax Mountain, I was losing students left and right. And it wasn’t just in my classes. The café inside the lodge’s lobby was less busy too. I should be relieved, considering they used to sell out of my favorite bacon cheddar scones before I could make it up there on my breaks. Still, I only felt the weight of stress on my shoulders as, each day, more of the treats sat in the display case.

It wasn’t that our resort was terrible; it was just no longer new and exciting. I guessed the same way people became after being married for twenty years.

You get familiar with every slope and curve, every dip and turn in the hills. Before you know it, you’ve gone hundreds of miles on your skis without genuinely going anywhere. I got it. I understood the whole seven-year itch thing. But what was so bad about consistency? What was wrong with knowing a place like the back of your hand? A place you could step into and breathe in the deep pine smell and brisk cold air and feel comfortable. Like it was a second home. But no. Apparently, everyone and their moms needed something exciting and new. So, the little traitors had turned their backs on our mountain and headed straight for another. I didn’t care if Timmy Silbeck was six years old and his mom was the one who pulled him out of classes. They were both dead to me. Not really. Maybe just a little, though.

Point being, any kind of new skiers, even in a seven- to nine-year-old class, meant traction as a whole for the resort. Finn, my coworker and best friend, had the new kid in his classes for a while apparently—but new to me meant new in my mind. I wasn’t going to fret over technicalities.

I checked the fitness watch on my right wrist. We still had three minutes till class officially started. My students were lined up beside an array of tiny orange cones, five sets of eyeballs staring at me, just waiting for me to say go.

“Three more minutes, guys. Just stretch for a little bit.”

I turned back to the main exit, the one with yellow signs that read Ski Lessons— Class B. My class. The best class—despite how much Finn swore his were better.

We technically held the same positions at the lodge. It was how we became best friends over the years. But I knew my kids were on another level. One of these days, we were going to bring all of these kids out here to battle and watch them fall until only one was left standing. Just to see whose group of kids was superior. What were they going to do, fire me? Good luck, considering I’d be seeing their unfortunate asses every Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Soon, a woman with curly dark hair and gray roots strolled through the exit with a short blond-haired boy in all black ski gear. I lifted my gloved hand to wave them toward me, and when the woman caught sight, her chest seemed to fall in relief, and she grabbed the boy’s wrist and pulled him toward our group.

Shit, what had Finn said the kid’s name was? Carson? Calvin? Christopher? I shook my head. It didn’t matter. Names didn’t stick with me. Never had and probably never would. It was exactly why I kept a Rolodex of nicknames in my head that could be applied to any and every situation. Sport, kid, man, etc. Easy money was another recent favorite.

As the woman and boy approached our group, he lifted his goggles.

I shortened my height by bending my knees. “What’s up, man?” I stuck my gloved hand out for him to shake, and he did it with a small smile. He didn’t respond with a hello or anything, but he looked behind me at the line of kids, who were less of a line and more of a mosh pit of sugar-hyped Bluey-loving monsters, but he smiled at them, nonetheless.

“I’m Cooper. I’m glad you’re here.” I smiled back at him. “We’re gonna have some fun today.”

The boy looked to the woman who’d brought him in, and she nodded. “Go on.”

He listened and bounced to the side, sitting on a nearby bench to hook his boots into his skis as two of the other kids in my class approached him. I felt a pull at my chest and turned to the source. The woman—who, from this distance, looked like she was probably the boy’s grandmother—was holding my clearance badge. It said Instructor at the top, just above my name. Below it was a picture of twenty-year-old me with floppy brown hair that desperately needed a cut.

She eyed the picture before looking at my face and squinting skeptically. I raised both hands in defense.

“I know, I know. The hair got better with age.”

“Charlie can’t have peanuts. He’s not allergic, but they’re not good for his digestion. He has filtered water in his backpack and will need breaks regularly. Finn usually lets him rest every half hour—”

I smiled at her, trying my best not to stare at the wrinkles in her forehead.

“We all take breaks every thirty minutes, and water is heavily encouraged. I always bring the kids oranges or beef jerky as snacks, and they can have them whenever they want, and I have a 100 percent accident-free guarantee. Been teaching for nine years and never had an incident.” Other than some minor scrapes and bruises, but those were essential for a good childhood. It was character building on their end.

Still, the woman eyed me and glanced over at…what’s-his-name, who was smiling at the two kids beside him as he listened intently to whatever nine-year-old phrases they were using. I stopped keeping up after yeet became a thing a few years ago. I was too old for that shit now.

“He is a special boy. Keep him safe.”

I nodded. They were all unique in every parent’s or grandparent’s eyes. “Yes, ma’am. I promise he won’t want to leave when you pick him up.”

I’d been known to have a kid or two stuck to my leg, begging to stay longer.

“Unlikely. My daughter will be coming to get him, but I am always near.”

I shuddered as the lady walked away, occasionally glancing back at her grandson and over at me with those menacing eyes. Freaky.

“All right.” I clapped. “Who’s ready to get started?”

One hour, two snack breaks, and at least five Mr. Cooper, I have to pees later, my first set of lessons was over. As was the prospect of skiing on a mostly empty slope with that fresh blanket of snow staring seductively at me from the mountain.

I sighed, leaning against the nearby bench and twisted my back to the left, then right, searching for relief. I may have not gotten any solo steep hill skiing done today, but I did get to witness something pretty incredible.

About ten minutes into our standard lesson—discussing pizza feet or how to control your speed going down a hill—I noticed something click in the new kid. His feet moved naturally with the snow, shifting and gliding with it like he had a personal connection with the earth itself. It was like magic to watch, how I’d demonstrate a certain movement, and he’d follow, nailing every skill with talent that a nine-year-old with little experience shouldn’t possess.

I had to imagine it was like watching Aaron Rodgers tossing a football around as a kid, or maybe seeing Elton John perform live before anyone knew his name. It felt like I was watching history unfold before me. Or like I was looking back on my old self, back before I gave up on going pro. It was like everything moved around this one kid, and all the other students knew it too.

At one point, one of the younger girls’ skis kept getting tangled together, resulting in her tripping over herself where the hill curved to a flat spot. Before I could even rush over to help, little man was already there, speaking low to her.

“See? Like this,” he said in a gentle but direct tone. Next thing I knew, everyone was watching him teach her. I couldn’t even be upset that the whole class was distracted because I think we all knew one thing: his grandmother was absolutely right; this kid was special.

Everyone slowly trickled off with their parents, leaving the new kid and a few others who were talking by the bench where they’d removed their skis.

I craned my neck, looking around the crowd of people near the back entrance of the lobby. Most of them looked like they were together, so I doubted any of them were parents. But then one of them stood out.

A woman looking down at her phone and then back up, head turning from side to side like she was looking for something. Someone.

I felt a strike to my chest when she looked up. Long chestnut-brown hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back in soft waves, catching the light off in the distance and settling over her in a warm glow during this freezing morning. It framed her face delicately, accentuating her features with a touch of elegance. My eyes trailed downward to the shapely figure, studying the curves in all the right places. Hips swaying, she moved with such fluidity that it was both captivating and effortless. Like the snow she walked on was a stage, and she was a dancer. There was a hint of a smile on her face. Not a big one, but a reserved, permanent closed grin. Resting happy face, I thought.

Everything about this screamed out of your league. I didn’t care. And I was out of practice when it came to talking to pretty women. I didn’t care about that either.

Her eyes stopped on me before her lips tilted up farther. She took a few steps closer to our setup, her smile growing. Completely forgetting about my job, I glanced over my shoulder to the small group of kids behind me, where she kept her attention fixed.

The closer the woman got, the more her face came into view. Her long, slender nose seemed to favor the right side of her face. Her smile was a little crooked, with these full pink lips. On her left cheek, there was a faint smattering of freckles, reminiscent of constellations scattered across a night sky. Like God had taken a paintbrush and speckled her with them on that one side. The other side was a blank canvas, minus the smallest beauty mark above her lip.

My breathing picked up speed as she walked closer to us, and heat followed directly behind it, spreading down my abdomen. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Do not do it. You didn’t work to avoid women for an entire year only to toss it all aside for a random one who doesn’t even know your name.

Only I did, because when she was a few feet away, I lifted the goggles from my face and let them rest on my head in the mess of hair on top. The kid next to me—Mini Coop, I settled on—stood and began gathering his things. Before I could process the idea fully, I was reaching for his shoulder and tapping the back of my knuckles to it.

“Hey, Mini Coop. Let me borrow you for a sec.”

The kid shrugged and lifted his bag, but he left his skis and goggles behind him before following me to where the woman was approaching.

I murmured out of the side of my mouth to the kid who was already wearing a half grin, like his factory setting was pure happiness. Or maybe it was just being out in the snow.

“There’s a girl over there. All you gotta do is stand there and be super quiet.”

He glanced at the brunette and chuckled a bit, but he followed right alongside me until we were face to face with the woman. She looked down at Mini Coop and right back at me, with my crossed arms and messy hair.

“Can I help you?”

She smiled politely. Scholarly, I thought. Like the kind of woman who knew how atom bombs worked or why, when you pursed your lips and blew, the air was colder than when you opened your mouth wide and blew. Like she knew all of life’s greatest wonders. Shy, smart, beautiful. Each word was practically painted on her forehead.

Looking down at the kid beside me, she replied. “Yes, actually—”

“I can help,” I said, ignoring the tiny crack in my voice that escaped, as if this was the first time I’d so much as seen a woman. As if I were an alien in disguise and had to pass myself off as an actual human. I cleared my throat as I settled an arm on Mini Coop’s head, wrist settling on his helmet as he giggled below me. “You know, having a kid, I completely understand the struggles of getting them to and from practices and whatnot.”

She quirked a brow at me, and the freckles on that side of her face lifted with it, stretching. “Oh, you do?”

“Yeah, I mean”—I tapped on the helmet below me, causing him to chortle—“me and Mini Coop are always swamped. But I’m not too busy this weekend if you aren’t.”

It wasn’t the worst pickup line I’d ever used, but it wasn’t the greatest. I was on a year-long hiatus, and it turned out that talking to pretty girls was not like riding a bike. Finn called it helmet confidence. For some reason, in my work outfit, with half of my face covered up, I felt more invisible than when I was in day-to-day clothes.

The woman’s eyes volleyed between me and the kid, and her smile grew, sending a rush of pride through my veins. I was ready to make up for lost time. If I nailed this, nailed another single moment with her, then this kid was my good luck charm for sure.

I opened my mouth to speak again when the woman turned to the kid beside me. “Ready to go home, squirt?”

“Yeah, let me get my stuff.” He giggled again, his shoulders shaking and his helmet bouncing.

I stood entirely still for a moment, my jaw tense and eyes wide. His mom. Of course she was his mom. And, of course, that meant on the rare occasion that I got a new student, I went and screwed it up by flirting with his mother, who was more than likely married to a buff, tattooed construction worker who would torture me, kill me, and put my body under wet cement, never to be seen again.

Walking back with his bag, the kid latched his arm around his mom’s, and they made their way to the lodge. The sun bounced off the reflection of his helmet to blind me. I quickly glanced over my shoulder to double-check that the kids were all there before I followed the two, taking long strides in my steps.

“Wait!”

Both the mom and her son stopped in their tracks, turning to look back at me. I expected a form of rage. Some kind of I’m not bringing my kid back to this place ever again face or a My review will be posted all over Yelp scowl. But I was met with only amusement. A sly smirk resting on her lips.

“I’m not some creep,” I explained, hunched over and slightly out of breath, exactly like a creep. “I was just—”

The woman spoke before I could finish. “I know exactly who you are, Cooper Graves.”

My back straightened at that. It meant one of two things: she knew that my relatives owned the place, or I had made a fool of myself somehow in front of her before without realizing. My younger self hadn’t exactly appreciated the value of what little time we had here on earth, much less the value of learning to keep my mouth shut when the time was right. Something I was still learning as of two minutes ago.

“You do?”

Her chin dipped in a nod, the dark brown waves around her temples falling to surround her face. “Exactly who you are.”

“Why do I feel like that’s not a good thing?”

That foxish grin gave me nothing more, not a sliver of information, before she turned right back around, hips swaying and shoulders perked up, and headed to the lodge.

The kid beside her laughed again, the sound nearly identical to the one the woman beside him had let out.

“Bye, Mr. Cooper.”

I watched the two of them open the door to the lobby and took the last opportunity I had to shout with both hands wrapped around my mouth. “Your kid is really special.”

The woman turned her head back to me, still with that smirk on her face. Her lips were full and expressive and slightly asymmetric, with the upper lip slightly fuller than the lower. That tiny birthmark was visible, even from this distance. Every part of me fought the desire to see more of her just as she shouted back at me.

“I know.”