Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
Charlie
I trudge through the snow next to Bash, Emily a few paces ahead, practically bouncing with excitement. After our heart-to-heart in the woods earlier, something has shifted between us.
"Snowmobiling was a brilliant idea," I say, bumping my shoulder against Bash's. "My ass needs a break from falling on it."
"I was rather enjoying watching your ass, though." His eyes crinkle with mischief.
"Of course you were." I roll my eyes with a smile
Emily spins around, walking backward. "The rental place is supposed to be just around this corner. I can't believe we've never done this before."
"Dad always said snowmobiles were for tourists," I remind her.
"Well, today we're tourists," Emily declares. "Tourists who are going to haul ass through powder at forty miles per hour."
We round the corner to a small outbuilding with "Mountain Rush Snowmobile Tours" painted in bold red letters across the front. A row of gleaming machines sits outside, their engines silent but promising adventure.
A woman with a bright blue beanie and a clipboard waves as we approach. "Welcome to Mountain Rush! I'm Shaylee, your guide for today." Her enthusiastic greeting falters as her eyes land on Bash. "Wait—are you Sebastian Montgomery?"
Bash shifts beside me, his smile turning slightly stiff. "That's me."
Shaylee's professional demeanor dissolves. "Oh my god. I used to watch all your competitions! That backside 1440 in the X Games finals? I still have the poster!" She fumbles in her pocket and produces a pen. "Would you mind? I know this is totally unprofessional, but—"
"It's fine," Bash says, taking the pen with a gracious smile. He signs the back of her clipboard while I watch, fascinated by this glimpse of his former life.
Shaylee seems to remember herself and takes a step back. "I'm so sorry. That was completely inappropriate. Please forget that happened."
"Nothing to apologize for," Bash assures her. "It's always nice to meet a fan."
"Wow," Emily stage-whispers to me. "You're fake-dating a celebrity. Talk about punching above your weight class."
I elbow her sharply, but Bash just laughs and slides his arm around my waist, pulling me against him.
"Not fake," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple that sends warmth spiraling through my chest despite the cold.
Shaylee watches the exchange with a delighted expression. "You two are adorable together." She claps her hands. "Okay! Who's ready for some snowmobile fun?"
"Born ready," Emily declares, already eyeing the machines like she wants to race one off a cliff.
We follow Shaylee toward a row of snowmobiles, and I notice her sneaking glances at Bash. Not flirtatious ones—more like she can't believe a sports legend is in her tour group.
"So, you really were famous?" I ask quietly.
He shrugs. "For about fifteen minutes in a very niche sport."
"Don't let him fool you," Shaylee calls over her shoulder. "He was the future of freestyle snowboarding before..." She trails off, seeming to realize she's overstepped.
"Before I blew out my knee and ended my career," He finishes for her, his tone light but with an undercurrent I recognize now.
I squeeze his hand. "Their loss is my marketing department's gain."
His smile reaches his eyes this time. "Damn right."
As we approach the line of waiting snowmobiles, I spot a familiar couple standing in the ski lift line across the way. Ethan and Olivia, looking miserable together in matching designer ski wear. Olivia notices me first, her perfectly Botoxed face contorting into a glare that could freeze hell.
Bash follows my gaze and tightens his arm around me. Without hesitation, he presses a kiss to the top of my head. I glance back at Ethan just in time to catch him shooting daggers at Bash.
"Problem?" Bash whispers, and I realize he saw Ethan's look too.
"Nope." I turn into him, rising on my tiptoes to kiss him properly. "No problems at all."
The snowmobiles are sleek machines with comfortable seats and heated handgrips. Shaylee walks us through the safety instructions and controls, paying special attention to Emily, who keeps revving her engine impatiently.
"One more time," Shaylee says firmly. "What's the most important rule?"
"Stay on the marked trail," we chorus dutifully.
"And?"
"No showboating," Emily adds with obvious disappointment.
"That means you too, Mr. X Games," Shaylee says to Bash with a grin.
He holds up his hands. "I'll be a perfect gentleman."
"Sure you will," I mutter, and he winks at me.
We mount our machines—Emily on her own, Bash and I sharing one. I settle in front of him, his solid warmth at my back as he reaches around me to grasp the handlebars.
"Ready?" His voice is low in my ear.
"As I'll ever be."
The engine rumbles to life beneath us, and I grip the handlebars alongside Bash's gloved hands. Shaylee leads the way, with Emily close behind, clearly itching to open the throttle.
As we start moving, following the trail that winds through snow-laden trees, Bash leans forward to murmur, "Relax. I've got you."
I lean back against him, letting my body sync with his as we navigate the twists and turns.
The forest is magical—pristine white snow, trees heavy with winter's burden, occasional glimpses of breathtaking mountain vistas.
We speed up on straightaways, the rush exhilarating as snow flies up around us.
At a scenic overlook, Shaylee signals for us to stop. The view is spectacular—jagged peaks stretching to the horizon, valleys blanketed in white, the town of Aspen a tiny cluster of lights in the distance.
"Not bad, right?" Bash says, dismounting and offering me a hand.
"It's incredible." I accept his help, my legs a bit wobbly from the vibration of the machine.
Emily bounces over, cheeks flushed with cold and excitement. "This is way better than skiing! No lift lines, no snooty people judging your technique." She glances meaningfully in the direction we last saw Ethan and Olivia.
"Speaking of tradition," she continues with a sly smile, "have you two put any thought into your mistletoe placement? Mom asked me to make sure you've picked a spot."
I groan. The Mistletoe Challenge—another Whitaker family tradition. Every couple has to hang mistletoe somewhere on the property and catch another couple unaware.
"I have something in mind," Bash says, surprising me.
"Oh?" I turn to him.
He grins, that confident, mischievous smile that first drew me to him at the bar. "But it's only for Charlie and me to know."
Emily raises an eyebrow. "Mysterious. I like it." She pulls out her phone to snap photos of the view. "Just make sure it's somewhere good. Ethan and Olivia already claimed the kitchen doorway, which is boringly predictable."
"Trust me," Bash says, his eyes never leaving mine. "What I have planned is anything but predictable."
The intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch. Whatever game we started playing when he agreed to be my fake boyfriend, the rules have changed. This isn't about making Ethan jealous anymore.
This is about us—messy, complicated, terrifying, and thrilling.
"Ready for the next stretch?" Shaylee calls. "It gets a bit more challenging from here!"
Bash offers his hand again as we return to our snowmobile. "What do you say, Shortcake? Ready for a challenge?"
The back patio glows with string lights and the warmth of the fire pit, battling the crisp mountain air.
We're all gathered around the massive wooden table my dad built himself three summers ago, waiting for dinner.
Mom's chicken parm and garlic knots are worth any wait, though the rumbling in my stomach suggests patience isn't my strong suit tonight.
Dad refills wine glasses while Emily regales everyone with tales of our snowmobiling adventure, complete with dramatic reenactments of my near-wipeout on a particularly sharp turn.
"If Bash hadn't been right there with his reflexes, Charlie would've been eating snow for lunch," she concludes with a flourish.
"Where is Sebastian?" Mom asks, glancing around as if he might be hiding behind one of the patio columns.
I shrug, trying to keep my expression neutral. "He said he needed to grab something from inside"
"Those two are up to something," Emily stage-whispers to the table at large. "I'd bet my favorite pair of boots on it."
"Speaking of being up to something," Mom says, "have all the couples placed their mistletoe yet? The challenge officially begins after dinner."
The Mistletoe Challenge—a ridiculous tradition my parents started when Emily and I were in our twenties.
Each couple hangs mistletoe somewhere on the property, then tries to catch other couples under their sprig.
First couple to catch another wins a bottle of expensive champagne and year-long bragging rights.
"Ethan and I hung ours this morning," Olivia announces, looking smug. She's wearing another designer ensemble.
Emily snorts into her wine glass. "The kitchen doorway? Could you be any more obvious?"
"It's strategic," Ethan defends, his jaw tight. "Everyone has to go through there at some point."
"Yeah, and everyone knows to look up when they do," Emily counters. "Might as well have hung a neon sign saying 'MISTLETOE HERE.'"
"Where's yours then?" Olivia challenges.
Emily grins wickedly. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"What about you, Charlie?" Dad asks. "Have you and Sebastian placed yours yet?"
I take a sip of wine to hide my smile. "Let's just say we have a plan."
"Charlie refuses to tell me anything," Emily pouts. "And we tell each other everything."
"Some things are meant to stay between a couple," Mom says with a knowing look that makes me want to sink into my chair.
"Speaking of your young man," Dad says, checking his watch, "where exactly did he run off to? Dinner's almost ready."
"Yeah, Em." I tease, just as a strange whirring sound cuts through the evening air.
Everyone falls silent, heads turning in confusion.
"What on earth is that?" Mrs. Harper asks, peering over her glasses.
I press my lips together, fighting to keep a straight face as the whirring grows louder.
"Is that..." Emily begins, her eyes widening as she spots it.
"A drone?" Mr. Harper finishes, squinting upward.
Olivia is the first to notice what's dangling beneath the small drone hovering about ten feet above our table. "Is that a mistletoe?" she asks.
Right on cue, Bash appears at the top of the patio steps, a remote control in his hands. He's wearing that confident half-smile that makes my heart do gymnastics.
"Evening, everyone," he says casually, as if piloting a mistletoe-carrying drone is perfectly normal dinnertime behavior. "Did I miss anything?"
My father throws his head back and roars with laughter. "Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!"
Bash maneuvers the drone until it's hovering directly over my parents, who are sitting side by side at the head of the table.
"Richard and Margaret Whitaker," Bash announces formally, "you have been caught under the mistletoe."
My mother blushes like a teenager as Dad leans over to kiss her cheek.
"Unacceptable," Emily calls out. "That's not a real kiss!"
Dad grins and dips Mom back in a dramatic, old-Hollywood style kiss that has us all cheering and laughing.
When they break apart, Mom's cheeks are flushed, and Dad looks twenty years younger.
"I believe that makes Charlie and Sebastian the winners of this year's Mistletoe Challenge," Dad declares, raising his glass.
Mr. Harper raises his glass as well. "Most creative use of technology I've seen in all our years doing this. Well played, son."
Ethan looks like he's swallowed something sour. "That's cheating. The mistletoe has to be stationary."
"Show us where that's written in the rules," Emily challenges.
"It's implied," Olivia adds, her voice tight.
"Actually," my mother interjects with the authority only a former elementary school librarian can muster, "the only rule is that the mistletoe must be hung somewhere on the property. There's nothing that says it can't be mobile."
"The drone is within property boundaries," Bash points out reasonably, taking the empty seat beside me.
"I think it's inspiring," Mrs. Harper says, surprising everyone. She's usually quick to side with Ethan on everything. "Very twenty-first century."
"Then it's settled," Dad announces. "Sebastian and Charlotte win the challenge and the champagne."
I lean over to Bash while everyone's attention is on my father. "Where did you even get a drone?"
"I have my ways," he whispers back. "Worth it to see the look on Ethan's face."
I glance over at him, who's now having a hushed, tense conversation with Olivia.
The drone is still hovering above the table and Bash manipulates the controls until it's positioned directly over us.
"Your turn, Shortcake," he murmurs.
Before I can respond, he leans in and kisses me—softly at first, then with growing intensity that makes me forget we have an audience. His hand cradles my cheek, and I melt into him.
Someone, whose name is Emily, wolf-whistles, breaking the moment. I pull back, a little dazed, to find everyone watching us with varying expressions: my parents looking pleased, Emily smirking, Mrs. Harper smiling warmly, and Ethan staring with poorly-disguised envy.
"If that's the appetizer," Mom says, rising from her seat, "I should probably serve the main course before things get too spicy out here."
Everyone laughs, the tension broken, and conversations resume as Mom heads inside to check on dinner.
Bash lands the drone on an empty corner of the table and sets the controller aside. "Was that okay?" he asks quietly.
I smile, feeling lighter than I have in months. "It was perfect. But you realize Emily's going to demand drone-flying lessons now."
"Small price to pay," he says, his eyes never leaving mine.
Dad approaches, clapping Bash on the shoulder. "That was impressive engineering, son. Where'd you learn to fly that thing?"
As Bash launches into an explanation about using drones for action sports filming, I sit back and watch him charm my father. He fits so naturally into my family, into my life. The thought no longer terrifies me the way it did at the beginning of this trip.
What scares me now is the inevitable end—returning to reality, to work, to all the complications waiting for us back home. But as Bash glances over at me mid-conversation, his eyes crinkling at the corners, I make a decision.
I'm done worrying about what comes next. For now, I'll enjoy this moment—the laughter, the food, the company, and especially the man who brought a drone to a mistletoe fight just to make me smile.