3. Esmé
3
ESMé
T he second my loose ski lurched away; I was doomed. I jammed my weight onto my poles, begging them not to betray me, too. Landing face-first in front of a horde of pre-teens with smartphones wasn’t on my weekend bucket list.
I leaned forward to outwit gravity, but my skis slipped beneath me. As I began a slow descent toward the ground, my stomach plummeted. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying to the ski gods for a miracle.
But just as the crush of face-planting into ice seemed inevitable, something steadied me. The scent of pine—crisp and unexpected—cut through the air.
I peeled an eye open. Two large, gloved hands—strong and firm—gripped my waist, guiding me backwards. Within a second, a solid surface met my bottom, and the wind left my lungs as the chairlift scooped me and my rescuer into the air.
I blinked, pulling in a shaky breath, before turning to meet deep brown eyes beneath the brim of a ski helmet. The man didn’t say a word, simply nodded to the space above my head.
I followed his gaze. I saw the pulley mechanism for the chairlift. Was he a safety inspector? The chairlift looked rusty, but surely it wouldn’t come apart during our ride.
"I glanced back at him. He half-smiled and murmured, ' Per favore ,' before taking the ski poles from my hands. I’d been holding them against my head like antennae.
With one swift motion, he laid them across his lap, along with his own, and pulled the safety bar down, securing us in place.
I stared at him, feeling like an idiot, my blood humming in my ears. He reached up to the top of his helmet and wiggled his index fingers in the air, as if mimicking a bug. He was laughing at me, but somehow, I didn’t mind."
I giggled, and when he sent me the cheekiest lopsided grin in recorded history, my heart melted right on the spot.
This man was gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful. He looked like he’d done something naughty and wasn’t sorry in the least. His teeth sparkled against his olive skin, and his square, scruff-covered jaw was sharp enough to perform precision surgery. His eyelashes were thick and long, and the creases at the corners of his eyes hinted at countless smiles past.
If he was what the average Italian safety inspector looked like, sign me up for an equipment failure.
I glanced around, checking for a fairy godmother or, at the very least, a genie. Hadn’t I just wished for a snowy saviour with a screwdriver? Although screwdriver-free, this man had arms big enough to handle a pile driver and he smelled amazing. Warm and woody. Pine and … “Apple?”
I whispered it aloud; too loud, apparently, because the man cocked his head to the side.
“ Come ?” His brow creased slightly as he swept his eyes over my face. “ Sta bene ?”
His thick accent swept over me and I tried to respond, but only noises came out. “Um … uh.” My cheeks heated. Where wa s my basic Italian when I needed it? I’d spent an hour on the plane polishing my rusty skills on Duolingo.
“ Englese ?” he asked.
I shook my head, literally at a loss. Why couldn’t I speak? Say something witty? Anything. This man practically saved my life. Remaining silent was just rude.
“ Non .”
At my pathetic response, his grin spread wider. “ Ah, Francese. ”
The way he said the word, curling it around on his tongue, made it sound almost improper. Sensual.
“ Oui .”
“I love the pink ski gear,” he said, a slight tremble at the corner of his lips.
He spoke French? The Romanos had spoken French with me, too. I blinked. Every single person I’d met today spoke my language flawlessly. Meanwhile, I was out here butchering bongiorno like it owed me money.
He swept his dark eyes over my clothes and the heat in my cheeks grew into a raging fire. “These aren’t mine. I borrowed them.”
One corner of his mouth curled up. “Sure. I believe you.”
Something fizzed in my chest, and I narrowed my eyes. Fashion humiliation wasn’t on my weekend bucket list either.
“You speak French?”
He nodded. “I’ve spent a lot of time in France.”
Now, it was my turn to sweep my gaze over him . Based on his looks and confidence, he’d probably had his fair share of French women, too
Straightening in the seat, I offered him a small smile. “I appreciate the help in the queue. I wasn’t planning on skiing, and this hired equipment seems substandard.” To make my point, I extended the foot of my broken ski, wiggling it left and right .
The man hovered a hand over my thigh. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Your binding looks loose. It’s only a quick ride to the next lift station. There’ll be someone there who can tighten it before you head further up the mountain.”
I bit the inside of my lip. Should I feel this deflated our ride together would only be short? Probably not. But as he checked his fancy watch, I couldn’t tear my gaze from his sleek, aquiline profile.
“We should be at the first run in about three minutes,” he said. “Meanwhile, sit back and enjoy the scenery.”
“I am,” I murmured, on autopilot.
His eyes found mine like a heat-seeking missile. Under the assault of his gaze, I executed evasive manoeuvres, staring ahead, looking up at the mountain.
And it was at that moment I remembered. I was dangling twenty meters above the ground on what could pass as a park bench. Although the man next to me was handsome and chivalrous, even I had my limits.
My stomach performed a full one-eighty, and I gripped the safety bar with both hands. “Oh lord,” I muttered, closing my eyes.
He shifted his body, making the chair shudder.
“Well, you can’t enjoy the scenery that way,” he said.
“What way?”
“With your eyes shut”
I gave what I hoped passed for a nonchalant shrug. “Last time I looked, a tree is a tree, and a very tall mountain is a very tall mountain. I don’t think I need a refresher.”
“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice soft and coaxing. “Does my face offend you?”
Hardly.
I let out a slow breath. “I … I don’t like heights.”
He growled or was it a groan? I couldn’t tell, but its tone was deep and gentle.“Then what’re you doing up here? In the mountains? On a chairlift?”
When he put it like that, it sounded ridiculous. Heights hadn’t bothered me in my younger years, but the fear had grown as I got older. My co-rider had a point, though. I belonged in town, drinking hot chocolate with a good romance novel. Not trying to impress potential investors with my out-of-practice skiing skills.
“But,” he added, his voice gentler, “I’m glad you’re here. Riding solo on a chairlift is a lonely business. It’s just a shame we can’t share the view together.”
His warm, low tone wove around my heart, giving it a small but insistent tug. Would I truly deny him someone to share the view with? He sounded genuinely disappointed. And who was I to be selfish?
“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll open my eyes—but under protest. And I’ll only look straight ahead, not up, down, or backwards.”
His throaty chuckle curled its way down to my toes. “Then I’m honoured.”
Lifting my lashes, I couldn’t resist a quick peek at him. His smile was just as cheeky and delicious as before, and something tingly rolled in my belly.
He opened his mouth as if to speak, but just then, the chairlift jolted to a stop.
I froze as it swayed gently—then not-so-gently—back and forth. My fingers tightened around the safety bar, and I kept my gaze fixed on the section of mountain in front of us.
“What’s happening?” My breath came shallow and fast, and I focused on the stillness of the trees ahead instead of the unsettling creak of the cables above.
“The lift stopped.”
I almost made a pithy remark about him stating the obvious. But if we were stuck on the chairlift, I wanted to maintain friendly relations .
“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning back like it was just another day. “These old lifts stop all the time. We’ll be moving in a minute.” He smiled. “Who are you skiing with? Or is this a solo summit attempt? If so, you might need warmer clothes.”
His gaze swept over me, from my Pikachu skis to my pink pants, over my glitter-drenched shoulders, and finally, to my pink earmuffs. His lips twitched. “Where’s your helmet? Didn’t the Pink Power Ranger have a spare?”
I pulled my brows tight together. He was far too cheeky for his own?—
“Hang on, I need a helmet?” Neither Gio nor Maria had mentioned protective headgear.
“It’s fairly standard these days. Particularly with those skis being damaged.”
“That’s true,” I said, lifting my leg into the air and wiggling my foot again to prove his point.
Once more, my ski followed suit, but after three wiggles, a soft “clunk” kissed the air and it popped off my boot, falling to the ground below.
Both my chairlift buddy and I followed it with our eyes. It hit the snow almost soundlessly before gathering speed, sliding downhill, and crashing into a tree. A shower of flakes descended from the branches, burying my ski for all eternity.
“RIP Pikachu,” the man murmured. Then he looked at me, his eyes wide. “I hope it didn’t hit anything. The mountain hares up here are protected. You could wipe out an entire species.”
“What?” Was he mad? Before I could ask, that adorable grin erupted on his face again.
“If anyone asks you can blame the ski shop. I’ll never tell.”
Despite our predicament, I giggled casting my eyes over the man’s features again. How old was he? He had a light covering of stubble on his chin, but with that cheeky grin, he was nowhere near ready to collect his pension. He must be one of the local instructors; his gear was shiny, new, and expensive looking.
Silence hung between us and with my eyes trained on his solid thighs, I scanned my brain for conversation. “As an instructor, you must get a lot of attention,” I said. “When I learned to ski, my instructor spent more time fighting off flirtatious students than teaching.”
He raised a dark brow, and my stomach dropped. Where had that come from? We’d been talking about helmets and alpine hares. Now, I was practically asking if he had groupies.
“All of his students?” he asked. “Did that include you?”
“Sorry?”
“Did the ski instructor have to fight you off, too?”
The cheeky glint in his eyes set my heart drumming. “Oh, no. Not me—I was too busy trying to stay alive.”
He laughed, the sound deep and warm, wrapping around me like a blanket. “So, you’re a practical woman of moral character, then?”
Something fizzed in my chest. Did he think I was boring? “I’m not dull,” I blurted, “just … steady.” The moment I used the word, I regretted it.
His grin went full high beam. “Steady? Good. Then I won’t need to defend my virtue with my ski poles.”
I blinked, the air between us tightening. Time to pivot . “So, are you an instructor? You look the part with your shiny helmet.”
His eyes widened a fraction before that grin returned. “Let’s just say I know what I’m doing.”
His words lingered, heavy with suggestion. Heat prickled my neck. I shifted in the seat, suddenly hyper-aware of how little space lay between us and how little control I had of my brain and mouth.
As I grappled for a suitable response, a gust of wind whipped up the mountain, sending the chairlift swinging. My chest lurched. “Oh, no.”
He reached for my shoulder. “Hey, it’ll be okay. I promise.” His voice was soft and low next to my ear.
“You can’t guarantee that. People aren’t meant to be this high up. It’s unnatural.”
He chuckled. “Tell that to Superman.”
“He isn’t real. We could fall to our deaths.”
“Unlikely.”
“Then tell me. Do people bounce when they hit snow drifts?”
“No”
“Are there rocks on the ground underneath the snow?”
“Probably.”
“Well then, you can’t promise I’ll be okay up here, can you?”
He waited a long beat before replying. “No. But I can sacrifice myself in the event of a hard fall or impalement. I promise. I’ll look after you.”
Under assault of his dark eyes, the skin at the back of my neck prickled. Tiny snowflakes fell, landing on his shoulders, and an icy wind whipped around us.
“So why are you here, in Tiano?” he asked.
Did I want to tell him why I was in town? I’d never see him again and nothing I did in Tiano would affect him. “I’m on holiday,” I lied.
“Nice. Where are you staying?”
My belly flipped. He probably knew every hotel in town. The Romanos invited me to stay at their house, but I didn’t want to tell him that. He might know them.
“I’m staying at a friend’s place,” I said lightly.
“Where?”
Oh, for goodness’ sake. Now I had to come up with something vague yet believable. “Just a little apartment. They’re letting me borrow it while they travel. Nothing fancy—it’s near one of those bars with fairy lights outside.” I waved a hand, hoping my description sounded plausible. I didn’t even know if Tiano had bars with fairy lights.
He tilted his head, as if waiting for more, his expression unreadable.
“How about you?” I asked, shifting the focus. “Do you live in?—”
At that moment, another gust of wind rolled up the mountain, rocking our chair. Only this time, way harder. We lurched to the right and the mechanism overhead creaked. I knocked against the man, clutching his chest. He reacted instantly, steadying me with his hand, his gaze dropping to where our gloves met.
“I … I’m sorry,” I whispered.
His palm pressed harder against the back of my hand. “It’s fine.”
His voice had dropped to a husky burr and in that instant, the look he gave me stole my breath. It was all fire and heat, and nothing to do with Pikachu or Power Rangers. A shiver ran over my body.
“You’re cold,” he murmured. “Here.” He took one of my hands, then the other, pressing them together as if in prayer before enclosing them with his. The motion pulled me closer, our breaths mingling in soft clouds against the icy air.
With his proximity—and the soft curve of his lips—my breath caught in my throat. I shivered again, though this time, I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or something far more dangerous.
He ran his eyes over me. “Do you want my jacket? We don’t know how long we’ll be up here, and your lips are turning blue.”
“I’m fine,” I lied. Truthfully, I felt like an ice block.
He drew his brows together, and a small line appeared between them. “If you’re sure. But I have a suggestion.” He paused, separating my hands. “We could sit closer together. It’s a well-known fact that penguins huddle for warmth.”
His logic was sound, and I liked penguins. But more importantly, I wouldn’t mind moving closer for entirely illogical reasons. I nodded. “Yes, okay. Thank you.”
He wriggled closer to my side before hesitating. “Would it be alright if I put my arm around you? I don’t think our plan will be effective if we don’t get really close.”
Butterflies danced in my tummy. I nodded, not trusting what’d come out of my mouth if I spoke. In everyday life, I’d handle this situation with unflappable grace. But this man had my brain in a whirl and my body at his mercy.
The chairlift creaked as he slid an arm around my shoulders. “In alpine conditions, conserving body heat is key,” he said. “It keeps vital organs functioning.”
His explanation sounded convincing, and who was I to argue with basic thermodynamics?
He leaned in closer. “Is that better?”
“A little,” I said. Why was my voice so squeaky?
He ran his eyes over my face, then smiled. “You have snow on your lashes.”
I stared at him. We were so close, and the warmth radiating between us had nothing to do with fleece or goose down. It was something else entirely—something unspoken, curling between us like the mist of our breath in the cold air.
I sighed, and our eyes locked—his dark, steady, and entirely too distracting. My pulse stumbled as he held my gaze, the quiet intensity between us thick enough to drown in.
For a moment, nothing else existed. Just us. Just this.
I parted my lips, ready to say something—anything to break the spell—lest I did something reckless. But before the words could form, the lift jolted, snapping me back to reality.
The momentum sent me tipping straight into my co-penguin. I braced myself against him, only for his head to dip— just slightly, just enough. And then it happened. With an almighty groan, the chairlift moved again, and my lips brushed his. Soft. Warm. Entirely accidental, but oh, so delicious.
I let out a tiny breath against his mouth. His eyes stayed open for a beat, before darkening and fluttering shut. Then he kissed me back.
I closed my eyes, lost in his closeness—the warmth of his body and his mouth. But just as soon as our lips lingered, he pulled away, running his hands down my arms, putting distance between us.
“I’m so, so, sorry,” he said, looking anywhere but my eyes.
His cheeks glowed and my tummy curled. Kissing strangers on chairlifts was hardly steady behaviour!
“The chairlift … moved,” I muttered, my cheeks ablaze.
His faint chuckle sent a tingle to my belly. “It did. But we’re on our way now.” He let my arms go, his expression soft and kind, a stark contrast to the fire in his eyes just moments ago.
Did I wish we were still stranded up here? Distinctly not “on our way?”
Guilty as charged.
Neither of us spoke. Instead, I focused on the screen of his fancy watch. Precisely one minute and thirty-three seconds later, the end of the lift run came into sight.
He turned to me with a smile. “Land ahoy. There’s a couple of bars and cafés up here. You can find somewhere to warm up.”
I preferred where I’d been only two minutes ago, but the thought of mulled wine in front of a fire came as a close second.
“You’re going to have to get off on one ski.”
I shook my head slowly. “Don’t remind me.” How was I going to explain my single ski to the Romanos? Would I have to go back onto the hill and search for the lost one?
“I’ll help you,” he said. Did he mean to find the ski or get off the lift? Either would be good .
The tower loomed ahead, its giant wheel turning as it sent a steady stream of chairs whipping around, beginning their descent back down the hill. If I didn’t time my exit right, I’d be stuck, heading straight back to where I started.
My chairlift buddy inched forward in his seat and linked his arm through mine. With a quick wink, he took our ski poles and tucked them under his arm. As the chairlift drew closer to the terminal, he lifted the safety bar.
“Ready?”
I nodded, hoping the ballet lessons my father insisted on had left me with at least a shred of balance. Thankfully, my buddy timed our dismount to perfection, murmuring the word “now,” as our three skis met the snow. On his command, I stood with him, and he guided us safely down the gentle ramp to the cluster of people standing at the side.
We came to a stop, and he unlinked his arm from mine. With the loss of his support, I wobbled a little.
“Hang on.” He took one of our ski poles and, pressing down on the mechanism, released my other ski, leaving me to step away.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, running his eyes over my face.
And like before, the air between us crystallised and the mountain around us felt smaller. Less significant.
He shifted on his skis. “Look, I don’t know if you …”
A sudden, “Yoo-hoo,” rang in the air, and the man’s gaze shot over my shoulder. In an instant, the colour drained from his face and his eyes widened.
“What?” Was there an avalanche barrelling down the hill heading straight for us?
He cleared his throat. “I have to … I have to go. I’m sorry.”
His gaze remained on something behind me, and I turned to see what it was. Maria Romano headed straight for us, pushing along on her ski-poles. She sent me a little wave, and I returned the favour, adding what I hoped was a jaunty smile.
Sucking in a breath, I turned to thank my rescuer, but he was gone—vanished into the thin mountain air. All that remained were two faint tracks carved into the snow, leading down the slope and out of sight. It was like he’d never existed.
“Esmé!” Maria was almost upon me.
I scanned the hill below, trying to spot the man from the chairlift.
“You made it,” she said, pulling up to my side. “These old lifts break down regularly. I saw you with someone. Who was it?”
She joined me, surveying the slope below. At that second, I spotted him, the green splash of colour on his sky-blue jacket giving him away. He’d made it halfway down the piste. As he skied, his body moved fluidly from side to side, carving smooth turns into the snow with effortless precision.
“Nobody,” I murmured. “Just a kind stranger.”
She clucked softly at the lone ski lying abandoned at my feet, and I mustered a faint smile. “The other one fell off.”
She huffed a laugh, and I lifted my gaze again, searching for the man before he vanished over the ridge.
I found him. He moved with effortless grace, the snow parting beneath him like it had waited just for his touch. And as he skied away, out of my life, the realisation hit me with a sharp pang: I never asked his name.