Chapter Nineteen
Blaire finally shut the door on the last of the obligations—media, doping control, a round of congratulations from officials she barely knew—and stood in the center of her room like she didn’t quite know what to do next.
Her downhill bib, still damp with sweat and champagne spray, hung over a chair.
The downhill gold medal sat on the nightstand in a neat little coil of ribbon.
For the first time in years, there was no next race to hold in her head, no split times to chase.
She sat on the edge of the bed with her phone in hand, scrolling to Isaline’s name.
A week ago, she would’ve let the medal be the night’s only trophy and left whatever was between them at that was fun.
Instead, she looked at the phone and argued with herself about using the word date like a nineteen-year-old, but typed it anyway.
She invited Isaline for a walk and hot chocolate, specifying it wasn’t a team thing, just… them on an official date.
The cursor blinked at her as if it were mocking her.
She deleted official, then put it back. Deleted date, and replaced it with catch up.
Then she growled at herself and changed it back to official date again.
Want to take a walk? Maybe hot chocolate?
Not a team thing. Just us. An actual official date, if you’re interested.
Finally, she hit send before she could spiral any further.
When Isaline’s reply came back immediately with a joke about going on a date with a retired legend followed by three question marks asking if Blaire was feeling alright, Blaire felt nerves flutter in her stomach in a way they hadn’t even at the start gate.
She typed back quickly. I’m fine. Just figured I should probably take you on a proper date before you forget about me and move on to chasing another medal.
The response was immediate. Too late. Already stuck on you. What time?
Winning had been both adrenaline and relief. This felt like a risk of a different kind. One that had nothing to do with gravity, and everything to do with letting someone see her without the armor of the sport.
She tugged on a clean team hoodie and then pulled her down jacket over, slipped her accreditation lanyard over her head, and left the medal on the nightstand. She was choosing to meet Isaline as Blaire the woman tonight, not Blaire the highlight reel.
~~
Blaire noticed the difference in Isaline’s appearance like a physical jolt.
Tonight, Isaline wasn’t the rival in a race suit; she was the woman Blaire couldn’t stop wanting.
Isaline’s bright blonde hair was loose under a red Swiss beanie, jacket zipped to her chin, boots dusted with snow.
Blaire’s stride slowed, not from nerves, but because she wanted to take in every second of this version of the Swiss skier who had captured her heart.
They ordered hot chocolate from a kiosk worker who tried very hard not to stare at the two medalists standing at his counter like regular humans.
Blaire stepped aside while the machine hissed and steamed, hyper-aware of how close Isaline stood, and how their shoulders brushed when someone squeezed past them in line.
When the worker handed over two ridiculously oversized cups of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream, Blaire wrapped her fingers around the paper cup and made an offhand crack about being “unemployed as of twelve hours ago.”
Isaline’s face lit up. It wasn’t a look of polite amusement; it was more genuine delight at seeing Blaire joke about herself instead of taking herself so seriously.
“Does that mean you have to update your LinkedIn? Former professional downhill skier seeks new career throwing self down mountains for documentaries?”
Blaire huffed a laugh and was surprised at how good it felt to let the armor crack in front of someone who wasn’t paid to make her feel better. “I was thinking more like yelling at skiers on TV from my sofa. Seems like a natural fit.”
“You would be terrifying at that.”
“Thank you. After holding so many emotions about other skiers in over the years, I think it would actually make for some great reality TV.”
They drifted away from the kiosk with their mugs that steamed between their gloved hands.
The first few steps were awkward in a way Blaire wasn’t used to—no autopilot flirt, no quick assessment of how fast she could get this woman back to her room.
She felt stripped of her usual playbook, standing there with hot chocolate like someone on a first date and didn’t know what to do with her hands.
Isaline nudged her gently with an elbow. “So, does retirement as an adored professional athlete with multiple Olympic medals come with a manual? Or do they just shove you out the door and say, ‘Good luck being a regular person’?”
“Pretty much the second one.” Blaire sipped carefully, the heat pleasant against her cold lips. “I’m expecting to forget how grocery shopping works. I’m quite confident I’ll develop a fear of normal traffic speeds.”
“Oh no.” Isaline’s eyes sparkled. “You’ll have to learn what a loyalty card is. And coupons. Do Americans use coupons?”
“I have no idea. I’ve had someone else handle my groceries and meal prep for the last decade.”
Isaline’s laugh was bright and free. The sound cut through the cold air like warmth. “You’re going to be so bad at being unemployed.”
“Probably.” Blaire felt her mouth curve despite herself. “I’ll just stand in the frozen food aisle looking confused until someone recognizes me and takes pity and helps me shop.”
“That’s your retirement plan? Weaponizing your face?”
“It’s worked so far. It’s gotten me a lifetime supply of Wheaties! Apparently, when you appear on the cover after winning your first gold, you get a lifetime supply. Now my garage is eighty percent cereal. If I lose my endorsements, I can start a black-market breakfast shop.”
The banter settled something in her chest. The ease between the two loosened the knot of nerves she’d been carrying since she sent the date text.
Isaline wasn’t treating her like a legend on a pedestal or a conquest to brag about.
She was simply here in the moment. Present.
Teasing her about coupons like they were an older married couple who argued about coupons before they took the trip to the grocery store.
Blaire glanced sideways, taking in the way the string lights overhead caught in Isaline’s hair.
There was an ease in her posture too now that the weight of the race was finally off both their shoulders.
The old, familiar swagger tried to surface—the version of herself that knew exactly how to steer this toward a bed and away from feelings. But Blaire deliberately set it aside.
She wanted this to feel different, and that required showing up as more than the curated Olympic medal winner version of herself.
“Come on,” she said, tilting her head toward a quieter path that led away from the main plaza. “I know a spot.”
Isaline fell into step beside her without hesitation, close enough that their arms brushed with every other stride. “A spot? Are you taking me somewhere romantic, Hollis?”
“Maybe.” Blaire’s voice came out more seductive than she meant it to. “Is that allowed?”
Isaline’s smile gentled. “Yeah. It’s allowed.”
“Come on then, follow me.” Blaire guided them up a narrow, packed-snow path she’d scouted years ago—a place she used to come alone to settle her head before big races.
The higher they climbed, the quieter the village noise became.
The sound of snow crunching beneath their boots replaced the faint echo of music from some athlete party she had zero interest in attending.
At the top, the view opened and showcased the Olympic rings that burned bright against the dark sky.
The downhill course, which was lit up with lights, cut a pale scar against the mountain.
The village buildings glowed warmly in clusters below.
Blaire stopped beside a low railing and blew out a long, slow breath.
“This is where I used to come when I needed to remember why I did all of it.”
Isaline stepped up beside her, close enough that their arms pressed together. “And? Why did you?”
Blaire took a sip of her hot chocolate, buying herself a second. The answer should have been easy—medals, legacy, the satisfaction of winning. Instead, what came out was messier.
“At first, I just did it because I was good at it. Then, I did it because people expected me to do it because I was good. And then I continued doing it because I didn’t know how to stop.
” She paused, letting her gaze trace the fall line of the course.
“Somewhere in there, I convinced myself that if I kept winning, I’d never need anyone.
I thought I could fill up my heart with trophies and medals and that would be enough. ”
Isaline didn’t interrupt; she simply waited with that focused attention she usually reserved for course reports.
“My first Olympics, I fell for someone,” Blaire continued, surprising herself.
“An older skier. I kept it quiet because she wanted it that way. I thought I was special.” She huffed a bitter laugh.
“It turned out I was just convenient. After the Games ended, so did she. I felt like an idiot for letting myself get that close.”
“So you decided not to let yourself get close to anyone again?”
“Pretty much.” Blaire turned slightly, meeting Isaline’s eyes. “It worked great for a decade.” She hesitated as she let her thumb trace the seam of her paper cup. “Even when you showed up in St. Moritz last year, I told myself you were just another name on a start list.”