Chapter Fourteen
Bella
Vermont
Strategy was my default language. My comfort zone. We headed out early to a ski shop far enough from the resort that it was unlikely we’d run into anyone staying there.
I was immediately drawn to an oatmeal-colored Gore-Tex jacket and ski pants combo. Simple. Forgettable. Neutral enough to disappear into a crowd and practical enough that I might actually wear them again. I had already grabbed some base layers.
Drew wandered off and came back with a huge grin on his face and two matching one-piece snow suits slung over his shoulder.
I stared.
They were obviously a joke. A riot of neon turquoise, hot pink, and sharp geometric patterns.
Zigzags, triangles, and splashes of white and black that looked like the love child of an ’80s ski movie and a modern art exhibit.
He held them up, one in each hand, beaming with pride.
The fabric gleamed faintly under the shop lights, glossy and unapologetic, with bold color-blocked legs and cinched waists that somehow managed to look both absurd and aggressively confident.
I looked from the suits to him. “Absolutely not.”
Drew’s grin widened. “Hear me out.”
“No.”
“If we really want to blend in,” he said, waving one like a prized trophy, “we need to stand out.”
“I can’t wear that.”
“That’s why you have to.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “No one is going to suspect two grown adults spying on their siblings while dressed like a retro ski posters come to life.”
I crossed my arms. “What is it with you and choosing clothing for me?”
His smile curled on one side. “Technically I didn’t choose the tech suit,” he corrected seriously. “But you did look fantastic in it.”
My face warmed at the compliment as well as the memory of how good he’d looked in his. I glanced back at my oatmeal-colored safety blanket on the rack. Sensible. Invisible. Boring. Then I looked at his choice again. Loud. Fearless. Completely unhinged.
Drew tilted his head, studying me. “We’re here for a serious reason,” he said lightly. “But this?” He shook the suit once, the colors practically vibrating. “This will remind us to also have fun.”
I exhaled, long and slow, the way I did right before making a major decision.
“You’re picturing me in it right now aren’t you?” he said with a wink. “Do I look hot?”
I smiled at that. “You look impossible to lose in the snow.”
“So, that’s a yes to these?”
I took the suit from him, the fabric was cool and surprisingly substantial in my hands. Ridiculously well-made beneath all the chaos. “I’ll try it on.”
He nodded toward a row of unisex changing rooms. “They sell matching gloves and neon visors.”
Just outside one of the changing rooms I turned and searched for the words to express how I was feeling, but they eluded me. I was fighting the oddest urge to thank him, but I couldn’t sort out exactly what for.
He opened the door to the changing room beside me and paused, stopping to share a look with me. “You’re beautiful when you smile,” he said.
One of my hands flew to my mouth as I realized that I was, in fact, smiling. I was standing there, mooning over him like some lovesick teenager. “How have I known you my whole life and never seen you like this?”
His eyes darkened. “I was thinking the same thing.”
It was too intense of a moment to remain in, so I broke away first and hurried into my changing room. For just a moment, I hugged the snowsuit to me as a myriad of emotions washed over me.
The temptation to overthink the situation was strong. This outrageously loud ski suit wasn’t necessary. Nor was fun, at least not on a trip that’s goal was to make sure Brady and Nora were okay.
I didn’t cut loose and act out. It wasn’t who I was or had ever been. When I was young I’d help care for Evan and Brady, especially while somewhere as volatile as Firebrook Valley. When my parents divorced, containing Dad became my responsibility. All of that left no room for silliness.
But we were outside what was normal for either of us. What would it hurt if I allowed myself one day of freedom? I stripped down, layered up then stepped into the one piece, smiling as I zipped it.
“Does it fit?” Drew asked from the other side of the door.
“Yes, but the 1980s called and they want their color scheme back.”
“Get out here and show me how you look.”
I opened the door with flare and stepped out, then laughed at the sight of him in a spectacular vomit of color. “Wow, these suits are . . . something.”
He called a clerk over. “Could you take a few photos of us as we add some accessories?”
“Sure,” the young man said, then called to another worker. “Kathy, come help. We need the gear that matches these suits. They want to do a Pretty Woman fashion show. I’ve been preparing for a moment like this my whole life.”
I chuckled. “What are we doing?”
“I’m not sure,” Drew answered with a grin.
A moment later we were being handed what could be argued were the ugliest, loudest ski accessories and trying them on while the male clerk snapped photos. “Stand together,” he ordered, so we did. “Now look like you’re fixing her goggles.”
Drew complied.
The only thing keeping me from feeling self-conscious was how Drew’s face transformed each time he smiled. Oh, and his laugh. It was deep and warm and did funny things to my stomach.
Boots. Gloves. Crazy colored hats. Neck warmers that matched the suits. Bright, reflective visors. Each matching layer was adorned and photographed.
“One last photo,” Kathy exclaimed. “Pick her up like you’re carrying her down the mountain.”
Before I could protest, Drew swung me up into his arms as if I weighed nothing. I looped one of my arms around his neck to steady myself. Drew said, “Say Spy.”
I laughed and did.
And the young woman took our photo, then said they had to go back to the register or they’d both be in trouble.
The male clerk gathered up the accessories and asked if we wanted any of them.
While his attention was still on me, Drew answered.
“Yes. We’ll take all of it. Including these suits. And we’ll wear them out.”
“Awesome. I’ll pack up the items and your things and hold everything at the register.”
Slowly, Drew lowered me to my feet. “We should grab some skis and a helmet sound system as well.”
I nodded, then said, “Oh. I’ll pay for my stuff.”
He gave me a strange look. “I have it.”
I opened my mouth to argue but decided not to. It wasn’t much of an expense so his decision to pay for it didn’t mean anything. Right?
By the time we left the shop, my side hurt from laughing.
The cold hit us the moment we stepped outside, sharp and refreshing. Snow reflected the sunlight so brightly I had to squint and smiled as I imagined how our colorful outfits would blind our fellow skiers.
The drive back to the mountain passed in a blur of winding roads and evergreens heavy with snow.
Drew hummed along to something low on the radio, tapping the steering wheel like he had nowhere else to be.
I often took my laptop with me so I could work while traveling anywhere, but my hands were blissfully empty as was my work calendar for the rest of the day.
I caught my reflection in the window: wild hair, flushed cheeks, eyes shining. It wasn’t a me I recognized.
A little silly looks good on me.
At the base lodge, heads turned openly as we walked past, carrying our colorful gear. People smiled. A few laughed. Someone nudged a friend and pointed. We were told we looked adorable. One woman asked us if we were on our honeymoon. An assumption, I suppose, based on how matching our outfits were.
“We need to put our helmets on,” Drew said casually.
I huffed a laugh. “Because we’re not yet colorful enough.”
“Hey, I didn’t make you choose pink. And the fact that yours also glows in the dark could save your life one day.”
“If I wear this outfit again after today, I need you to promise to have me committed.”
“No can do. They’d toss me in the room next to you because this color looks good on me.”
“Which color?”
He laughed. “All of them.”
I smiled and shook my head then slipped my helmet on. He did the same then we walked back out into the cold. The resort buzzed with morning energy—skis scraping, laughter puffing into the air, lift cables humming overhead.
A faint click sounded then Drew’s voice appeared directly in my ear. “Can you hear me?”
I froze. The sound was crisp. Intimate. Unsettling in the way things were when they bypassed distance entirely. “I forgot you added microphones.”
“High-frequency Bluetooth,” he replied, pleased. “Operational communication.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“I enjoy preparation,” he said. “And the ability to talk trash in real time.”
The corner of my mouth betrayed me.
“I love your smile,” he added.
“You can’t even see my face.”
“Don’t have to, but I’m glad you’re enjoying this.”
I was, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it. The lift line moved quickly. We slid into place, the chair scooping us up before I could overthink it. Drew’s hand settled briefly at my thigh as we sat, as if to ensure I was secured. Despite the multiple layers of clothing, his touch was still electric.
The mountain fell away beneath us, crisp and endless. The air grew colder as we climbed, the world narrowing to white slopes and blue sky.
“Which trail?” he asked.
“Black diamond,” we said at the same time.
His laugh crackled in my ear. “Of course.”
We launched off the chair with the same precision and power. He was a good skier, but I could match his speed and skill. The pitch of the trail was exhilarating.
We skidded to a stop at the bottom, breathless. “You’re good,” he announced.
“I was captain of my high school ski team,” I shot back. “So of course I’m good.”
“Don’t let your head get bigger than that pink helmet.”
“I’m not bragging. I’m stating competence.”
After a pause, he said, “I’ll be the one bragging when I leave you in the dust the next run.”
“Really?”
“I went easy on you the first time, but I see that I’ll have to kick your ass to gain your respect.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
In public.
Without checking who might be watching.
“Bring it on, Drew.”
By late-morning, Drew and I were about even on which of us beat the other to the bottom. Instead of heading back up the mountain, he veered us deliberately toward the beginner slopes.
I stared at the bunny hill like it had personally insulted me. “What are you doing?”
“I dare you to pretend you don’t know how to ski.”
“Not going to happen.”
“You laughed,” he said. “That voided your objection.”
“It did not.”
“It did.”
A child in a purple jacket cut across my path. I windmilled and lost my edge for one horrifying second.
Drew’s laughter exploded in my ear. “Oh my God. You almost took out a child.”
“She came out of nowhere!”
“Damn beginner skiers. Always taking others down with them.”
“Are you referring to me?”
“If the ski boot fits.”
I tried to glare at him, but something cracked. I laughed my way right onto the ski carpet. “Why are we doing this?”
Drew stepped closer. “Because we’re dressed for it.”
He wasn’t wrong. At the top of the hill he posed like someone who’d never been on skis before. “Give me your best first day on the slopes look.”
I flailed my arms, lost my balance and landed on my ass. His deep laughter echoed through my helmet. “I didn’t mean to do that,” I admitted.
He walked over, bent as if to help me up, then slid and landed on his back beside me. “Maybe skiing isn’t for us. We should try snowboarding.”
“Because the fun doesn’t stop until one of us has broken a leg?” I asked.
He rolled onto his side. “Admit you’re scared and we don’t have to try it.”
Behind the darkened glass of my helmet, I narrowed my eyes. “You’re probably a pro at it already.”
“Actually, I’ve never tried it.”
“Me neither.”
“So, yes?”
I pushed myself to a standing position, then held out a hand to help him up. “Yes.”
I laughed so hard I had to stop, my ribs aching, tears fogging my goggles.
Snowboarding was a mistake. A violent, personal betrayal of my skill level. I fell about a hundred times. All the way down an intermediate hill.
Drew did too and once again at the bottom. “We can master this.”
I plopped down beside him, happily choosing this time how I’d hit the snow. “Or, hear me out, we could lie here until someone rescues us and never tell a soul we found something we both suck at.”
“We take this to the grave,” he said in an amused tone.
“Absolutely.”
He brushed snow from my shoulder, gentle and unguarded.
I didn’t pull away.
“We should probably get up.”
“Yeah.”
After we disengaged from our snowboards, standing was a relief. Drew took his helmet off. His hair was damp, his cheeks flushed. He looked younger like this.
“I’m so sore,” he groaned.
I laughed and removed my helmet, shaking my hair free. “Me, too.”
“But this was fun.”
“It was.”
Holding our boards, we headed toward the lodge to return them to the rental area. Halfway there a realization hit me.
We’d spent all day on the mountain, and I hadn’t looked for Brady or Nora once.