Chapter 6 #2
She could see on the screen that Ryan’s phone was connected to the car’s audio system.
She wondered what kind of music he liked.
German death metal? Medieval funeral dirges?
Without asking for his permission, she tapped the button to resume whatever he’d been listening to on his way to pick her up from the airport.
It wasn’t German screaming. Or Latin chanting.
It was the rich, soulful voice of Adele, belting “Someone Like You.”
“What the—” Ryan took one of his hands off the wheel and jabbed frantically at the screen, like he was trying to shut off the music, but he only succeeded in jumping to the next song: Sinead O’Connor’s “Nothing Compares 2 U.” “Goddammit,” he growled when it happened again, and now they were listening to Ariana Grande’s “Thank U, Next.” “I’m not used to this fucking car. Can you turn this off? Immediately?”
There was a vulnerable note in his voice Simone had never heard before. Suddenly she felt as if she’d accidentally walked in on him naked in the bathroom. This playlist was clearly personal to Ryan—and it was full of breakup songs. She pressed the stop button immediately.
“I’m so sorry,” Simone said—not just to keep the peace between them, but genuinely, from the bottom of her heart. “I shouldn’t have turned on your playlist without asking.”
“Please disconnect my phone.” His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “Now.”
Simone did as she was told.
The silence in the car was deafening, the tension thick and charged.
She felt bad for having exposed him like that, but now she was also desperately curious to know more.
Did that playlist have something to do with the reason he was being such a dick to Simone?
She remembered what Barista Joe had said: that Ryan was “usually pretty chill,” and that his atrocious demeanor had seemed like more of a mood than a permanent personality trait.
Hmmm. Simone turned and looked at Ryan—really looked at him, in the midday sun shining through the window.
He steered with his right hand only, his left elbow resting on the door, but his relaxed (and admittedly, hot) driving posture couldn’t belie what she noticed in his face.
His jaw muscles were clenched, and his gray-green eyes were locked on the horizon.
He was trying to put up a steely facade, but Simone caught glimpses of pain and exhaustion in the creases of his brow, the fine lines around his mouth. Hmmm indeed.
“You know,” Simone began tentatively, “I went through a shitty breakup last year, and listened to a ton of songs like that.”
Silence.
“It sucked when I was going through it, but thankfully, I’m doing a lot better now.
It sounds cheesy, but the whole ‘when one door closes’ thing is true.
If I hadn’t screwed up that relationship, I probably never would have come out as bi, and I wouldn’t have ended up here, ready to have the queerest holiday ever!
” She’d tried to inject as much hope into her voice as she could.
The jazz hands on “queerest holiday ever” might have been a little over-the-top, but whatever. She was trying to help.
She thought that coming out to him and sharing her personal relationship history might do something to get through to him, but still, Ryan said nothing. That is, until he asked: “Why don’t you put on some of your own music?” There was barely any inflection at the end of his sentence.
“Yes, sir,” she muttered in response, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
When she rolled her eyes this time, she didn’t care if he saw.
She’d genuinely apologized for putting on his breakup playlist, just like she’d genuinely apologized for breaking the dragonfly wings.
What more did he want from her? He was impossible.
Do not let this straight man ruin your trip, she reminded herself yet again. Then she connected her phone to the audio system and put on the Pride playlist Seth had shared with her before she left.
At least the views were spectacular. No other word would do justice for the mountain highway that ran along the Howe Sound, with evergreens and rock faces to either side and enormous snowcapped peaks up ahead in the distance.
Eventually, they started to pass turnoffs for other hotels, which meant they were getting close—thank God.
There were only so many more minutes of this tense car ride Simone could endure.
At last, they reached a green sign with an arrow pointing them toward their final destination.
They veered off the highway onto Village Gate Boulevard, where an iron sign welcomed them to WHISTLER VILLAGE: HOST MOUNTAIN RESORT FOR THE 2010 OLYMPIC AND PARALYMPIC WINTER GAMES.
Canadian flags hung from the lampposts, with rainbow stripes instead of the usual red.
Her body buzzing with adrenaline, Simone leaned forward, peered out the window, and tried to take it all in.
“We’re here!” Simone exclaimed.
“Finally,” Ryan muttered.
When they got to their hotel, they parted ways—finally, indeed—so Simone could get settled and Ryan could transfer his selfie station set from the rented workshop to the venue for tonight’s welcome party.
Simone showered off the plane slime and changed into wide-leg silver pants and a long-sleeve purple crop top.
She’d bought the new items on an after-work shopping trip to one of Lucy’s favorite thrift stores: a sprawling basement establishment that required a tremendous amount of patience and strategy to sift through, but that Lucy swore was full of hidden gems. She’d been right.
While Simone explored the racks, it had dawned on her that ninety percent of her clothes had been Christmas and birthday gifts from her mother: cardigans, blouses, skirts, and dresses in floral, gingham, paisley, and houndstooth.
Clothes that fit her perfectly well on the outside, but made her feel, on the inside, like she was a straight woman at a country club.
She didn’t need to perform that role anymore.
At five o’clock, she zipped up her parka, grabbed the suitcase full of merch, and headed into Whistler Village on foot.
The sun had sunk behind the mountains, giving way to twinkling stars.
Streetlamps illuminated the stone walkways and the snow-dusted awnings.
She walked past pubs and restaurants, candy stores selling chocolate and fudge, gift shops, sporting goods stores, and tour companies where you could book heli-skiing and snowmobile excursions.
Warm lights glowed from every window, beckoning Simone inside, but she had a welcome party to get to.
When she walked into the spacious lobby of the art museum, Ryan was standing across the room in a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Dread bloomed in her stomach at the prospect of spending more time together.
Then she saw his first design in real life, and her jaw dropped.
Tonight’s set consisted of a wide wooden staircase, each step a different color of the rainbow.
Guests could stand, sit, or even drape themselves across the different levels.
Behind the staircase were billowing clouds of white and silver balloons.
Simone knew from the Rainbow Museum that Ryan worked with other materials besides wood, but balloon sculpture really seemed to go above and beyond the bounds of carpentry.
“Oh… my… God,” she said as she walked over to him, temporarily forgetting that this man was her nemesis.
“What?” he asked.
She grabbed his forearm, which happened to be wonderfully warm against her chilly hand. Jeez, she thought, his forearm is as thick as a tree branch. “It’s amazing.”
Ryan’s gaze went straight to Simone’s hand, then traveled slowly up her arm. When he reached her face, he squinted at her suspiciously.
She let go of him and crossed her arms. “What, you think I’m lying?”
“I never know with you.”
Simone jerked her head back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He narrowed his eyes even more. “I mean I don’t think you’ve ever been real with me.”
A shiver went down her spine, like he’d undressed her with his words.
Feeling exposed, she hugged herself tighter.
He looked like he might say something else, but she cut him off.
“That’s absurd,” she countered, but her voice wavered.
Technically, she did have a history of drowning him in fake kindness.
Then again, that was only because Ryan had been a dick to her to begin with!
If he was frustrated with Simone, he had no one to blame but himself.
Period. When Simone spoke again, it was with newfound conviction.
She would make him regret being such a jerk.
“I really do think the set looks amazing, Ryan. I think the whole entire Rainbow Museum looks amazing. You’re a really good carpenter and you’re allegedly a good person, too”—according to Barista Joe—“but for some reason, you hate me, and I’m tired of trying to change that, so I give up.
” Simone was breathless, like she’d just sprinted around a track.
Never in her life had she unleashed on someone like this, but somehow Ryan had brought it out of her.
“In the future, I’ll keep the compliments to myself,” she finished, then turned on her heel and went to set up the merch table.
She didn’t care if he’d had his heart broken recently.
Simone was officially done being nice to Ryan Foley.
At six, guests started trickling in through the doors, and it wasn’t long before a crowd had materialized beneath the slatted wood ceiling.
Everyone was talking and laughing and clinking glasses and throwing their arms around each other, all of them palpably excited for the weeklong festivities that were only just beginning.
Everyone except for Ryan, that is, who was brooding next to the selfie station like an astonishingly good-looking gargoyle.
Remembering his breakup playlist, she wondered if she’d gone too hard on him.
No.
She’d been through some serious stuff, too, and she wasn’t over here dragging people into a whirlpool of misery.
She was a radiant ball of sunshine, in fact.
And she would use that light to attract as many women as she possibly could.
She would not let Ryan occupy one more iota of space in her brain.
She shot a quick text to Lucy saying hi and asking how she was doing.
She could use a dose of Lucy’s warmth right now.
“SIMONE!!!” she wrote back. “I’m at karaoke at Dorothy and Friends! Everyone says hi and they miss u!!!”
“Awww, tell everyone I miss them!” Simone was beaming as she typed.
“Also, I finished work two hours earlier than usual again, thanks to u. My invoice-streamlining queen!!!”
“Happy to be of service.”
“How are things going with Ryan???” Lucy asked.
Simone sent back a string of skull-and-crossbones emojis.
“Ooooof,” Lucy replied. “Well, how are the other people? Does anyone seem interesting???”
Simone knew her friend was asking about women.
She thought about the people she’d met at the welcome party so far.
“There was an Australian ski instructor who seemed cool,” she typed back to Lucy, remembering the woman—Margot—with freckles, dirty-blond braids, and an accent that had made her knees weak.
Margot had complimented Simone’s silver pants, and Simone’s heart had pounded as she’d stammered her thanks, and then they’d talked about what had brought each of them to Whistler Pride: Simone to represent the Rainbow Museum, Margot to lead a guide group.
Whistler Pride offered free daily guide groups for different levels of skiers, ranging from novices who were most comfortable on green circles to experts who could handle black diamonds and beyond.
The guide groups would go off on the mountain for a few hours, then reconvene for lunch, followed by an après-ski party in town.
“Oh yes???” Lucy wrote back. “Tell me more!”
Simone felt herself blushing as she typed a response. “She said I’m welcome to join her guide group if I want. Which would mean skiing together for the rest of the WEEK.”
“Well then,” Lucy replied, and Simone could just see the impish smirk on her face, “I think we both know what you’re doing tomorrow.” She quickly followed it up with: “Gotta go—Seth’s making us do ‘Shallow.’ ”
Simone laughed. “Break a leg!”
“You break a leg tomorrow!!! In the wooing-a-sexy-Australian way. Not the literal skiing way.”