Chapter 5
5
The ski school is housed in a modern log cabin that sits at the edge of the village, an A-frame lit from within by warm, glowing light. I arrive with two minutes to spare and check my reflection in one of its massive front windows—not bad. I rest my skis against the building and take a quick second to tuck some flyaways back into my braids.
“It’ll only get worse on the mountain,” someone says behind me. I whip around so fast both of my skis clatter to the ground.
“Holy— Tyler . You shouldn’t sneak up on a girl like that!”
He laughs. “I thought you saw me in the reflection.”
“Clearly I did not.”
“Clearly,” he agrees. “Ready for your lesson?”
“Don’t I look ready?”
He eyes my skis, still lying haphazardly on the ground like soldiers wounded in battle.
“Oh, yeah. Totally.”
He leans down to rescue my skis at the exact same time I do, nearly giving me a concussion before I’m even out on the slopes.
Only now do I realize my helmet is still in the closet.
Tyler notices, too. “Daredevil or just forgetful?”
“Neither, normally. Any chance you have extras?”
“There is a chance,” he says. “But unless you wear the same size as a six-year-old, you’re gonna have to just take mine.”
My cheeks heat up despite the chilly breeze. “Oh, I can just run back over to my place—or go to the village—”
“We’d only get twenty minutes in, at most,” he replies. “I’ve got another lesson at three.”
“What will you wear?”
“An abundance of confidence in my ability not to need a helmet?” he says, and I laugh.
I can’t quite tell if he’s serious.
A moment later, though, he’s holding his one and only mint-green helmet out to me. Now that his shoulder-length waves are no longer confined beneath it, his hair is unruly, but it smells very good—an unexpected and rather pleasant hint of floral shampoo.
I nod at the helmet. “You’re sure?”
He grins. “We won’t be leaving the Zen Zone today—I could ski it in my sleep. Also, that helmet is good luck.”
“Because wearing it will automatically turn me into a pro?”
“Because it’s just like the one my mom gave me when I was a kid,” he replies. “It was a limited-edition color, super rare, made only that year—the year I started skiing. Finally found it on eBay in an adult size a few months ago.”
He leans in close, and I get another heady whiff of… freesia, maybe?
“Don’t tell the six-year-olds I’m going without,” he whispers conspiratorially as he hands it over. “They’ll never want to wear theirs again.”
“Don’t make me regret this.” I accept the helmet. “Your face is too pretty, and it would be a shame to break it.”
I did not just say that out loud.
I did not.
I did.
He laughs as if he hears it all the time, as if it is a completely normal thing to say—never mind that what I said doesn’t even make sense, since the only part of his face a helmet would protect is his forehead.
“Too late,” he says, going along with it, pointing to his ever-so-slightly crooked nose.
“How did that happen?” I ask. Its crookedness really is subtle, but now that he’s pointed it out, I can’t unsee it.
“You don’t want to know,” he replies, then glances at his watch. “Hey, we should probably get started, yeah?”
We head up to the Zen Zone, a gently sloped area of the mountain where beginners (and people like me) can practice skiing without fearing for their lives. Turns out my helmet isn’t all I forgot—I accidentally left my poles at the café—but Tyler did have some adult-sized extras of those on hand.
“I’ve never actually done this before on any of my ski trips,” I admit as we carefully make our way out into the snow.
“What? A private lesson?”
“ Any sort of lesson,” I say. “Ski school. The Zen Zone. My brother taught me how to ski when we were kids.”
Admittedly, it was years before I tried to ski parallel and not just in wedge formation—Ian used to be so patient with me while I figured things out.
If only that had carried over into adulthood.
“Your brother’s the daredevil of the family, then?”
I snort. “When we were kids, yeah. Now he’s an accountant who goes on the same vacation every year and never orders anything new when he eats at a restaurant.”
Ian is predictable and safe and logical and firmly convinced his opinions are the best opinions—now, anyway. He wasn’t always like that.
“What about you?” I ask. “Any siblings?”
“I—Oh, hang on a second,” he says, twisting his wrist to check a message on his watch. He taps it and hits the tiny microphone icon. “Yes, comma, confirmed for seven this evening, period.”
“Do you always voice text with perfect punctuation?” I ask, impressed, though it’s not lost on me that he’s deflected yet another personal question.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
I laugh. “I try to… but that’s just because I’m a writer.”
His face lights up. “Maybe that’s why you look familiar! Have you written any books I might know?”
I stop in my tracks. “I look familiar?”
Now it’s his turn to blush. “Just a little. But I can’t place you.”
Interesting.
“You’re a reader, then?” I ask.
“I love spy thrillers. Bonus points if they’re in really epic settings—my favorite one is set in Prague. Have you written anything like that?”
“I’ve never written a novel before,” I say. “But that’s actually why I’m here, to work on a book. Ghostwriting a memoir.”
“Isn’t that an oxymoron?” he asks. “Ghostwriting… a memoir?”
I laugh. “You would think so.”
“That’s amazing,” he says. “Anyone I’ve heard of?”
“The whole world has heard of him, so probably. I’m not really allowed to say more.”
“So how’d you get hired to ghostwrite a memoir if you’ve never written a book before?”
“I’m a writer in my day job, just not a novelist,” I say, weighing just how specific to get—I’ve probably already said more than I should. “My sister moved in a month and a half ago and wrecked my writing schedule. I couldn’t get anything done at home, so they sent me here instead.”
“Must be a big deal for them to hook you up like that,” he says, impressed. “Be glad you weren’t here a couple weeks ago for Presidents’ Day—this place was as crowded as I’ve ever seen it.”
He grins, gesturing to the wide-open expanse of snow before us. We’re far from the only ones out here, but the space is so vast we might as well be. I turn to glance behind me, trying to see what he sees, but it throws my balance off for a second—he’s quick to steady me, catching me with one strong arm around my waist before I turn into a total disaster.
His hand feels so there —the sort of strong-but-tender touch I haven’t felt in years, if ever. Whenever Blake put his arm around me like that, it always felt… so… possessive.
“When’s the last time you skied, again?” he asks, still steadying me.
“Six years ago, with some friends from college.”
“And you went pretty often before that?”
“Almost every year with my family until I turned twelve, yeah—sometimes twice a year.”
But then Lauren came along and we never went again.
“Okay, so let’s just spend today getting you used to being on skis again—we can do a few practice runs here in the Zen Zone, and if you’re feeling good, we can try something a little more difficult tomorrow.”
“You’re pretty confident I’ll want to come back tomorrow.”
“I’m pretty confident you’ll want to come back every day, honestly.”
“You’re so cocky,” I laugh.
“Just speaking from experience,” he says smoothly, as if nothing has fazed him at all. “Everyone books me again.”
“Maybe I’ll be the first who doesn’t.”
“Maybe I’ll make it so good you can’t refuse.” He raises those thick, dark eyebrows.
“You’re ridiculous,” I tease, rolling my eyes for effect even though I feel my cheeks heating up. “Maybe we should actually start the lesson now?”
We head over to something called the “magic carpet”—a conveyor-belt-like ski lift that will carry us up the bunny slope.
“Since you learned from your brother, I’m guessing you’ve never used one of these before?” Tyler asks as he demonstrates how to step onto it.
I shake my head, following his lead.
The magic carpet deposits us at the top of the hill. Even though it didn’t look terribly steep from the base, we’re definitely higher than I expected—I take out my phone to snap a photo for Chloe.
“My best friend will never believe I got out on the mountain unless she sees proof,” I explain. I fumble for half a second before remembering I’m not wearing the sort of gloves that are compatible with phone screens. I tug one off just long enough to open the camera app.
“Want me to get a video of the run for your friend?” he offers.
It’s not the worst idea.
I hand over my phone. Our gloves brush in the transfer, making me wish we were somewhere warmer, no thick fabric between us, like in front of a fireplace, maybe—curled up under a flannel blanket—hot chocolate in hand, or maybe some apple cider—
“Let’s check your form first,” he directs, pulling me out of my head and back to this cold, cold mountain. “Before I risk my life skiing down the hill with no helmet while making my cinematography debut, I just want to make sure I’m not going to capture a video of you crashing to your death.”
“Wow, you really know how to motivate a girl, Tyler.”
He laughs.
I show him my form, which—unsurprisingly—is a little rusty.
“Keep your shins tilted forward,” he says. “And make sure your weight is centered over your feet as you move with your skis.”
I thought I was doing those things already, but he closes the gap between us.
“Is it okay if…?” he asks, gesturing toward my legs as if asking permission to touch them.
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “Fix whatever you think will keep me from crashing into a tree.”
He laughs again, tucking my phone into his pocket.
“You’ve almost got it—but—”
Tyler touches the backs of my knees lightly until I’ve bent them in just the right way, then straightens to correct my posture, one hand at my hip and another on my upper back. He’s utterly professional, entirely respectful, yet it still sends shivers coursing through me.
“How does that feel?” he asks.
It takes a second too long for me to realize he’s asking about my ski stance and not his hands on me.
“Good,” I blurt out too emphatically.
“Good,” he echoes, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
“Very helpful, thank you,” I say, trying to recover before I die of embarrassment.
“Show me,” he says, mercifully not lingering on what we both know I was thinking. He nods at my skis, then at a section of the hill that’s more or less level.
I glide forward, steady and balanced, keeping my form exactly as he instructed.
“Better, yes—like that. Your technique isn’t terrible.”
“Like I said, you really know how to motivate a girl.”
“You’d be surprised how many people say they can ski but are atrocious at it. It’s a safety thing,” he adds, shrugging. “No one will book another lesson if they break their neck on the first day—it’s best for everyone if I’m honest.”
He makes a few more minor adjustments until he’s satisfied: a featherlight touch on my thigh, and another at my elbows to further reinforce my balance.
I could do this all day.
“Ready to head down?” he finally says.
I nod. “Ready to risk your life just so my best friend will believe this ski lesson actually happened?”
He holds up my phone; I’d almost forgotten I’d given it to him already.
“You’ve got a text,” he says. “From Chloe?”
“Of course I do.”
I can only imagine what she’s written. Hopefully it isn’t too mortifying—or worse, confidential. Too late, it occurs to me that anything could pop up in an email or text notification. What if Sebastian texts me and Tyler sees it?
We’d better get this over with, and quickly.
“Ready when you are!” I call out.
“Let’s do this!” he replies, my phone’s camera poised and ready.
I start down the hill, keeping my skis pointed inward so I don’t go too fast too soon. Even at this slow pace, the wind stings my cheeks.
“Hi, Chloe,” I hear Tyler say from behind me. “I’d like to state for the record that Alix did indeed show up for her ski lesson today—and that I offered her another slot for tomorrow. Here’s proof!”
I laugh, tempted to let him have it for getting Chloe’s hopes up that I might have another lesson so soon—she’ll hold me to it for sure —but my slight dip in focus throws my balance off a bit, enough that I flail unattractively for a few seconds before regaining my composure. Two more bobbles (and two more recoveries) later, I make it to the bottom of the hill, proud to still be upright. Tyler skis around to face me, his movements smooth and easy.
“As you can see,” he goes on, still recording, “she definitely needs to come back tomorrow.”
He grins at me, then lowers the phone.
“I’m going to kill you,” I say.
“Sounds like a plan,” he says, still grinning as he hands my phone over. “Can you do four o’clock tomorrow? For my murder, to be clear.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Fine,” I agree. “But only if I get enough work done.”
This guy is something else, and his smile is next-level perfection.
“I’ll put it on my schedule,” he says. “Four o’clock murder with Alix if she gets enough work done.”
I’m going to have an incredibly productive day tomorrow, no if about it. This lesson has been the most fun I’ve had in ages.
Of course, I will definitely not be admitting that to Tyler—or Chloe, for that matter.
He gestures to the magic carpet. “We’ve got time for a few more runs, if you want?”
I grin. “Let’s go.”