Chapter 3
Daria
The past two days have been surreal.
After my first lesson with Nick, I floated through the rest of the retreat activities in a daze.
Group snowshoeing, where I barely noticed the scenery because I was replaying every word he said.
Spa afternoon where Madison and Joelle grilled me about the lesson until I admitted, yes, there was definitely chemistry.
Group dinner where I caught Nick looking at me from across the dining hall and nearly choked on my wine.
My second lesson this morning was even better than the first. We progressed to an intermediate slope, and when I made it all the way down without falling, Nick's pride in me felt like sunlight. He kept finding excuses to touch me—adjusting my stance, steadying my shoulders, brushing snow off my jacket—and every touch sent electricity through me. We also spent time talking, getting to know each other. We know each other’s ages, childhoods, and favorites.
All the first date things without it being a date.
Now it's evening, and I'm curled up in the suite with a book I'm not reading, trying to figure out if I'm imagining this whole thing.
"You're doing that thing again," Joelle says from her bed.
"What thing?"
"The overthinking thing. Where you talk yourself out of believing something good might happen. We just met, and it’s obvious."
I set the book down. "I'm not—"
"You are." Madison looks up from painting her nails. "Daria, that man is into you. He suggested private lessons. He looks at you like you're the only person in the room. What more evidence do you need?"
"He's an instructor. Being attentive is literally his job."
"Not like that, it isn't," Claire says. "I had the hiking guide today, and trust me, there's attentive and then there's attentive. What Nick's doing with you? That's the second one."
I want to believe them. Want to believe that Nick's attention means what my hopeful heart thinks it means. But I've been wrong before. I've read interest where there was only kindness, mistaken professional courtesy for attraction.
And even if I'm not wrong—even if Nick is interested—what then? He's twelve years older than me. He lives here in Evergreen Lakes. I live in Phoenix. This is one week, a bubble separate from real life.
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.
Unknown: Want to see something special? Meet me at the equipment shed in 10 minutes. Dress warm. -Nick
My heart stops.
"Oh, my God." I stare at the screen.
"What?" All three roommates crowd around.
"Is that from him?" Madison squeals. "He's asking you out! This is happening!"
"It's not a date. He just wants to show me something about skiing—"
"At night?" Joelle grabs my shoulders. "Daria. He's asking you on a romantic moonlight adventure. Stop overthinking and go."
I stare at my phone as every worst-case scenario flows through my mind, but a sliver of hope has me getting up and changing into my warmest layers, hands shaking the whole time. This could be nothing. Professional guidance. Friendly gesture.
Or it could be everything.
The women cheer me on and keep giving me advice on how to seduce him, but I don’t pay attention. I can only hear my heart slamming against my chest.
Nick's waiting by the equipment shed when I arrive, two sets of skis leaning against the wall. He's in a dark jacket and knit hat, breath misting in the cold air, and he looks so solid and real that I almost turn around and run.
"Hey." He smiles when he sees me. "Thanks for coming."
"What are we doing?"
"You'll see. Come on."
He hands me skis, and we make our way to the lift. It's closed for the night, but Nick has a staff key. We ride up in silence, the mountain settling into blue twilight around us. I sneak glances at him, trying to read his expression.
At the top, he leads me to an intermediate run I recognize from this morning's lesson. But in the fading light, everything looks different. Softer. More intimate.
"We're skiing in the dark?"
"It's not quite dark yet." He points to the horizon, where the sun's last rays paint the sky pink and gold. "And once the moon comes up, you won't need anything else."
We wait as dusk deepens into night and the moon rises, huge and luminous. It transforms the snow into a silver landscape, with shadows and light playing across the slopes.
"Okay," I breathe. "This is special."
"Told you." He clips onto his skis. "Ready?"
We ski down, and he's right—the moonlight is enough. More than enough. It's magic, gliding through this quiet silver world with just the sound of our skis on snow and our breath in the cold air.
At the bottom, I'm grinning so hard my face hurts. "That was incredible."
"You're a natural. I wasn't lying about that." He props his skis against a tree. "Want to sit for a minute?"
We find a flat spot with a view of the valley below, lights from the resort twinkling in the distance. Nick sits close enough that our shoulders touch, body heat a point of connection in the cold.
"Thank you for this," I whisper.
"You're welcome."
"Can I ask why?"
He's silent for a long moment. "You said something during our first lesson. About not expecting me to be nice. Like you're surprised when people treat you well."
I tense, embarrassed that he remembers.
"I wanted to show you something beautiful," he continues. "Because you deserve to see beautiful things. To have experiences that match how extraordinary you are."
My throat goes tight. "Nick—"
"And because I wanted to spend time with you. Just you. Away from everyone else."
I turn to look at him. In the moonlight, his eyes are dark and intent on mine.
"I don't understand," I whisper.
"What don't you understand?"
"Why would you want that? I'm just... I'm nobody special. I'm large and awkward and—"
His eyes narrow, and a determined look crosses over his face.
"You're the realest person I've met in years.
" His voice is rough. "You're funny and brave and you don't hide who you are.
You fall forty times and laugh about it.
You look at a moonlit mountain as if it's a miracle.
You're soft and warm and—" He stops himself.
"And what?"
"And I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since orientation."
The confession hangs between us.
"I've been invisible my whole life," I hear myself say.
The words tumble out before I can stop them.
"In school, guys looked right through me.
My family always focused on my siblings.
Even my friends sometimes forget I'm there.
I came here thinking it would be the same—that I'd watch other women enjoy this experience and get noticed while I stayed on the sidelines.
But then you looked at me. Really looked at me. And I felt... seen."
"Daria." My name sounds like a prayer the way he says it.
"I don't want to be invisible anymore," I whisper. "Especially not with you."
He cups my face with one gloved hand, thumb brushing my cheek. "You're not invisible. You're the only person I see."
I lean into his touch, heart hammering. "What are we doing?"
"I don't know." His honesty cracks something open in my chest. "I just know I can't stay away from you."
We sit like that, faces close, breaths mingling in the frozen air. Every nerve in my body screams, kiss me, but Nick doesn't close the distance.
"Not yet," he murmurs, reading my mind. "Not until you're ready."
"I’m ready."
"You think you are. But trust me—when it happens, you'll know." He pulls back, hand dropping from my face. "Come on. We should get you back before you freeze."
We ski down together, and this time I let myself lean into him, let our arms brush, let myself believe this is real.
At my suite door, Nick pauses. "Get some rest, okay?"
"Okay."
He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead, soft and lingering. "Goodnight, Daria."
I slip inside, touching the spot where his lips were, and know I'm not sleeping tonight.
Because Nick Callahan sees me.
And I'm seeing myself differently too.