22
I blink through bleary eyes at the light that’s flooding into the room, and when I roll over, my hands pat the empty space.
Once I come to my senses, a wave of disappointment hits when I find the place next to me is indeed unoccupied, the flipped-over sheets confirming that Rory’s left.
I guess it’s only fair, I left him the morning after we’d last shared a night together, and I wonder if this is what Rory felt then. Like something’s missing.
I search the bedside table for my phone, clicking on the screen to check the time as well as getting a flash of the latest string of messages from Tilly, including many winky faces. I’m about to text her back when I hear someone clearing their throat from the doorway.
Rory is dressed in a new pair of dark green trackies. He throws something towards me, and it lands in my lap on the bed. ‘Put that on and come meet me in the kitchen.’
He disappears and I look down at the hoodie that’s sitting in my lap. I’m about to put it on when he reappears, this time venturing into the room itself.
‘Oh and…’ he starts, taking long strides to clear the space to the bed. He leans down to plant a kiss on my forehead. ‘Good morning, Lottie.’
With that, he turns and leaves again, and I’m left lifting my hand to trace the place his lips touched.
The giddiness that bubbles inside me isn’t appropriate or sensible, but it only grows as I stand in front of the mirror and throw on his hoodie.
Like everything of his, it’s miles too big, but the material envelops me like a hug and it smells like him and I instantly want to keep it forever.
Before leaving, I pull out the hair bands at the bottom of my braids, that can’t really be called braids any more given how much hair has fallen out. Or been pulled out, as memories of last night flood my brain and I blush as my fingers work through the tangled curls left behind.
My hair is in dire need of re-dying, with my natural brunette roots contrasting the blonde highlights dramatically.
But something about the messy waves, and the freckles on my nose that have been brought out by the successive days under a winter sun, come together to make me feel quite pretty as I look over my reflection.
Or maybe it’s because I have Rory’s voice immortalised in my head, taking each thing I thought was a flaw and praising it while he held me like a priceless painting only hours ago.
I tiptoe out of the room towards the kitchen, and even if I couldn’t remember the way I’d be able to find it now because of the gorgeous smell that’s coming from its direction.
I round the corner, wondering if my nose is tricking me, only to find out I was right when I look towards the crowded kitchen counter.
‘You made pancakes?’
Rory shakes the pan, and I watch as he flips a pancake perfectly before smiling at me. ‘Yep, but I have to give Harry credit for the rest.’
By the rest he means the array of fillings that cover the countertop, from berries, to chocolate, to rashers of bacon.
‘I wasn’t sure what you liked,’ he says with a shrug, sliding another pancake onto the stacked plate in the middle.
I’m too stunned to thank him as he passes me a plate and I deliberate where to start. He doesn’t realise how perfect this is, because I always agonise at brunch over whether to go sweet or savoury, so knowing I can have both this morning is making me much too excited.
I decide on bacon first, saying a silent thank you to the hotel cook. I remember something as I roll the pancake up and carry my plate over to the window seat.
‘I thought you were a vegetarian?’
‘I am,’ he says, gesturing down to the chocolate and raspberry pancake he’s assembling. ‘But you’re not, and I remember you and your friends talking about bacon sandwiches one morning in class.’
‘You really don’t miss a thing, do you?’
‘Not when it comes to you,’ he admits, like that isn’t the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said.
I wait for him to finish making his, turning instead towards the view that’s misted from the condensation on the inside of the window.
I reach out to press my finger to the cold surface, dragging it down once, then adding a collection of other lines until I’m left with a little drawing of a hot chocolate mug with steam drifting above it.
It’s funny, but everywhere I go at the moment I see opportunities to draw something, and that urge makes me feel more like my childhood self than I have in years.
Rory brings his own plate over and settles opposite me, smiling when he spots my creation on the window.
‘Well, thank you,’ I say, raising my pancake off the plate. ‘And give my thanks to Harry, too.’
I take a bite, and I don’t know what Harry’s getting paid but whatever it is he needs a raise because this bacon is probably the best I’ve ever tasted, although I’d never admit that to Lucas. I moan as I lick the grease from my lips, and Rory’s expression darkens.
‘Careful, we’ve not got long until class and if you do that again I’ll have to think of a new excuse to miss teaching it again.’
I manage to hold myself together enough to finish the rest of the pancake, as tempting as the idea of skipping class again is.
‘So, tell me more about you,’ I ask him, before going to make another one. ‘How often are you in London?’
There’s an answer I’m hoping for here. One that would fan the tiny flame in my heart that makes me think there could be a world where something more between us would work.
‘Not often any more. I fly back to visit old uni friends, or for meetings when I’m securing new deals for the resort. But over the last few years I’ve been spending most of my time out here.’
That flame is extinguished with his answer. My whole life is in London, whilst it appears his main home is here. I’d already told myself nothing between us could last post-holiday, but for some reason my heart still sinks at having it made so clear.
‘What about you? Where in the city are you living?’
He throws the question back at me and I cringe, knowing how sad my answer will make me seem.
‘Adam and I had a flat together, but I moved out a few weeks ago. I’ve been staying at Tilly’s since.’
I leave out that I’m sleeping on a literal air mattress.
I don’t know if I’m imagining the way Rory’s expression shifts, the lines of his mouth flattening with pity.
To save face, I end up blurting out a string of random facts in quick succession.
‘But I like to go for runs, although “like” might be too strong a word, but I do run. And I read over sixty books a year, and I sketch a lot, maybe not recently, but I used to.’
I stop myself when I realise I may be digging myself into a deeper hole. I decide the best way to escape is to switch up who’s being questioned again. There’s still an endless string of questions I have for him anyway.
‘How come you ended up running a whole ski resort?’
‘Not a whole resort. The hotel was my grandfather’s originally, then he passed it down to my mum, who then became a stakeholder in the resort too, and then…
’ He trails off, and I curse myself for making him bring her up again.
‘When she died, Dad wanted to sell it all. He found being here too painful, and though I understood that, I couldn’t let him do it.
I was eighteen, and I said if he signed it over to me, I’d handle everything and he wouldn’t have to come back here.
He took that a bit more literally than I’d expected. ’
The last sentence ends bitterly, and I start to suspect that’s part of the reason for the lack of photos. Then I realise what he’s said.
‘Hold on, you started running this place when you were only eighteen?’
‘Yeah, and those were the toughest few years of my life. Everyone here was great, trying to help me out, but suddenly I was responsible for keeping them all in their jobs. They must’ve been terrified.
To most of them I was still the little boy they’d watched grow up here.
And even with their help, not having Mum here, or Dad, it was—’
‘Lonely.’ I finish his sentence with the word he used last night, now understanding more deeply what he meant by it.
‘I made a lot of mistakes, costly ones, but Dad would send money to help fix things from a distance. For a while I hoped he’d come back here eventually, but then he met Fionna and started a new family.
I know everyone deals with grief differently, and being here, or seeing me, reminded him so much of her. It was difficult for him, but…’
He doesn’t need to finish the sentence for me to know he wants to criticise his dad, but also doesn’t want to say the words out loud.
‘Anyway, a few years ago I also started up the ski school. I wanted to build something here that was mine, and I love getting to help other people enjoy this place, and this sport. It’s my home.’
I scoot closer and rest my hand on his knee, trying to think of the right words to tell him how amazing that is, and that I understand, even though I never could.
My phone rings before I come up with anything, and I’m hesitant to answer.
‘You should take that,’ he says, nodding down to where my phone lies on the cushions.
I swipe it up from where it’s vibrating between us, figuring it’ll give me some time to think over what to say to Rory. When I accept the call, I hear my mum’s voice on the other side.
‘Darling! I thought I’d check in, how is my little skier doing?’
‘Hi, Mum,’ I say, shifting so my body is facing out towards the windows. ‘I’m great, had a bit of a fall a few days ago, but I was back on my skis yesterday.’
‘You had a fall? Did you have to go to the hospital? Was Tilly with you?’
‘I’m fine, Mum, calm down.’
I wish I hadn’t mentioned it because I should’ve known it would send her spiralling.
‘No hospital, I twisted my ankle a little, it sounds worse than it turned out to be, but I got the all-clear from my instructor.’
As well as several orgasms, I add in my head, but I thankfully have enough sense to leave that fact out.