Chapter 9
9
Tyler greets me outside the ski school with the widest smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. Just past him, I notice a helmet and an extra set of poles leaning against the A-frame’s front window.
“It’s almost like you’re expecting someone to forget their equipment,” I say, making a show of tightening the strap on my helmet.
“Don’t know why it seemed like a good idea to be prepared, just in case,” he replies, matching my flirty tone. “Couldn’t possibly be because someone forgot their equipment yesterday. Or locked herself out of her place while in pajamas.”
“Those were not pajamas, number one.” He doesn’t need to know how right he is. “And number two, I am usually the most prepared person wherever I go.”
“I guess I’ll have to gather a little more evidence,” he says, grinning. He tugs on his goggles, tightens his helmet, and we start off toward the Zen Zone. “I’ll believe you—for now—but only because your entire life was spread out on that table at the café.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. I must have been seriously focused to not notice him.
“Not my entire life, Tyler. I left my cat back in the penthouse.”
He glances over his shoulder, puts his finger to his lips. “Around here,” he says in a mock-hushed tone, “we don’t advertise that we live in penthouses. Also—you’ve got a cat?”
“Do I not seem like a cat person?”
“I’m just surprised they let you bring one,” he says. “They’ve got a pretty strict no-pet policy. People kept bringing their dogs, and the snow—let’s just say we had a vibrant yellow section at one point.”
I scrunch my nose. “Ew.”
“Hence,” he says, “my surprise.”
“Well, Puffin is an indoor cat, so maybe they were confident he wouldn’t use the mountain as his own personal litter box.”
“Maybe so,” Tyler says, but then he goes quiet.
I can’t begin to guess what he’s thinking.
“So I guess you don’t have any pets, then?”
He grins. “Actually, I do. His name is Pete. As previously discussed, he’s not strictly allowed.”
“And… what… is… Pete?” I ask as we board the magic carpet conveyor belt, beginning our ascent up the Zen Zone’s gentle slope.
“Pete is a goldfish.”
I burst out laughing, I can’t help it. “A goldfish ? They won’t even let you have a goldfish?”
“Aquariums can do a surprising amount of damage—but it’s not like I smuggled him in. Not really.” He’s quiet again, weighing how much to tell me. “Let’s just say Julie gave me special permission since he’s only in a small fishbowl, and I don’t make a habit of letting anyone know about him.”
“And his name is Pete,” I say. A statement, not a question.
“What’s wrong with Pete?”
“I don’t know, it’s a bit… human?”
“Says the girl who named her cat after an entirely different species.”
“ Exactly ,” I say, laughing. “It works.”
“Once you meet him, you’ll agree that he’s totally a Pete,” Tyler says. “But just out of curiosity, let’s hear your better suggestions.”
“Mongoose,” I pull from absolutely nowhere. “Axolotl. Sandhill Crane.”
“You think I should name a goldfish Sandhill Crane. ”
I shrug. “I don’t think it’s any worse than Pete.”
Now we’re both laughing, and I slip ever so slightly on my skis. He steadies me, one strong hand secure on my upper arm and the other at my lower back.
“Pete would be pretty upset if he learned the very mention of his name had sent a woman crashing to her death,” Tyler says in a low, faux-stern voice, flirty eyes locked with mine.
His actual words barely register—but how he says them stirs something in me. I swear this guy could read his to-do list to me and I would find it steamier than a sauna.
We go over everything he taught me yesterday. He checks my form; it’s possible I get it slightly wrong on purpose just so he can correct me. I can’t get enough of how confident he is, but also how careful—his corrections are firm but fleeting, and even though I gave him permission to put his hands on me yesterday, he asks again today.
Finally, we head down the mountain for our first run. We’re still in the Zen Zone, so it’s not too steep, but my skis are closer to parallel than they were before—compared to yesterday, it almost feels like we’re flying.
We ski down the mountain, then head back up again, over and over, until my muscle memory from years ago finally starts to kick in. All that’s missing is my daredevil brother, Ian. I’ve been missing him for a long time, though.
Ugh, Ian .
Just the thought of him makes me tense up, and before I know it, my right ski is slipping, skidding out of control.
“It’s okay!” Tyler calls out. “Bend your knees—and try to square up!”
I manage to regain my balance, avoiding a fall. It’s a good thing this slope is relatively gradual: transform self into crumpled pile of skin and broken bones is very much not on my list of goals for this month.
“Nice recovery,” he says once we make it to the bottom, grinning.
“Thank you,” I say, trying to figure out exactly how ridiculous I looked, flailing down the mountainside.
I can’t quite see his eyes through his Oakley goggles, a single reflective lens that reminds me of a fiery sunset, but I’d put money on it that they’re doing that cute crinkly thing right now.
“Probably should’ve gone over this yesterday, but—”
A split second later, Tyler slumps over, falling sideways into the snow. It’s so shocking, so fast, and I kneel down as gracefully as I can in my snow gear to check on him.
“Tyler! Tyler?”
I put a hand on his shoulder—his thick shoulder, muscles clearly defined even under his ski clothes—and that’s when I realize he’s shaking.
With laughter .
He rolls over, and I playfully swat his chest.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack . What was that?!”
“Just showing you how to fall if you have to.”
“With exaggerated drama?”
“To the side ,” he says. “You’re less likely to break or twist something if you fall sideways instead of backward.”
“Yeah, see, all I got out of that was ‘Top Ten Ways to Terrify Someone.’?”
“Sweet of you to worry,” he says, still laughing.
“What kind of person would I be if I didn’t?”
“I’m glad I don’t have to find out.” Tyler sits up, and now we’re face-to-face. The snow is cold under my knees, even through my thick ski pants, but the look he gives me is hot, hot, hot. “Any chance you’d let me take you out to dinner tonight to make up for scaring you?”
Dinner is harmless. I have to eat, right? And eating with someone beats eating alone. Not me crashing his place unannounced because I’ve locked myself out—but us going somewhere together, on purpose.
The thought of going out to dinner with Tyler is… yes. He’s funny, he’s thoughtful, he’s kind. He’s patient and considerate—the sort of guy any girl would be lucky to spend time with, romantically or not.
“Only if there’s no naked spinach involved,” I reply, downplaying my excitement.
“I’ll make sure any spinach we encounter is completely, decadently clothed,” he says, and suddenly all I can focus on is his mouth, full and tempting in its playful smirk. “I promise.”
“Okay, then,” I say. “It’s a date.”
After my lesson ends, Tyler walks with me back to our building so we can both freshen up for tonight. The clouds have edged out the sun for the first time since this morning, and it looks like snow might not be out of the question.
Tyler offered to store my ski gear with his at the ski school so I won’t have to keep hauling it back and forth, and it’s amazing how much more pleasant this walk is now that I don’t have to juggle it all. Quicker, too—and with infinitely more opportunities for his hand to brush against mine ( three times, so far!). He’s giving me a mini tour along the way, pointing out notable spots in the ski village, all of them picture-perfect and straight out of a travel magazine.
We wind down the path, passing the ice-skating rink and the café and all the other village shops, as well as the place where another path splits off toward the main lodge. It’s getting darker by the minute. Between the fiery lanterns and the globe string lights everywhere and the way all of it makes the snow sparkle, this place feels incredibly magical: the perfect setting for a first date.
A date, I mean.
His hand brushes against mine again, and he’s so close now that our arms brush, too.
What have I done?
I told myself I would take the Chloe approach to hanging out with Tyler—nothing too serious—but the more time I spend with him, the more I wonder if I’m capable of Chloe’s level of chill. Maybe it would be possible to keep my heart out of it if Tyler were less handsome, less thoughtful—if he never made me laugh, never put me at ease.
But then again, without those things, I wouldn’t be so drawn to him in the first place.
By the time we make it to our elevator, he’s quiet. The lighting inside is rich and warm, a cozy contrast to the outside world. We’re standing close together, closer than two people alone in an elevator really need to be. His body heat radiates between us, and I’m tempted to get even closer—tempted to break the silence, too. But the longer it goes on, the more of a bubble it is.
When the doors open to our shared floor, the bubble finally pops.
“Meet you here in an hour?” he says, eyes bright.
They’re so familiar and so new all at once.
“See you then,” I reply.
I have a date .