He fakes surprise. “How did you guess?”
I give him a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m smart like that.”
“Let’s go snowshoeing.”
Startled by the abrupt change of subject, I blink at him. “Snowshoeing?”
Mason grins. “Yeah, you know—we’ll strap tennis rackets to our feet and traipse about in the snow.”
“Are you serious? Are you even allowed to leave the lodge?”
He gives me a wry look. “Of course I’m allowed to leave. The show isn’t holding me hostage.”
“But what about your adoring fans?”
Shrugging, Mason flashes me a nonchalant look. “Please, they don’t intimidate me.”
I cock my head to the side, staring him down.
He takes me by the shoulders, bending his knees slightly so he can look me in the eyes. “Besides, I’ll be in snow gear. Incognito.”
After several minutes, I finally give in. “Fine. Let’s go snowshoeing.”
“You’re a bit of a show-off,”Mason pants from behind me.
I look over my shoulder, grinning. “Why do you say that?”
He hurries to catch up with me, his arms moving awkwardly with his poles as he attempts to walk through the fluffy snow. The hill I just climbed isn’t steep, but Mason keeps slipping nevertheless.
“You have to really dig your snowshoe in,” I remind him. “Don’t forget to‘Engage with the snow.’”
That’s what the man at the rental shop said. Several times.
Mason rolls his eyes as he struggles with the hill. His skin is flushed from the cold air, and he looks beyond scrumptious in his snow gear. It’s a weird thought to have considering Brandon just shattered my heart, but it’s there, and I’m afraid I must acknowledge it.
“Engage with the snow,” Mason mutters as he attempts to tromp harder. Unfortunately, that just digs him in deeper.
“Let me help,” I say, turning around. I feel like a giant rabbit with the snowshoes attached to my boots.
“No, stay there,” Mason says, stubborn. “I got this.”
Ignoring him, I start down the hill. I stumble just a bit and throw out my hands and poles to steady myself.
All right, I will admit it; going down is a little more difficult than going up. Just when I’ve almost reached him, I slide again. This time, however, I don’t regain my balance.
Shrieking, I plow right into Mason. He tries to catch me, but my momentum gets the best of him, and we fall down the gentle hill, poles flying and feet flailing in the most uncoordinated way.
I fall next to him, getting a mouth full of snow. I try to push myself up only to have my hands sink deeper. Mason laughs next to me, not even trying to right himself yet. He landed in the soft bank back-first, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he stopped to make a snow angel.
I’m laughing too hard to stand up, so I flop to my side and take in a deep, gasping breath.
Mason turns his head toward me. After several minutes of looking at the sky, I meet his gaze. The snow is cold on my flushed cheeks, but the day is warm for winter, even if the sun is now hidden behind dark clouds.
“I haven’t had this much fun in a long time,” he says.
I shift, aware that my leggings are only water resistant, and the snow is already soaking into them.
“Me either,” I say, and I’m surprised to find I really mean it.
