I’m not going to mess up again.
She’s the first person I see when I enter the lodge.
A bright smile illuminates her features as she laughs with the two people standing across from her – instructors too, I assume. She’s wearing a red ski suit, elegant and classy with a belt around her waist, faux fur trim to the hood. She’s flamboyant, alluring, captivating.
This girl is fascinating. She’s kind, but she’s not afraid to give me shit for my attitude. She doesn’t seem impressed by my coldness, but she doesn’t let me walk over her. Her easy banter is what threw me off-balance at first, because I wasn’t expecting so much snark and wit coming from her. Maybe we can go back to that exhilarating push and pull if she forgives me.
I swallow the knot in my throat, tucking my hands in my pockets as I walk over to her. I’m not sure why I’m nervous, but all I’m hoping for is that she gives me a chance to explain myself.
The moment she spots me, her smile falters. She recovers quickly, though, and says something to her friends before waving at them and coming up to me.
“Hi,” I say gruffly. Regret clings to my chest, painful and stubbornly unwavering, and the need to make everything right becomes overwhelming. This need to apologize has nothing to do with Coach and his stupid plan to polish my image. No, it’s because Alara is actually a sweet woman, and no amount of bitterness I feel toward the rest of the world should be projected on the one person who’s willing to help me.
I hate that hurt flashes so blatantly in her eyes. I hate thatshe’s not smiling. I hate that she doesn’t get snippy, as I deserve, and only whispers, “Hey.”
The words are there, the apology right on the tip of my tongue, yet I feel powerless and unable to voice them. Alara won’t meet my gaze, simply tucking a rebellious strand of hair that has escaped from her braid behind her ear.
The moment I clear my throat, she starts speaking up, but stops short when she notices I was about to open my mouth. “You go first—”
“No, go ahead,” I say, gesturing toward her. I inwardly slap my forehead. “Ladies first. I mean, chivalry’s not entirely dead.”
What the hell am I even saying?
She nods slowly, studying my expression, my flaming cheekbones. We’re silent for a few seconds too long, causing me to bounce on my heels in discomfort. “Let’s go. Unless there was something you wanted to tell me?”
My lips are pressed in a thin line. “Nope. All good.”
It’s official: I’m an idiot.
Only fifteen minutes have passed since the beginning of the lesson, and I want to bury myself under a pile of snow. Maybe like that I’ll feel numb. Maybe like that all those strange feelings clawing at my throat will taper off.
Every time I glance at Alara, she looks back at me like she can feel the weight of my gaze on her. We both look away so rapidly that our eyes barely connect, the silence so uncomfortable that I almost blurt out idiocies to fill in the void.
The feeling of the sun beaming down on me while thick snow crunches under my boots makes me smile – albeit secretly. Looking around, I can’t help but sigh wistfully as I watch a couple get in line for the approaching chairlift. Up on the horizon, colorful dots are people running down the pistes, andsnowboarders catch my attention as they walk by me with their boards tucked under their arms.
I forgot how beautiful Blue Ridge Springs’ resort is. I forgot how amazing it feels to be on the trails where I first learned to ski.
Seriously, this punishment is pure torture. I get that my body needs some rest after the fall, but forcing me toworkand check on kids as they try to stand on skis remains the most ridiculous idea.
“Diego will help you, okay?” A dulcet voice cuts through my thoughts – a little stream of sunlight pushing past clouds.
I blink, and there she is, standing in front of me with her hand on a young girl’s shoulder.
“Right, Diego?” Alara arches a brow, expecting me to get my shit together.
Why can’t I just brood in a corner alone? Why can’t I pretend I don’t exist for the next hour or so?
Aside from the brief introduction I gave to the group we’re teaching this week, I’ve been standing on the sidelines, watching Alara work her magic. She’s so gentle. So kind and patient. She’s taken the time to speak with each student – there’s only eight of them, but still – and I have a feeling they’re all already fond of her.
I mean, how could they not be?
I clear my throat, looking down at the girl, who’s wearing a pink jacket and matching ski pants. Strands of blonde hair peek from her helmet on top of which her goggles are resting. “Yes, of course.” I get down on my haunches to meet her at eye-level.Fuck, my knee. “What’s your name?”
“Lou,” she answers shyly, and adorably. “I’m five!”
I widen my eyes in faux shock. “Five? You’re so big already.”
Lou puffs out her chest. “I know. But I’m scared of getting on the skis.”
