I grin. “That I am.”
“And you’re presumptuous and cocky” – she throws a wrapper at me that I dodge as I chuckle – “but you could, for example, wear some gear and then I’d promote the new arrivals like that. We could find some other way to boost our accounts too.”
That’s tempting. She’s been helping me, so I owe her that, don’t I?
The excitement lighting up her face takes my breath away. All the coherent thoughts forming in my mind suddenly vanish, and I almost find myself agreeing.
But I want to annoy her for a while, so I shake my head. “Can I think about it? I don’t really like cameras and all.”
She scoffs. “Says the guy who signed several five-figure deals to feature in ads and magazines.”
“Did your research on me?”
“Had to prepare myself to get used to your theatrics.”
A laugh spills out of me. “I’ll think about it.”
Standing up, she dumps our empty wrappers in the trash can before collecting her belongings. Her smile feels like a warm blanket wrapping itself around me. “You know where to find me when you change your mind.”
Then, she exits the room, and I realize I’ve been smiling for the past ten minutes. I realize I haven’t felt this genuinely carefree in forever. I realize that nothing hurts anymore, until her absence washes over me like an icy breeze.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ALARA
“Don’t cry.”
Diego’s shoulders tense at the sound of my teasing remark. Since his attention is settled on the snow-covered mountains lined up on the horizon, I take the opportunity to stare at him.
He’s taken his beanie off, leaving his curls messy and unruly. Hands in the pockets of his snow pants, he looks incredibly bored, but I know he’s turning away from me so that I don’t see his crestfallen brown eyes. The power his body exudes will always steal my breath away. He’s tall, strong, and I’m definitely not the only person to notice his beauty – the defined jawline and the scruff of dark hair dusting along it, the effortless charm, the magnetic aura, the dangerous and sinful smiles that appear on rare occasions. He’s quietly irresistible, and he knows it.
If you’d told me a decade ago that Diego would be a shameless flirt with me, I would have fainted, then come back to life with a pounding heart and nerves all over the place. I’m still a blushing mess every time he teases me, but I know it’s the way his friendly banter works with me.
I don’t think he’d ever allow anything romantic to happen between us for multiple reasons. 1) I’m his sister’s best friend,and one of his best friends is my brother (and if there’s one rule every girl should live by, it’s that your brother’s best friend is strictly off limits); 2) he’s only here temporarily, and Diego doesn’t seem like the type to do casual; and 3) even if he stares at me like he can’t look away, even if he calls me pretty and buys me lunch, he’s only trying to make it up to me.
His abundant and profuse apologies constantly make me smile, because he’s ridiculous. On Wednesday, he was waiting for me in front of Rock Snow – seventeen minutes before opening – with a dirty chai latte he called hot milk in hand. He had written “Do you forgive me?” with an upset emoji on the side of the cup. With that, he gave me an almond croissant, which happens to be one of my favorite pastries. For the rest of the day, he worked at the register and asked me questions whenever something was troubling him.
On Thursday morning, he showed up to my cabin with a cappuccino. When he told me to open the lid, I shook my head as I read what was written on top with cocoa powder: “Sorry, Alara.” I’d asked him if he planned on winning me over with hot drinks and food, and he’d said yes. As I finished getting ready, he chose a book from my shelf and read it while lounging on the couch – the other end from where Tabby was sleeping.
I hate to admit that seeing him make himself comfortable in my house did something to my heart.
This morning he showed up to my cabin early too. This time, thirty minutes before we had to leave for our last skiing lesson of the week. He brought me breakfast, and we ate it together.
He still doesn’t like Tabby, but he’ll get there.
Either way, I’m happy about the shift in our . . . friendship. Can we call it that? He’s opened up, though not fully, and spends all his breaks with me. He’s still quiet and reserved in a way, but at least he’s less angry and upset than he was during his first few days back.
“I’m not going to cry,” he mutters, still staring ahead.
“But is that a tear streaming down your—”
He gently bats the hand I was directing at his face. “Are you trying to start a fight with me?”
“Just trying to make you smile,” I say, a grin tugging at my lips. “Is it working?”
“Nope.”
Liar. His dimple is about to show.
