His dimples make themselves known on his handsome face.
Quickly looking around and making sure there isn’t anyone we know lurking around, I step in front of him and wrap my arms around his waist. His eyes soften as he brushes my bangs away from my brow. I take a moment to observe the amber glow around his pupils, lightened by the late afternoon sun streaming down on his face. “Dr Ellis called me last night,” I tell him. That earns me another questioning look. “Consider this an early Christmas present from him. You’re allowed to ride, but you—”
“What?” The next moment, he’s letting go of me, utterly shocked. Then, he’s bouncing around like a kid high on sugar, running around my car and screaming profanities at the sky.
I laugh, the sheer excitement emanating from him giving me a warm feeling inside my chest.
“Shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up, shut thefuckup!” He grabs my upper arms and shakes me, and my laughter booms louder. “You’re kidding me.”
“This is real,” I murmur.
“Oh, my God.” After letting out a breath, he crashes his lips on mine for a quick yet hard kiss. “Holy shit.”
“I know. But listen to me before you get too excited” – he groans, but his eyes are still glowing – “no snow park until you’re allowed to train again, no hard tricks, and we’re starting easy by running a blue trail just to get your body used to the sensations again. As soon as you feel a pull in your leg or shoulder, we stop. Is that okay with you?”
Diego nods frantically. “I never thought— I thought— Fuck yeah, this is better than anything I thought would happen duringmy recovery. Were you the one who managed to convince him? And what about Coach?”
“Coach doesn’t know— yet. This is our secret. Dr Ellis has been checking in regularly with my dad about the way you act in general, but, since I spend more time with you, he gave me a call, and I told him that you deserve to ride again. You’ve been recovering steadily, so—”
My words are cut off by the force of his kiss, and I fall into him, my heart hammering against my breastbone. I fist the front of his sweater as I raise on my tiptoes, but before we can get lost in the moment, in each other, I pull away. “Let’s go before the sun sets.”
We’re still wearing the base layers we shrugged on before this morning’s lesson, so we quickly change in the parking lot. I can’t help but stare at the way he moves, like he can’t wait a second longer before stepping on his board.
It does something unfathomable to me, to see him in his full gear again. To see the pure happiness glinting around the edges of his irises. He deserves this, and I would’ve fought and defended him for hours if his physiotherapist hadn’t given me the green light.
After quickly warming up, he holds my board and his as we walk to the resort, and when we sit in the chair lift he talks my ear off about that one time he and Jordan descended a specific trail when they were teens. I could listen to him talk every day, every hour, every minute. He’s so passionate about this sport, and I love watching him come to life when he talks about it.
Just as we’re about to hop off, he leans in to peck my cheek. “Thank you, baby.”
And then we’re running, and even though I’m trying to focus on my route, all I can see is Diego. We’re passing through my favorite part of the resort – a trail that’s hidden between tall pine trees – and with the sky turning from a golden hue to asplash of lavender and pink, I can’t help but think this moment is incomparable.
Diego is in front of me, moving like he’s on water, testing some easy tricks like an Ollie and a Frontside 180. He doesn’t appear frustrated to not be able to do more. On the contrary, he looks utterly elated to be here, and that makesmehappy.
He slaloms from one edge of the trail to another with astonishing control and acute precision, and then tips his face toward the sky to let out a scream of pure, unadulterated joy.
My heart bursts with happiness, with true, unconditional love for this man.
Everything is perfect.
“Please, put me out of my misery.”
Diego is comically dramatic.
Currently lying like a starfish in the middle of the ice rink, he stares at the starry sky like he’s wishing for this moment to be the last one of his existence.
I can’t help but wince when a boy zaps past his outstretched hand, however well gloved. He curls his fingers, then moves his exasperated gaze toward my amused one.
Who knew a professional snowboarder would be so terrible at ice skating? Seeing him trying to move forward was very entertaining, but I think he hates me for laughing at him instead of helping him.
I extend my hand, biting back my grin. “Come on. It’s okay. We can’t be good at everything we do.”
He pulls himself up. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
After brushing the back of his head and jacket, I pull him out of the rink as people float by, laughter dancing in the air like a joyful melody.
We sit on a bench, and I openly laugh at his grumpy expression. That earns me a dirty look, which just triggersanother cacophony of giggles from me. This time, he chuckles under his breath while slightly shaking his head. Note to self: do not take Diego ice skating ever again.
Once he’s out of his skates, he kneels before me and starts unlacing mine. It’s a struggle to keep my hands on my lap instead of running them through his curls. There are too many people around, though none of them are close friends or family, but the town might start gossiping soon enough – the downside of living in a small place where everyone knows everyone.
