Maybe next time. If there was a next time.
By the second ski run, Nicole was utterly delighted to realize she was having fun. So. Much. Fun.
The conditions were great, the trails were groomed and, true to his word, her personal ski patrol had kept them on the easiest hills and greenest of trails.
“Homeward Bound,” Cameron said, tapping the trail sign with the end of his pole as they slid off the top of Bald Mountain—Baldy, as any self-respecting local would call it. “That run is cruisy, pretty, and easy to feel like a hero.”
He didn’t need a lightweight run to look like a hero. He could have leaned against a fence post and it would have been swoony, but she liked that he wasn’t trying to impress or intimidate her. He’d promised a low-key ski day, and so far he’d kept his word.
He was attentive, encouraging, and respectful, even gentle, in his way of handling the fact that she’d had an experience that had traumatized her.
After they pushed off, Nicole projected her focus outward, leaning into big turns and a gentle rhythm, just letting muscle memory return.
Hips to the fall line, hands forward, breathe.
Beside her, Cameron skated a few strokes and then, to her utter dismay and secret thrill, turned around and began to ski backward, facing her.
“You’re doing great,” he said, tugging down his mask so she could hear the warm steadiness in his voice. “See? I told you. Natural.”
She snorted. “If I’m a natural, why do my calves feel like they’re doing calculus?”
“Because they are,” he said solemnly. “Skier math. Very advanced.”
The mountain rolled out like a white ribbon. At every rise, Deer Valley unfurled another view of tree-clad hills, glades smoothed by wind, the curve of a ridge that broke and spilled toward town.
Cameron made a grand, exaggerated hockey stop that showered her with a dusting of snow. Then he executed a wobbly little spin that ended with him sprawled on the snow, limbs theatrically akimbo.
“Man down,” Nicole announced, laughing.
“Tragic,” he said into the snow. “Please send immediate assistance. Ideally in the form of a hug.”
She skied past his outstretched pole and gave it a playful tap. “Denied.”
He popped up with ridiculous ease, brushed off, and fell into pace beside her, forward this time. “Some first responder you’d make.”
“Not much of one. Also, falling on purpose negates your assist.”
Laughing together, they slid through a mellow S-turn where the run skirted the trees, which she steadfastly ignored.Not today, old memories.
“Looks like it might pick up later,” he said, tipping his chin at the thickening cloud band building from the west.
“Could be a snow globe and an avalanche,” she said.
“Yep.” He squinted through his goggles. “Skies are capricious up here.”
She smiled. “Big words for a ski bum.”
“Don’t make me race you, Nicky.”
She cracked up at the name, and kept going to where the world fell away at an overlook. Below them, Park City sprawled like a postcard.
She caught glimpses of tiny buildings, a line of cars inching along, Main Street’s lights blinking like a Christmas tree. It hit hard to realize how much she’d missed this extraordinary perspective of her world, the thrill of looking down from the top of a mountain.
They stood in quiet for a moment, poles planted, goggles up, puffing out breaths as they took it in.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said at last, which felt like saying a wave was wet. “It makes me feel…safe.” She gave a quick laugh. “Which is the last thing I expected to feel up here.”
He smiled down at her. “Then this was the biggest win.”
