“We win!” he declares.
“You absolutely do not.” Ember stumbles off of her sled with Anika clinging to her arm. They’reboth snow-covered, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “We clearly crossed the imaginary finish line first.”
“Yeah,” Anika agrees, shaking snow out of her hat. “And we were way cooler.”
“Objection.” I climb to my feet. “Our crash was more cinematic,andwe had sound effects.”
Thomas hops over to Ember.
“Which was mostly Thomas screaming,” Ember teases.
“That was my battle cry,” Thomas protests.
“Sure, buddy.” She musses his hair affectionately, then looks at me, and for a second it’s there—joy that softens into something quieter when her eyes meet mine.
Her smile wavers. “Okay. That was fun.”
“We’re going again, right?” Thomas bounces. “Right?”
“I think my butt needs a minute to recover,” Ember groans.
“Oh, come on.” I gesture to the hill. “My redemption arc requires at least three sled runs and some light emotional labor.”
Anika giggles. “What’s emotional labor?”
“Helping grown-ups not be dumbasses,” Ember says saccharine sweet.
“Ouch.” I slap a gloved hand over my heart. “Wounded. Right here.”
“Try again, Doc.” She picks up some snow and tosses a small snowball.
It hits my chest.
I grin like a fool as snow slides down my coat—because Ember finally, finally, finally laughs.
I haven’t heard that sweet sound in days.
After a bruised tailbone and a near concussion, we head back to the chalet. The children are taken care of by Latika as they talk a mile a minute in the mud room.
After Ember and I take off our snow gear, I suggest we have chocolate in the gazebo. She doesn’t say yes or no, but she walks with me through the chalet, through the living room where her family is playing cards, all of whom ignore us (subtle as a fucking four-alarm fire), and stays with me when I ask Racquel for hot chocolate.
When Racquel suggests that we’d like, “Quelque chose à grignoter,” it’s Ember who nods enthusiastically and agrees, “Oui, a snack sounds good.”
Racquel’s eyes shine as if she’s been waiting for this. She shoos us away, saying she’ll bring our goodies to us at the gazebo.
There are soft throws and fur-lined cushions on the benches of the wooden gazebo. The mountains are cast in lavender twilight. The air smells like snow and pine.
I turn on the switch for the gas fire, and the firepit comes alive with soft flames.
I wait for Ember to get comfortable, and then sit next to her. She doesn’t ask me to get lost.
I’m counting each tacit yes as a victory.
We sit quietly and are still silently watching thewinter wonderland around us when Racquel comes to the gazebo in Wellingtons and a coat.
She sets a tray on a sturdy table by our bench.
Two mugs of thick, richchocolat chaudsteam beside a plate of freshly madecrêpes—folded into triangles, dusted with powdered sugar, and filled with warm Nutella and sliced bananas. They’re wrapped in parchment, just like at acrêpestand.
