“Here.” Liam grabs the star from the bed and tosses it across the room like a frisbee and June snatches it from the air with ease. “Put it on your tree. You wanted it more than me.”
“Thanks. I was coming to say I overreacted.”
“It was the heat of the competition. And you’re stressed about the fundraiser, right?”
“Something like that.” June rubs the back of her neck. “You know the Wilsons?”
“Yeah. The ones who do the dual slalom.”
“Well, Mr. Wilson has a concussion and can’t compete this year,” she says. “His wife called this morning and is threatening to pull out unless we find someone to fill the spot. That’s ten thousand dollars of entry fees we’d be losing, and it would wreckthe tournament bracket that we have. Not to mention, I have some assholes who signed up for private lessons today.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, whatever.” She shrugs, shoving her hands deep in the pockets of her snow pants. “I’ll figure it out. I need to get going before something else falls apart. Have fun at the café.”
The lodge’s café is situated in the lobby, facing the front doors so guests have a clear view of them when they walk in, kicking off snow and craving something to warm them from the inside out.
I’ve worked in cafés before, though I’ve always preferred bartending. The tips are great, but there’s also something about talking to people and sinking into their stories, helping them voice whatever has been festering inside them. I’d take it over an asshole demanding a red-eye at five in the morning any day.
We have a line from the moment we step behind the counter, I take orders and Liam makes drinks, mostly hot chocolates and drip coffees. About thirty minutes in, we hit a lull and Liam starts making new whipped cream canisters.
“So, why don’t you sign up for the free ski spot?” I ask, taking a sip of the latte I made for myself as I watch Liam make more whipped cream. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to ease into it, but sometimes it’s better to just dive right in, especially since I don’t know when we’ll get another break between customers.
His attention snaps up and he fumbles with the frosted metal canister, nearly spilling the cream inside on the floor. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m nowhere near as good as I used to be.”
“No one said anything about winning the damn thing. As you explained it to me, half the people in the competition are just rich idiots, and it’s for charity.”
“See that hill?” Liam walks up to me and points out the window across from us to a steep incline dotted with bright blue and red poles. “I’d be going down that—weaving through those poles going head to head with the person on the other side. Normally, slalom skiing has one person making quick turns down a hill to be scored on a mix of points and time. The dual head-to-head event is done tournament style and adds a level of entertainment for those watching.”
“See, you already know all the rules, and all you need to do is get to the bottom in one piece,” I say. “I’m going to tell you something about hobbies: you don’t have to be good at them. And if you’re going to be here, it’s worth trying to rediscover a part of it that you enjoy. I just want you to be happy here.”
“I’ll think about it, okay? Could you help me with these canisters? We need to have at least eight more ready for the lunch shift.”
“All right, show me how.” I don’t push against his attempt to redirect the conversation, and it’s nice to do something with my hands, to work.
He demonstrates as he explains the process. “Pour this liquid into a canister, to the line, and then screw on the top, pop in one of these nitrous canisters into this bit and screw it on.” There’s a hiss from the bottle as he finishes. “Shake the bottle and then you’ve got whipped cream, but you should always test it first.”
He grabs an empty cup and tips the nozzle inside, pulling the trigger hard. White flecks explode out the top, sending the cup flying across the counter.
He flushes. “I might have been a little too trigger happy.”
“Nah, I think it’s perfect.” A laugh burst out of me, the full body type that shakes me from the inside out, causing me to clutch at my stomach. “I personally love it when my whipped cream explodes in my face.”
“I hit you with a bit.” Liam starts to reach out but pauses at the last second, fingers hovering next to my cheek. “Can I?”
“Yeah,” I say, the word coming out husky and almost unrecognizable.
I fight the shiver running through me as the pad of his finger swipes away the cream. “Got it.”
Something must possess me because I lean forward and flick my tongue out to lick his finger clean. “Tastes good.”
His Adam’s apple bobs heavily. “You need to stop before I close this place up and carry you off to somewhere private.”
“Hmmmm tempting.”
His eyes go toward the entrance and his entire body sags. “Fuck. Let me take care of this next group.”
“What’s wrong with them?” I ask.
