Bash's eyes widen just a fraction before lighting up with genuine excitement. The slight parting of his lips and the spark in his expression make him look boyish, younger somehow. "Really? You want to try boarding?"
"Yeah. Why not? I've always been curious." The truth is, I've never considered snowboarding in my life. The thought of strapping both feet to a single board and hurling myself down a mountain has always seemed like a recipe for a broken wrist and wounded pride. But the way he's looking at me now—like I've just handed him a gift—makes me want to try everything I've been too afraid to do.
"You'd be a natural. Your balance is—" He stops, seemingly remembering where we are, but his eyes stay locked on mine, a private smile playing at his lips. The unfinished sentence hangs between us, loaded with meaning.
For a moment, it's just us—the memory of that night, his hands on my hips, steadying me in a different way, the warmth of his breath against my neck as he guided me through the crowded bar—until Dad clears his throat loudly, dragging us back to reality and the watchful eyes around the table.
"Well, that'll be something to see," Dad says, clearly amused. His eyes dart between Bash and me with growing interest. "Charlie's been skiing since she was five, but never wanted to try snowboarding. Always said it looked like 'controlled falling.'"
"Oh, I'm not surprised Charlie wants to try something new," Olivia chimes in, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.
"What exactly do you mean by that?" I ask, my voice tight. I feel my shoulders inching toward my ears, a familiar tension headache threatening at my temples.
I wait as she carefully adjusts her engagement ring, making sure everyone sees the three-carat monstrosity. "Just that you've always been a jack of all trades, master of none type." Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Like that pottery class you quit, or the half-marathon you never finished training for. Ethan's mentioned you have quite the collection of abandoned hobbies."
The fact that Ethan talked about me enough for her to have this ammunition makes my blood boil. I feel myself flushing, heat climbing up my neck.
"I'd call it having diverse interests," I say, forcing lightness into my voice. "Not everyone needs to specialize."
"Of course not," she nods with exaggerated sympathy. "It's just that some people prefer depth over... sampling." She looks at her ring and then back at me. "But everyone's different."
Before I can respond, Bash adjusts in his chair breaking our physical connection.
"That's one of the things I love most about Charlie," he says, voice warm and genuine. "Her curiosity. Her willingness to try new things."
The word 'love' hangs in the air between us. It's just part of our act, but something in his tone makes my heart skip.
"She's always been willing to try anything once, hasn't she, Ethan? Though commitment to mastering it is another story." Olivia looks over to Ethan.
He snorts into his wine glass, that familiar derisive sound that used to make me shrink in social situations.
I feel my shoulders inching toward my ears, a familiar tension headache threatening at my temples.
Olivia's smile widens, revealing perfectly whitened teeth. Her eyes, however, remain cold. "Ethan’s told me that you've always been adventurous! It's admirable, really. Trying marketing, trying relationships and now trying snowboarding..." She looks at Ethan with exaggerated affection, placing her hand onhis arm possessively. "Some of us just know what we want right away and stick with it."
The table falls silent. My mother's eyes widen, and Emily looks ready to launch herself across the table. My sister's knuckles have gone white balled into a fist, and I can practically hear her mentally cycling through creative insults.
But before anyone can react, Bash's arm slides around my shoulders, his body language relaxed but his eyes razor-sharp. The weight of his arm feels protective rather than possessive, and I find myself leaning into his warmth instinctively.
"You know, Olivia," he says, his voice easy but carrying a quiet authority that commands the room's attention, "in professional snowboarding, we have a term for people who never fall."
She blinks, clearly thrown by the shift. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her smile faltering slightly. "Oh? And what's that?"
"Beginners." His smile is charming but it doesn't reach his eyes. "The only riders who never wipe out are the ones who never push themselves beyond the bunny slope. The best riders in the world—the ones with Olympic gold around their necks—they’ve fallen thousands of times."
He takes a sip of his wine, casual as can be, but I can feel the tension in his body where we're pressed together. "So when I see someone like Charlie, who's willing to try something challenging and new, knowing she might struggle at first? That's not a weakness. That's the exact quality you want in a partner, in business, in life—someone brave enough to fall and get back up, rather than playing it safe their entire life."
The silence around the table is deafening. Emily lets out a snort of approval, not even trying to disguise it as a cough. Dad looks impressed, his eyebrows raised as he reassesses Bash. Even Patricia's perpetually judgmental expression has softened slightly, though she quickly masks it by taking a long sip of her wine.
Bash turns to me, and this time his smile is genuine, reaching all the way to his eyes, creating those little crinkles I've started to find irrationally attractive. "Charlie's not afraid to fall. It's one of the first things I noticed about her."
I can barely breathe. No one has ever defended me like this—not only defended, but seen my worst personality trait and reframed it as a strength. The way he's looking at me now makes me wonder if he actually believes what he's saying, or if he's just that good at this game we're playing.
Ethan shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his jaw working like he's chewing on a rebuttal but can't quite spit it out. Olivia's perfect smile has gone brittle at the edges, her eyes darting between Bash and me with a calculation I don't like.
"Well," Mom says brightly, clapping her hands together with forced cheerfulness, "who's ready for dessert? I had the chocolate cake everyone loves from Aspen Crumb & Co. delivered."
As everyone gratefully latches onto the subject change, the tension in the room dissipating like fog, Bash's other hand finds mine under the table again. He lifts it to his mouth for a soft kiss, his lips warm against my knuckles, I stare at the movement, feeling the gentle press of his lips against my skin like a brand. When I look up at him, there's something in his eyes I can't quite name—something soft and unguarded that makes me wonder if maybe not all of this is an act.
