"Yard sale?"
"You know, when you crash and your gear goes flying everywhere." I slowly sit up as he gestures around us, where indeed my poles, skis, and somehow one of my gloves are scattered across the slope.
I can't help it, I start laughing. The absurdity of the situation, the spectacular way I wiped out, the look on his face, it all comes together in a bubble of hilarity that bursts out of me. After a moment, he joins in, his laugh deep and rich.
"I guess this means you win," I say when I can catch my breath.
His smile softens. "I wasn't actually racing you at that point. I was too busy watching you."
The way he says it makes my cheeks flush hotter than the exertion already has.
"You two alright?" Mack calls, skiing expertly down to us. "That was quite a tumble."
"I'm fine," I assure him, struggling to stand up. Snow cascades from every fold of my clothing. "Just showcasing my spectacular talent for eating snow."
Bash extends a hand to help me up, but doesn't let go once I'm standing. His thumb brushes across my knuckles, and even through our gloves, I feel that small point of contact like a brand.
"So about that kiss," Bash says, his voice dipping lower.
My heart skips a beat as his gaze drops to my lips. The mountain air suddenly feels thinner than it should at this altitude.
"Technically, I never reached the finish line," I point out, my voice embarrassingly breathless. "So did you really win?"
He steps closer, snow crunching beneath his boots. "Are you trying to lawyer your way out of our bet, Shortcake?"
The nickname sends a flutter through my chest. I'm acutely aware of Mack collecting my scattered gear a discreet distance away, giving us privacy while pretending not to notice the tension crackling between us.
"I'm just saying, the rules weren't clear," I continue, even as I find myself leaning slightly towards him. "What constitutes winning if neither of us crossed the finish line?"
His lips quirk up on one side. "The fact that I'm standing and you're wearing half the mountain should count for something."
I laugh despite myself, brushing snow from my shoulders. "Fine. You win on a technicality."
"I'll take it." His smile turns serious as he steps closer. One gloved hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from my face. "But I'm not collecting that prize unless you want me to."
The raw honesty in his voice catches me off guard. This isn't part of our act—there's no audience here, no one to perform for except Mack, who could care less. This is just us, standing in the snow, with something real and terrifying building between us.
I swallow hard, trying to remember all the reasons this is a bad idea. But with him looking at me like I'm his everything.
"I want you to," I whisper.
His smile is slow and achingly sweet as he cradles my face in his hands. When his lips touch mine, they're surprisingly warm against the cold mountain air. The kiss is gentle, questioning, but I press myself closer, and as soon as I do his arms wrap around my waist, pulling me against him.
I taste coffee, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I'm not overthinking, not planning three steps ahead. I'm just here, present in this perfect moment, kissing my fake boyfriend in the middle of a pristine mountainside like we have all the time in the world.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing harder than our run down the mountain warranted.
Bash clears his throat. "Well," he whispers, his eyes searching mine.
"Mmhmm," I agree, unable to find better words.
The sound of helicopter blades in the distance breaks the spell. We step apart, and his hand drops from my waist and finds my hand, squeezing gently.
"Thank you for today," he says. "Best day I've had in...a long time."
I smile, my heart full. "Me too."
The helicopter appears over the ridge, circling to land in our clearing. As we gather our gear to board, Bash pulls me close for one more quick kiss.
