“Have you no shame?”Levi says, his tone annoyed as he escorts me and Maisy away from the ski hill. “I can’t believe I got called by the ski patrol because my best friend, who’s an instructor at this resort might I remind you, and my sister were having a military grade snowball fight.”
“Maisy started it,” I mutter as he takes both of our boards along with my ski-lift pass.
“Did not,” she argues, narrowing her eyes at me.
“I don’t care who started it,” Levi says, giving us both a stern look. “No more boarding for the day. I’ll give these back to you two tomorrow. Tonight, I want you guys to think about what is and isn’t acceptable mountain behaviour.”
“Yes,Dad,” Maisy salutes Levi before walking off.
“I hate when she calls me that,” he mutters to me, watching as she goes. “Especially when she knows she did something wrong.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, patting his shoulder. “It won’t happen again.”
He sighs, tearing his eyes away from her and looking at me. “Keep an eye on her, alright? I don’t want her doing anything reckless with all this free time.”
Reckless? That doesn’t sound like Maisy. But I just nod and wave him off as I jog to catch up to her.
“Wait up,” I say just before reaching her. “I need to go to the gear shop for a sec before we head back to the chalet. Want to come with me?”
She stops walking and turns her head to look at me. “You want me to come shopping with you?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I do.”
“Okay.”
“So what exactly are welooking for here?” Maisy asks, skimming the racks of multicoloured goggles.
“New gloves for you.”
That grabs her attention, and she spins to look at me. “What’s wrong with the ones I’m using now?”
I try and fail to bite back my smirk as she follows me to the wall of gloves.
“Well, for starters, they’re mine.” I see the faintest pink creep onto her cheeks. “And I’m sorry to inform you that it’s very obvious they are too big for your hands.”
“Right,” she says, drawing out the word.
She turns her attention to the gloves for a few minutes before settling on a pink pair identical to the ones she lost. I take them from her hands and walk over to the cashier, paying for them quickly before she has a chance to pull her credit card out of her wallet.
“I could’ve paid,” she mumbles, taking the new gloves from me.
“I know,” I reply, watching as she removes my gloves and hands them back to me before sliding on her new pair. “How do they feel?”
“Like they fit.” She shrugs, but I don't miss the longing look she gives mine as I slide them into my jacket pocket.
TEN
MAISY
Sterling was nevermuch of a cook when we were together three years ago. Back then, he could burn water without even trying. His idea of a balanced meal was anything microwavable, paired with a sports drink.
Who knew that in three years, he’d not only learned how to cook, but he’d learned how to cookwell. Better than well actually—tonight’s dinner, roast beef on mashed potatoes, is Michelin Star level, but I’ll never admit it to him.
I expect him to retreat to his room after dinner the way he usually does, but tonight he decides to stay in the living room with me. I’m curled up on the couch under my blanket, reading a cozy holiday romcom while the fireplace crackles. It’s my nightly me-time.
Sterling ruins it when he drops down on the cushion beside me, close enough for the couch to dip. His cologne drifts over—clean, and woodsy, and distracting as hell. I breathe through the distraction of his scent while I reread the same line for the fourth time, but all hope is lost when he reaches over and snatches half of the blanket off of me and onto himself instead.
I snap my book shut and glare at him. “I was using that.”
