Katharina
The room is warm, but my fingers are cold.
It's eleven, and most of the team has retreated upstairs after the morning training session.A few muffled voices drift down the lodge hallway, someone laughing, the occasional clatter of boots on wooden floors, but in here, it's quiet.
Martin's low chuckle carries through the wall, edged with that dry bite of his.Probably dissecting someone's technique.
Niko's voice bursts higher, all bravado and nervous energy, the kind that fills silence too quickly.
Lukas doesn't say much, but the uneven rhythm of his boots tells its own story, still limping from that old injury, though he'd never admit it.
Soft woolen blanket strokes my legs, and I smell a faint citrus bite of descaling cleaner from the espresso wand.
Just the hum of my laptop.And the low crackle of the fireplace.
The screen in front of me is divided into two windows: one with the travel schedule for the American leg of the tour, the other with rough cut footage from Sölden.
I rewind the clip.
Thomas.Second run.The moment he enters the steep pitch.
The light hits his face just before he disappears behind the gate, jaw tight, body loose, completely focused.It's a gorgeous shot, purely accidental.But I know precisely which frame I'll pull for the recap edit.
I drag the marker across the timeline, exhale sharply, and freeze.
I'm holding my breath.
Just watching a man ski.
I glance around the room, make sure I'm still alone, and exhale through my nose with a slight, self-mocking shake of the head.Ridiculous.I close the footage and return to the spreadsheet.
The front door creaks.
I don't look up right away.But I don't have to.
I hear the shuffle of socks on polished wood.The quiet clink of a mug being set on the kitchen counter.Then the telltale hiss of the espresso machine warming up.
Of course, it's him.
Thomas moves like a ghost when he wants to.I've noticed that he hangs around me more than the others.His flirting's obvious, but not pushy.
It's still hard, though, keeping my distance when every cell in my body wants both his body and soul.
But lately, I've started to enjoy his presence.And he seems to enjoy mine.
He doesn't say anything, just lets the machine sputter, then pours himself a cup and pads over to the table.He sets a second mug next to me.Not directly in front.Just to the side.Close enough to reach.Then he sits a few chairs down, spinning the chair slightly to stretch one leg out.
"Double shot with milk," he says."You looked like you were writing a novel."
"I'm turning our travel plan into an Instagram story," I murmur, not quite looking at him."But thanks.I'll take it."
He shrugs and sips his own coffee, staring at the ceiling beams like they're telling him something.
Silence settles again, but it's not awkward.It's… spacious.Like we've both decided, this moment doesn't require performance.I am focused on my work, and though I can feel him close to me, I am lost in my world, made up of words.
I scroll through the calendar and mumble, "Do you remember if we're filming anything branded in Lake Louise?Niko mentioned a sponsor segment, but I can't find it in the doc."
Thomas doesn't even blink."Yeah, Brenner confirmed it this morning.ZWE Energy wants a morning warm-up shot on race day.Short.No talking, just visuals."
