"But the terrain will be hard and firm, and we are big girls with long skis," Maddie winks.
She is right, the coaches use salt to prepare the terrain for professional athletes, while the rest of the skiers in the venue ski in the wet snow, which turns heavy before noon this early in September.
But I nearly killed myself on the long Giant Slalom skis a few minutes ago and am a little shaken.The last thing is to put on another show on the hard, salty surface.
To be honest, the last time I skied on a salt and icy race-ready course was with my dad, before I stopped racing.
I look up the slope to watch the champions again.
I knew there was a chance I'd meet my skiing heroes on the glacier.More than a chance, I'd followed their Instagram stories and knew they were here.And, hard as it is to admit, I chose my makeup for theimprobableencounter with at least one of them.
Or God forbid...the oneof them.
"I believe you made an impression," Maddie says, raising an eyebrow.
I open my eyes and follow her gaze.
There he is, Thomas Kern in person.
The way he moves is unfair.Like gravity bends differently for him.I brace myself, unsure if I'm about to be teased, scolded, or asked to pay his hospital bill.
"Should I disappear?I can hide under the table," Maddie offers.
"Don't be ridiculous," I counter."You'd never make it in time."
"Hello, ladies," he says with a slightly amused voice.I wonder if this man can ever be annoyed.It seems unlikely.
"Hi," I answer, fighting the urge to look at my hands.
"Hello there," Maddie says in perfect German."What can we do for you, Mr Kern?"
"Well, I just wanted to ask your friend here if she's alright," he shrugs.
"She is… mortified," Maddie replies for me, her grin too wide to be helpful."But mostly fine.Maybe a bit bruised.Her ego, more than anything."
I shoot her a glare, but can't help smiling."I'm okay," I say, finally looking up at him, taking in his sculpted figure bulging under the race suit."Didn't break anything.Except maybe the skiing protocol."
Thomas chuckles."Well, you broke the monotony of our drills, that's for sure."
"Always glad to disrupt national drills," I mutter, cheeks flaming.
He leans on the edge of the table, forearm brushing the wood, completely relaxed, like this is just another après-ski chat.I glance at his face, tanned, calm, amused, and wonder for a split second if he knows.
His arm is just close enough that I can feel the heat of his body through my sleeve.Not touching, but not far.It's a quiet reminder that yes, he's real, and yes, he's dangerously attractive.
Does he know it wasn't entirely an accident?That I saw him, and went anyway?
"So," he says, "was it a tactical maneuver?A fan ambush?"
"More like a badly timed turn and poor spatial awareness," I say."If I ever really wanted your attention...I'd have had a better plan."
"Now that," he says with a raised brow, "is something I'd like to see."
He laughs again, that soft, low laugh that messes with your heart rate."Well, I was heading inside for a drink.Mind if I join the queue with you?"
I pause.Not because I'm unsure, or because the situation is absurd.But… this is precisely what I risked the integrity of my bones and joints for.The script seems too predictable to be true.
"Sure," I say, standing too quickly.My knees protest, but I smile through it."Let's relive the crash frame by frame."
