"You winked."
"Professionally."
He snorts."Sure.Just don't get distracted mid-run.Helicopter rides here are expensive."
I bend to check my boots, but the grin stays on.
"I won't," I say."I'll think about the podium.She'll be watching."
And maybe, just maybe, I’ll carve it so clean the whole hill forgets to breathe.
As long as she does.
And I did as I said in the race.
I knew it before the final split.
The skis felt light.The line came to me like I'd already run it.Even the icy compression near the pitch—smooth, easy.Every turn gave energy back.
That doesn't happen every day.
I crossed the line, glanced up.
Green light.
Full second ahead.
The crowd exploded.I'd just taken out the local favorite.His run was solid.He might still end up on the podium with me, so they'll be happy.But for now, I owned it.
I waved at them, grinning.I love the crowd.And they love me.
Then I saw her.
Katharina, in the finish zone.Press badge clipped to her jacket.Not cheering.Not waving.Just watching.
Our eyes locked.
And there it was again—that flicker.The one that doesn't belong to a media coordinator.
She's relieved I made it down.And proud that I won.
She smiles and shakes her head slightly.
And that smile says it all.
That I'm unbelievable.
The only one in the world.
God, this is the best way to win a race.
I let myself stare for a second too long before turning away.
I unclip and sling my skis over my shoulder.
I'm halfway to the team zone when I hear the voice behind me, playful and sharp.
"Want us to give you privacy with your finish-line girlfriend?"Martin calls, voice all velvet and headlines.
