“It does here,” I said. “And it should elsewhere.”
She didn’t respond right away, but something in her expression softened.
We called the lesson shortly after that, mostly for safety and partly because Lydia had declared herself “exhausted in the best way.” Everyone gathered at the bottom of the slope, boots heavy, cheeks pink, laughter lingering in the air.
Jane thanked me warmly. Meri nodded and said it had been “educational.” Lucy apologized for Lydia, then stopped herself and added, “Actually, no. That was helpful.”
Lydia hugged me without warning. “This was amazing. You’re very patient.”
“I practice,” I said.
Kitty lingered until the others moved ahead, shifting her board under one arm.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For not making me feel ridiculous.”
Surprised, I met her gaze. “You weren’t ridiculous.”
She smiled, more confidently this time. “I’ll see you Thursday.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” I replied, and I realized as I watched Kitty walk away, I was looking forward to Thursday.
Chapter Five: Voluntold
Kitty
By the time we made it back to SnowDrop Inn, my body had decided to itemize every poor choice I had made on a snowboard.
My wrists ached when I reached for the front door. My knees protested each step up the stairs. There was a dull soreness between my shoulders that flared whenever I lifted anything heavier than a clipboard, which unfortunately included nearly everything at the inn. I was certain I had bruises where Lydia had banged into me.
I told myself it was fine. Sore meant I had tried. Sore meant I had not quit.
Lydia, of course, was thriving.
“That was incredible,” she announced for at least the fifth time, kicking off her boots and collapsing onto one of the lobby chairs. “I can’t believe how fast I went.”
“You fell into two people,” Lucy replied flatly.
“That’s hardly relevant,’ Lydia said with a wave of her hand.
Jane laughed, shrugging out of her coat. “I actually enjoyed it. It was rather freeing.”
Meri leaned against the wall. “I learned that snowboarding is more active than necessary.”
I smiled and laughed in the right places, even as I gingerly bent to pick up a dropped mitten and nearly winced. My body felt like it belonged to someone else, someone less coordinated and far more optimistic. Every time I shifted my weight, mybrain replayed the memory of tipping forward, of sliding sideways, of colliding with Lydia and, worse, into Caleb.
Part of me had been embarrassed. The other part of me had been a little thrilled when he tried to pull me out of Lydia’s way. I shoved the thought out of my mind. He was an instructor and probably trying to avoid a lawsuit if we happened to get injured.
I focused on the coffee station instead, grateful for a task that did not require bending or balance. I wiped down the counter slowly, carefully, aware of how stiff my fingers felt around the cloth. Lydia continued narrating her experience in dramatic detail while Jane chimed in and Lucy corrected her timeline.
Eventually, when the noise lulled just enough, I took a breath.
“Lydia,” I said. “Can we talk about the talent show?”
She looked up immediately, unfazed. “Of course.”
“Now?” I asked, already bracing myself.
“Sure,” she said, standing and stretching. “What about it?”
