She turns to look at me fully. "And you can do better?"
"That’s the plan."
"God, you’re arrogant," she huffs, turning back in her seat with a thud and making the lift sway a little.
"I might be arrogant, but I'm still better."
"Why are you doing this? You can’t stand being around me."
"That’s not true."
She lets out a humorless laugh and shakes her head. "Now you’re just lying to us both."
I could tell her the truth. I could tell her how I can't stop thinking about saving her on the slopes, and how watching another man's hand hover near her waist made me want to break things. How teaching her something means I get to keep her close for another hour.
"You need to learn," I say instead. "I know how to teach."
She studies my face, looking for the real answer. I keep my expression flat.
"Okay, fine," she says finally. "If you think you’re God’s gift to skiing… teach me."
We exit the lift, and she does well. I take her to a different slope. It’s quieter… Less traffic.
"Same thing as yesterday," I say when we're positioned at the top. "But this time you stop fighting the mountain."
"I'm not fighting it," she argues.
"You are. Every turn, you're arguing with gravity. Trying to negotiate. I guess that’s your thing."
"And that's wrong?"
"The mountain doesn't negotiate with PR agents."
She huffs out a breath that might be a laugh. "So, what do I do?"
"You trust it. Trust your edges. Trust the fall line." I move in front of her, skiing backward, and hold out my hands. "Trust me."
She hesitates. Yesterday's fear is still there, hovering at the edges of her expression.
"I've got you," I say quietly. "I won't let you fall."
She searches my face as if she doesn’t believe me. I’ve proven enough times that I'll always be there to catch her, and I willbe right now, too. Then, slowly, she reaches out and grips my wrists.
Her hands are small in her gloves, but she has a strong grip, though it’s shaking slightly.
"Look at me," I say. "Not the slope. Me."
She lifts her chin. Our eyes meet through tinted lenses.
"Ready?"
"No."
"Good. Let's go."
I push off, guiding her down. She's tense at first, shoulders up around her ears, every muscle locked.
"Breathe," I tell her.
