Opening the door, Damon knocks the breath right out of my fucking lungs.
“Holy shit, Damon,” I say, attempting to catch my breath. He’s standing before me in gray suit pants, a thin black belt, a black button-down tucked into the pants, and the matching gray sport coat over top.
“I could say the same to you,” he says, raking his gaze over my body before his eyes rest on mine. “I hope your plan involves food. I’m dying to eat.”
“Me too,” I whisper, not talking about food at all.
Seeing Damon eases my anxiety just like always.
“Keep looking at me like that, and we aren’t going to make it very far,” he says even as he reaches for me.
The ring feels warm in my pocket, like it’s desperate not to be hidden anymore. It knows its rightful place is on Damon’s finger, claiming him as mine, showing the world he belongs to me.
“Let’s go,” I say, glancing at the clock on my phone. “We can’t be late.”
When we arriveat the heated gondola, there’s already a line. The sun set about forty-five minutes ago, making the wait pretty brutal temperature-wise because none of us have our ski layers on, and the wind is still blowing.
All around us, people chatter in low voices. It’s mostly couples, along with one party of four and one party of six.
The gondola looks like a regular ski lift except it’s completely enclosed and heated, making for a far more comfortable ride up the mountain at night.
While we’re waiting for our turn, Damon begins bouncing slightly and rubbing his arms to stave off the chill. Withoutthinking twice, I pull him into me and wrap my arms around him.
An older couple up ahead of us is facing our direction, and they smile politely, resuming their conversation with another couple directly in front of us in the line. The woman in that couple turns to see what caught their attention, and she scowls when her eyes land on mine and Damon’s embrace. The only reason I don’t say anything is that Damon’s head is turned the other way in my chest, and he didn’t see it.
I want tonight to only hold good memories for him, and me putting this bitch in her place would not be a good memory.
I squeeze Damon tighter as we move forward, closer to the warmth of the gondola, already thinking about how much I’m looking forward to crawling into bed with him when we get back.
One of the large moving bubbles of the lift has a passenger when it rotates back to the bottom. The lift operator stops the machine so the guy can safely gather his things and hop out. I watch as the passenger moves straight into the lift house, handing the operator what looks like a box of leftovers. The lift operator gives the guy a shy smile and watches him as he turns to leave.
I know that look.
I didn’t know what it meant until recently, but my heart aches for the guy, and I hope he finds his happily ever after.
The gondola resumes its movement, and the people in front of us slide into their seats just before the lid automatically closes.
And then it’s our turn.
The gondolas can seat eight, so we move in first, and another couple and a party of four hop in behind us.
The ride is quiet on the way up. Everyone is headed to enjoy a nice dinner after a long day of skiing. We’re pleasantly tired and hungry and enjoying the peaceful views as we’re lifted in the air.
Well, all of us except Damon, of course. There aren’t any lights inside our ride, and whatever storm is moving in has brought all the clouds, so unfortunately, we can’t see the moon or stars, but it’s probably better for Damon that way.
I’m holding his hand, and I don’t have to look at him to know his eyes are screwed shut. Placing my mouth at his ear, I whisper the lyrics to H Burns’sNight Movesto distract him, and I feel him squeeze my hand in response.
The ride only takes about three minutes because the gondola moves faster than the regular lifts, but by the time we exit at the top, Damon’s hand is clammy.
“You did great, baby,” I tell him, kissing the side of his head. It makes me glad this new side of our relationship happened out here. Being on this mountain is like the gondola bubble. You’re shut off from the real world, and all that matters is the peak you’re on. I don’t care if these people see me with my arm around Damon or see me drag my tongue across the seam of his lips.
We don’t know them, and we’ll never see them again.
But they’ve given him and me a chance to feel this thing out without hiding or fearing that we’ll run into someone we know that would demand an explanation before we were ready, or knew what to call it.
“Wow,” Damon says, taking in the grandeur of the restaurant. “What is this place?”
We skied everywhere today…except any runs off this particular peak.
