Page 39 of Outcast’s Vow

Like, professional-level good.

He doesn’t exert any effort at all as he carves down the slopes with a natural precision. Look, I’ve done my fair share of the sport, and I know my way down the slopes, but I’m embarrassed even being on the same mountain as Baptiste. He moves like a dancer, while I am, skiing next to him, nothing more than a rag doll being thrown down a flight of stairs.

It’s pretty obvious now that he wanted to do this to show off, and like with everything else to do with Baptiste, it is simultaneously both infuriating and somehow incredibly hot.

I make it to the bottom of the slopes, watching him speed down the mountain behind me. He masterfully navigates and steers his way until he reaches my sorry ass in a dramatic, snow-spraying stop.

“Would you dare say you’re having fun, wife?” he asks me with a wide grin spread across his chiseled face.

Yes, yes, you win.

“As much fun as I can next to you,” I fire back.

“Want to go again?”

I shake my head, glancing toward the coffee shop not even a hundred yards away. The tempting smell of hot cocoa lingers in the air, inviting me in.

“I think I’ll stay here,” I reply. “To be honest, I’m more of a tropical beach girl myself. I like sunshine, salt water, tanned handsome men delivering me cocktails...”

My sentence is cut off by something suddenly hitting me in the face.

A freaking snowball. Delivered with precision by Baptiste.

I glare at him. His shoulders are high and he’s leaning back.

He’s convulsing. In laughter.

“You DID NOT just...”

The icy bite on my cheek is nothing compared to the heat in Baptiste’s eyes.

“I just did, Your Highness. And if you don’t stop yapping, I’ll have no choice but to throw another one at you until you’ve learned your lesson.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

But in the time it takes me to say it, Baptiste has already scooped up another snowball and thrown it in my direction. I quickly dodge out of the way before I get smacked in the face again. My fingertips numb in the cold. The snow from the first missile drips down my neck into my collar.

“That’ll knock the prissy princess out of you,” Baptiste declares as another projectile whizzes over my head.

I roar like a lioness, reaching down for my own scoop of snow.

“That’s a declaration of war,” I warn, prepping a retaliation.

I chuck the snowball at Baptiste as he ducks away, laughing.

Any plans for skiing now fall away as we engage in the most epic of snowball fights.

* * *

Now more civilized after our snowball war, Baptiste and I are served dinner on a restaurant balcony as the sun slowly sets behind the mountains. There’s a golden glow cast over us as the last of the natural light fades.

“So, tell me, what’s the deal?” I ask Baptiste as I take a sip of wine. “How come you are a natural on the ski slopes?”

He tilts forward conspiratorially.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

“Go ahead.”