Chapter 12

Lucy

After we woke up this morning, we decided to walk back to ride the gondolas so we could see the view in the morning light. We're currently on our way back up, and I love it here. Other than the village below, there isn't anything but trees and mountains as far as you can see. I press my hands against the cool glass, peering out as the world unfolds below us in an endless tapestry of evergreens and jagged peaks.

Beside me, Chance's eyes widen, a childlike wonder replacing his usual stoic expression. "Wow," he breathes, as if speaking louder might shatter the pristine beauty surrounding us.

"It's something, isn't it?" The top of Blackcomb Mountain greets us with a view that steals the breath from my lungs. When the gondola comes to a stop, Chance steps out onto the platform, his gaze sweeping across the horizon.

I fish my phone out of my pocket, snapping picture after picture. "Do you have an account? Maybe I can tag you?" I suggest, scrolling through the photos and selecting the best ones.

He shrugs, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I've got one. I don't really use it much."

"Mind if I bring you into the twenty-first century?" I tease, already typing in his name, my fingers numb but nimble.

"Go ahead. It's Doctor Rebel." He chuckles, glancing over my shoulder at the screen.

I hit post, and suddenly our moment atop the world is part of the digital ether, tagged and shared. "How did you get that name?"

He looks away. "My ex gave it to me."

I wait for him to explain, but he doesn't. I suppose the Harley and leather jacket are the start of being a rebel. I heard Griffin once call a motorcycle a "donor cycle."

We wander the mountaintop and take a short hike down a ski trail. Suddenly, Chance grabs my arm and points to a large black blob much farther down the trail. Immediately, I recognize it as a black bear. We quickly retreat back to the bustle of the mountaintop and the gondola.

The ride down the mountain is no less exciting than the ride up. We watch mountain bikers race down the trails, jumping and spinning, protected only by a bike helmet.

Once we disembark the gondola, Chance looks around the village. "You up for some lunch?" he asks as he points to Molly McGee's Irish Pub.

I nod, and hunger gnaws at me as we step into the dimly lit Irish bar. I'm already critiquing the place in my mind, noting the mismatched furniture and peeling paint that tries and fails to add character. By the time we slide into a booth, I've mentally calculated the mark-up on their "authentic" Irish stew and am not surprised by the steep prices listed on the laminated menu.

"Bit pricey for pub grub, isn't it?" Chance observes, echoing my thoughts as he scans the menu.

I nod. "Feels like they're charging for the atmosphere more than the actual meal," I murmur, trying not to let my disappointment show.

Our server approaches, her smile warm. "Hello there, I'm Mary. What can I get for ye today?" Her accent is thick, lyrical, a genuine slice of Ireland in this otherwise contrived setting.

"Your accent's lovely. Where in Ireland are you from?" I ask.

"Ah, thank ye! I'm from a suburb of Dublin. Stillorgan, if ye know it," she responds.

"Never been, but I bet it's beautiful," Chance says, and I nod along, charmed.

Mary laughs. "It's nothing compared to here when the snow starts falling. That's ski season and the whole village comes alive." She gestures around the bar with a flourish that almost makes me forgive the inflated prices. Almost.

"Must be exciting," I say. "Especially coming from Ireland."

"Sure is," she agrees, a wistful note creeping into her voice. "Plenty of us Commonwealth folks come over for a gap-year adventure. Canada's great for that, easy to work and live, ye know?"

"Sounds like the dream," Chance remarks, and I find myself smiling at his ability to find common ground with just about anyone.

"Anyway, what will it be for lunch?" Mary asks with a professional tilt of her head.

I glance at Chance, who seems unfazed by the prices now, and I decide to follow suit. After all, sometimes it's more about the company and the chance to meet people who carry pieces of the world with them.

"You choose," Chance says.

"Two stews, please," I say, handing back the menus. "And could we get two pints of Red Wagon?"

"Coming right up," Mary says, her smile never wavering as she retreats to the kitchen .

"Here's to new experiences." Chance lifts his water glass for a mock toast.

"Even overpriced ones," I add with a laugh, clinking my glass against his.

Later that evening, the soft glow of the television illuminates the room, casting shadows that dance across Chance's relaxed features. He's sprawled on the couch, utterly engrossed in the movie. I'm perched on the edge of the recliner, a safe distance away, nestled under a blanket that does little to ward off the chill of longing.

I want to close this space between us, to snuggle against him and feel the warmth of his body against mine. But I don't because he's made it clear. We're friends. Still, I wonder how long I can stay in this orbit without crashing into the burning atmosphere of my own desires.

He laughs at something onscreen, and I force a smile, but it feels as hollow as the room's echoing acoustics. When he starts to date again, no matter how amazing the woman might be, I know jealousy will color my perception of her. This thought presses against my chest, making it impossible to relax.

"Good movie?" Chance asks during a lull in the action, turning to gauge my thoughts.

"Yeah, it's hilarious," I lie smoothly, the words tasting like ash on my tongue.

"Next time, you pick," he says with an easy grin, seeming oblivious to the storm within me.

"Deal," I reply.

As the credits roll, I stand, stretching my limbs and carefully schooling my features into a mask of nonchalance. "I should probably get some sleep," I tell him.

"Sure, big day tomorrow. Thanks for watching this with me," he says.

"Anytime," I respond. Why did I think going away for the whole weekend was a good idea? This is too much . I retreat to my room, closing the door behind me.

Lying in bed, I stare at the ceiling. I love spending time with Chance, but it's already making me want more than he's willing or able to give, and that's not fair to him. Maybe we can't be friends. Though the thought of telling him why makes my stomach knot. I just need to get a handle on myself. Stop volunteering for days-long non-dates.

I move my pillow to cover my face, though I resist the urge to scream into it.