49. Kayla

Chapter 49

Kayla

By late September, the summer vacation crowds have gone, though car rallies and mountain bike races still bring people to the area on weekends. Hiking tours will slow down until the snow comes again in late November, which gives me a couple of months to unwind after a busy summer, and start preparing for next winter.

There’s barely been a moment to stop and reflect on how far I’ve come this year, certainly not while my head and my heart have spent most of it obsessing over Ryan.

My calendar is already two-thirds full for winter, with off-piste ski touring, some family lessons, and a couple of weekends volunteering as a marshal for a freestyle ski and snowboard tournament. A few friends from Edinburgh have booked flights to come and crash with me for long weekends, too.

There’s so much to look forward to, I’m not even worried about whether Ryan comes home this winter. We’ve exchanged a few texts since he flew home in July, but things aren’t the same anymore. I haven’t asked about this December, and he hasn’t mentioned it. Turns out being friends with benefits isn’t sustainable long term, and honestly, it would probably be for the best if he didn’t come.

We gave it our best shot, with the time we could spare for each other, and it didn’t work out. There’s no shame in that, but there’s also no point wasting another year of my life on the impossible. A winter without him would give me a proper chance to move on and think about what I really want from this next decade of my life.

Soon the mountain resorts will be full of the next generation of energetic, young seasonnaires, ready to make new friendships and memories. The memories typically last longer than the friendships, thanks to the transient nature of the work.

Nothing is ever really permanent around here, and part of me wonders what it would be like to have that kind of reliability in my life.

I’m almost thirty. I can’t be crawling bars and running pickup games forever. The guys who move here long term usually bring a girlfriend, a dog, and a campervan with them.

I don’t even know why I’m thinking about men. I don’t need them. Not a single one of them, especially with a box of toys underneath my bed, and a stack of romance novels to make up for their failings.

Love wasn’t what brought me here, anyway. I moved here for me, because the mountains have always been the place I felt happiest, because the first run of the day will wake you up quicker than any cup of coffee. I moved here because even on cold dark days where the snowfall is so thick you can’t see the other side of the slope, I feel like I’m part of something bigger. Something special.

No two days are alike, and getting to see the mountain in her ever-changing glory is a gift. Every ascent and descent has something new to admire. Every client brings their own stories and experiences, and all of them make my life even richer.

The biggest benefit of living here year round is getting to enjoy the full four seasons of food on offer. In summer I eat a lot of fish and grains, but these cooler days have me craving something rich and hearty, a dish I can make and enjoy over a few evenings on the sofa with a good book .

There’s a bigger supermarket twenty minutes drive down the mountain, but I like to get what I can from our local greengrocer, butcher, and bakery. I choose fresh girolles and cèpes mushrooms, the first of the season, a bag of risotto rice, and a bulb of garlic the size of my fist. Early squash will make an excellent soup if I roast them with olive oil and thyme, and I need nothing more than plump, ripe pears to sink my teeth into for pudding.

On my way out, I run straight into a customer on his way in, bouncing off the wall of his chest.

“ Je suis désolé, ” I say, rubbing at the spot on my forehead that I hope won’t bruise. An injured ski guide is not a good look. Two hands grip my shoulders, steadying me in the doorway.

“Sorry, Bunny, I didn’t see you there.”

My head snaps up, and I swear I must be hallucinating, but no. Ryan Richmond is here, in all his gorgeous glory.

“What are you doing?”

“Me? Grabbing some supplies for dinner,” he says, holding up a bag from the butcher’s next door.

How hard did I hit my head?

“Not here in the supermarket,” I hiss. “ Here, here. What are you doing in town?”

“Oh,” he shrugs, a subtle smirk creeping up at the corner of his mouth. “I live here now.”

An embarrassing noise catches in the back of my throat, tears pricking up out of nowhere.

“What do you mean, you live here now?”

“ Je vis ici maintenant. ”

“What the fuck?” I punch him in the arm, and honestly, he deserves it. “Stop being so obtuse with me. Since when?”

“I’ve been here…” he counts off the fingers on one hand, grinning as he stalls me. “Five days, I think. Still a little jetlagged.”

“ Why are you here?”

Ryan cocks his head to one side and takes a deep breath.

His mouth opens and closes a couple of times, and whatever he’s struggling to say, I wish he’d hurry up and spit it out.

“I left something precious behind, and I needed to come back for it.”

His bottom lip wobbles for a second before he bites down on it. I don’t know whether to kiss him or burst into tears, so instead we stand there staring at years of history, a cocktail of emotions fighting their way to the front. Ryan blinks first, rolling his eyes the way he always has when I beat him at something.

“I win,” I whisper, mostly to myself. His hand comes up between us, one fingertip poised to tap the tip of my nose, but he pulls away and shoves his hand deep in the pocket of his jeans.

“It was good to run into you, Kayla,” he says, stepping around me.

“Where are you going?”

“To get the rest of my groceries, then home to make dinner. Chicken and leek pie. Would you like to join me?”

“For dinner?”

“Yes, for dinner,” he says softly, and I don’t understand any of what's happening right now.

Why isn’t he inviting me over for hot tub sex? Why isn’t he dragging me there right now, one hand up inside my shirt? Why is he here at all?

“I have plans,” I tell him, leaving out the part where those plans are stirring a pan of risotto for an hour while I drink the rest of the bottle of white wine and watch back-to-back episodes of Gilmore Girls.

“Maybe some other time, then. I’ll see you around. ”

When he grabs a basket, he spins to face me, that boyish smile spread right across his face. “You look great, by the way,” he calls out, leaving me blushing in the doorway, wondering what alternative reality I've slipped into.

Seeing him takes me right back to those summer nights we spent together two months ago. The closeness, companionship, and acceptance. Days where I had someone to hug me at the end of a long bike tour, someone who shared the mental load and took care of me.

Someone who knows the real me, not just fun mountain Kayla, who’s always got her game face on and up for an adventure. The Kayla who he loves, and who loves him back.