54. Kayla

Chapter 54

Kayla

The mountain is buzzing with people when the ski slopes open and she returns to her full winter glory. We’ve only had a few snow showers in the village, but there’s still something so pure and childlike about stepping out of the house and catching snowflakes with my tongue.

Knowing things will be busy soon, I blocked today out in my calendar, wanting a day on the mountain that’s just for me. The snowpack is still forming, but there’s good coverage on some of the higher slopes, so I head out early to get my ski legs back before stopping at The Marmot for lunch.

The packed terrace is full of locals waiting for their first French onion soup of the season, and I stop to say hi to a few friendly faces. I’m about to head inside to order when I spot Ryan sitting on a deckchair, book in one hand, cold beer in the other.

My heart soars when I see him. That’s my man, right there, chilling out and soaking up the winter sun like it’s what he was born to do.

My man.

The thought is like a snowball straight in the face, a cold shower bringing me to my senses.

What am I playing at?

My body casts him in shadow as I approach, and he shields his hand to look up and see who stole his sunshine .

“Oh hi, Bunny. How are you?”

I’ve kept my distance these past couple of weeks, hiding when I see him in town, avoiding the chalet and Rico’s in case I run into him there. But he’s still here, and this is getting ridiculous.

I should be able to sit in his lap, kiss him freely, catch up on our days. More than that, I should have skied with him this morning, should have woken up in his arms and drank our morning coffee in our pyjamas with the radio on.

That’s my man, and he's here in the mountains, and it’s time to stop this nonsense.

“I’m ready for our third date,” I tell him. He sets his beer down on the low plastic table next to him.

“Sounds great. Just name the time and place, and I’ll be there.”

“My house. Now.”

His jaw drops, and he leans forward, but then crosses his arms and sinks back down again. “Ah, but I’ve got this beer, good book, and the view is super nice today. I don’t know if you noticed.”

I roll my eyes and kick his ski boot with mine. “Do you want to fuck me or not?”

He bursts out laughing, then has the nerve to pick his beer back up and finish it painfully slowly, his eyes locked on mine the entire time.

Once it's finished, he tucks his book inside his jacket pocket, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then reaches out for me to help him up out of the low deckchair.

We’ve spent many an afternoon laughing at folks struggling to get out of these while afflicted by a triple threat combination of ski boots, wet deck, and one beer at altitude.

I’m about to take his hand when I change my mind and start backing away. His brows knit together and he watches me hop down from the edge of the deck and run over to where I’ve left my kit in a sea of skis. Thankfully mine are custom, so they’re easy to spot.

“Last one to the bottom’s a rotten egg!” I yell back at him, fastening my helmet, then clipping my boots into my skis, grabbing my poles and shooting off down the hill. I always win our races, but there’s never a prize, until now.

“You're a sneak, Kayla!” I hear him call after me, boots clomping on the wood as he runs to find his own skis from the stand. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

Here’s hoping.

It’s not the best head start, and the snow is still patchy in places where the morning crowd has swept up the perfectly groomed piste. If I wasn’t so invested, I’d spin around and ski backwards, a skill I mastered at a much earlier age than him, and taunt him the entire way down.

There’s not enough snow coverage in the lower part of the mountain, and it will be a few more weeks until we can ski right down to the chalets. My apartment is closer, but we still have to take a chairlift to get down the mountain, and I hurtle through the barriers with Ryan hot on my tail.

Thank God I found him early. In an hour or two, there’d be a twenty-minute queue for this lift, but most people aren’t ready to give up on the mountain yet.

Once I’m in position, I wait for the four-seater bench to loop round and scoop me up. I’m certain I’ve won, until he barrels through the emergency stop barrier, ducking around the side and nudging me out of the way with the full force of his body.

The alarm sounds, the chairlift grinds to a halt, and Ryan gets an angry earful in French .

“ Désolé, désolé, ” he calls, holding up his hands in surrender. The lift operator resets the button, and kick-starts the mechanics, all those moving parts crawling back to life as we begin our descent.

“Think you can get rid of me that easily?” he says, clutching the side of my jacket and dragging me across the vinyl seating until I'm by his side.

We tuck our ski poles underneath our thighs, unclip our helmets and then his mouth is on mine, and my hands are in his gorgeous, messed up hair.

We make out like the teenagers we once were; all tongues and teeth and zero fucks given. We can’t stop laughing, but we keep going, even when passengers on the way up whoop and cheer as we pass them, sending up a chorus of ‘ooh la la’ and ‘get a room’ .

I have a room, and once I get him in it, I’m never letting him leave.