9. Kayla

Chapter 9

Kayla

Today was a dream day. Bright bluebird skies, fun clients, perfect snow conditions. The beer they bought me after our last run was crisp, and they left me with a hefty tip and a promise they’ll book me again next year.

To top it all off, I got an hour in my parents’ hot tub with a spicy book after they arrived armed with supplies for dinner. Mum whipped up a light meal of salads and charcuterie, all we need ahead of a few days of feasting, and we've caught up while eating. Though I only see them a few times a year, we video chat a lot, so it doesn’t feel like five months since they were last here.

Both my family and Ryan’s family were lucky to inherit mountain properties, and though they’re listed as year round holiday rentals, we've always kept the Christmas weeks for ourselves.

Mum’s mum was French, and though she later lived in Scotland, she kept the house, insisting her children and grandchildren would enjoy holidays on the mountain as she had as a girl. Our grandmothers were best friends, and our parents spent winters here long before Ryan and I were even born.

It’s been a long time since they passed, but they live on in our memories and traditions.

My parent’s chalet has been improved and extended since then, with a second balcony added to the top floor, a rear terrace with a hot tub, and two additional bedrooms downstairs making it a perfect destination for families. It’s much too big for us three, but it's beautiful and rustic, full of authentic alpine charm and holds a special place in my heart.

In the daytime, our views of the mountain are unmatched, and on a clear evening, you can see further down into the valley and all the little villages twinkling below.

I’ve never known peace or happiness like the feeling I get in this house. I haven’t stayed here since last Christmas, though. It was always a home away from home when I lived in Scotland, but I have my apartment in the next village now, so I’ll probably only stay here for a few nights of their visit. It makes more sense to wake up closer to where I meet my clients each morning.

I know the night could get even better if I swing past Ryan’s house. It would be so easy. All I have to do is put my shoes on and coat on, walk four houses up the lane, and knock on the door.

His parents would welcome me in. We’d make knowing eyes at each other across the room, and I’d kick his ass over cards, but I will not let myself do any of that. It was sweet of him to bring me food this morning, but there is no way I am chasing him for a second of his time. If he wants me, he knows where to find me.

“We saw Cheryl and Mark as we were arriving,” Dad says, topping up my glass with a healthy slug of Beaujolais. “They said Ryan’s home this year.”

My back stiffens. I know exactly where this is going. “Yep, saw him yesterday.”

“That’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” I shove another piece of bread in my mouth.

“The whole gang’s back together,” Mum chimes in.

“What gang? ”

“You three kids. Just like old times.”

I can feel my cheeks turning pink, and it’s not from the heat of the roaring fire we light most days. They’re probably referring to all the times we spent together as children, not the more recent times where Ryan and I played a few strictly after hours games of our own.

As kids, I’d invite him and Hannah round for board games and movies, or we’d go for late night walks with our grandmothers to see the lights in the village. At some point, those nights got later and later. We’d sneak kisses on the doorstep, or say goodnight when our families headed to bed, then fool around on the sofa until it was time to drag ourselves apart.

“It’s different now,” I tell them, hoping they’ll leave it alone. “And anyway, he has a friend with him.”

“A female friend?” Mum gasps.

“No, some American guy he lives with. Cameron.”

“Well, you already look happier than last year,” Dad says, squeezing my shoulder.

Ah yes, last year where I spent every minute I wasn’t skiing moping on their sofa, eating chocolate coins, and crying all over the mountain. Hannah and I met up to ski one morning, but I spent the entire time trying to work up the courage to ask for her brother’s phone number, then hating myself for being so desperate.

“You should not be encouraging this.”

“We’re just saying it’s nice you’re all here, darling,” Mum says. “That’s all.”

My friends back in Edinburgh would say I’m lucky my parents aren’t putting any pressure on me to find a man and settle down. As we approach our thirties, all of them are being asked when grandchildren might be on the cards, as if kids are the ultimate ticket to happiness .

It's not that I don't want kids, but I don't let my thoughts go there. I’ve spent so many years hankering after my next fix of Ryan, I never stopped to think about what our arrangement meant for my long-term relationship prospects. Obviously, it’s not going to be him, but his hold on me means I’ve struggled to give anyone else a real chance.

There’s an endless supply of hot guys out here, and most are on vacation or working a season. I’ve always viewed them as an opportunity for some no-strings fun, something to scratch an itch.

Thanks for the sex, see you never.

Meeting someone who lives here year round is much more terrifying. It’s not a big town, and I couldn’t bear the awkwardness of dating someone, then having to see them around when it inevitably went wrong.

And it would. I’d make it go wrong because, despite my attempts to get over him, I’m still a silly little girl with a crush on Ryan Richmond. No man has ever come close to the way he makes me feel.

These years apart have been an emotional rollercoaster that has seen me crying, pining, and cursing his name in equal measure.

I’ve tried to pretend he’s dead to me, but it’s impossible. Sometimes when I ski past a spot that holds strong memories, I wonder if I moved here permanently to be closer to him in spirit, if not geographically. I cruise around the slopes, haunted by the memory of his bright laugh and warm hugs. It’s not fair he’s so good in bed and the best hugger.

I know there are two people in this… whatever this is. I could probably have tracked him down any time, but after the first Christmas where he didn’t come home, every month made it harder to get in touch.

What if he wasn’t bothered? What if he texted back ‘who is this?’ and it wasn’t a joke? I’d never recover.

I’m not going to be caught dead hunting down a man to ask if he would please grace me with his presence for two measly weeks of the year. Trying to move on from him is a constant work in progress, and if he hadn’t shown his face this year, I don't know if I’d ever have been able to give him another.

How long am I supposed to wait for scraps of nothing?