Page 23 of Head Over Skis

I have to do a double take to be sure I’m not hallucinating Rory standing there. He’s still there, his large frame out of place in the cramped gift shop.

He’s holding a mug of something hot, steam twirling up from the surface as he lifts the edge to his lips and takes a sip before setting the mug down on a side table.

‘Do you work here?’ I ask, trying to figure out the when, how and why of him being here. Is this what he does when he’s not teaching?

He shakes his head before I start believing he’s a part-time gift shop owner. ‘No. But the owner, Claudia, is a family friend and she likes me to pop by when I can. I reckon it’s less for a chat and more so she can take a break, like she is right now.’

He tuts, then adjusts a Christmas ornament that’s spun to face the wrong way.

‘Sounds like you’ve spent quite a lot of time here if you’re friends with the shop owners,’ I comment.

He shrugs. ‘Something like that.’

He doesn’t elaborate and switches the conversation by walking over to me and pointing at the patch I was mid-removing. ‘Orange. Is that your favourite colour?’

It’s not, and that’s the first time I notice the one I’ve picked out is that colour. I like it, but I couldn’t say it’s my favourite. I don’t have one; my favourite colour shifts depending on whatever I’m painting. When I’m back home in the woods near my parents’ house on the outskirts of London it’s green. Green like the leaves, the clusters of trees or the moss. When I’m in the city, sometimes it’s red. Like buses, postboxes and the circle of the tube station signs.

‘I don’t really have a favourite,’ I admit.

‘In that case…’ He reaches over my shoulder to pluck a badge which has a midnight-blue background and white thread for the letters. ‘Get this one.’

His fingers gently circle my wrist and he turns it so my palm is facing upwards before pressing the patch into it. Examining it more closely, I’ll admit it has a lovely design. The background appears to be speckled with little white dots like falling snow.

‘Why this one?’

‘Because blue is my favourite.’

It’s only a mundane fact, the most generic of them all, but I still squirrel it away. I think about buying it because it’s pretty, definitely not due to the fact that it’s his favourite, but then I remember what he said when he first saw me.

‘What about it being bad luck?’

He seems to have quickly changed his mind as he bats his hand through the air between us. ‘It’s bad luck for most people, but I’ve heard that you have a pretty great instructor so…’

He might be cocky, but his confidence is annoyingly attractive.

His expression changes to one more serious before he next speaks. ‘Lottie, I’m really glad I bumped into you, because I wanted to say—’

‘I found the other magnet Penny was talking about and look at the size of this guy’s knob!’

Tilly bursts into the moment from one of the hidden parts of the shop, thrusting a magnet in my face that indeed features a disproportionately large penis for the small ceramic man it’s moulded onto.

‘Ah, that’s one of Claudia’s favourites. I’m not sure she’d actually let you buy it.’

It’s then that Tilly notices Rory, her head swivelling like a meerkat between the two of us. ‘Oh! Sorry, was I interrupting something? Ignore me! Nothing to see here except a concerningly inaccurate depiction of male anatomy.’

She starts to back away, walking on her tiptoes like she’ll become invisible if she’s quiet enough. Rory lifts his chin in greeting at someone behind me, and when I turn there’s a lady who’s crossing the road and heading towards the shop. I guess she must be Claudia.

‘It’s fine, I actually better be going. I have some prep to do for the quiz tonight.’

‘Quiz?’ Tilly’s head reappears from behind a spinning postcard display she tried hiding behind. ‘We’re going to be there too!’

Rory turns to me for confirmation, and I nod.

‘Still brainstorming our team name, but yeah, we’ll be there.’

He’s still for a moment, considering this information before the bell dings again above the door. The owner returns and immediately spots Rory’s discarded mug, which earns him a chiding glare. He picks it up and moves to take it into a back room, pausing before he disappears, turning back towards me. ‘I’ll see you tonight then, Lottie.’

He’s gone around the corner before I can reply, and I realise he didn’t continue whatever it was he’d started to say. I’m left alone, my thumb stroking idly across the patch still sitting in my palm.