Page 55 of Head Over Skis

‘My what?’ I pat my sides, but somewhere in all the commotion I took off my fleece. Even if I was still wearing it, I now remember that my phone is in the pocket of my coat, which is hanging up inside.

‘Here!’ Tilly appears at my side, thrusting a pen into my hand instead. ‘I couldn’t find any paper.’

How she got there that quickly is beyond me, but when I turn, I see that Meghan, David and Lucas are still gathered at the doorway, all trying to look like they’re engrossed in the paintwork on the wraparound porch.

‘Uh, thanks,’ I say, taking the pen from her hand, although I’m not sure it’ll be of any use on its own.

‘And can you all give us one minute please?’ I shout towards our crowd. ‘I’m sure there are things inside that are equally as entertaining as two people trying to have a conversation!’

I wait until they’ve all started trudging inside before I turn back to Rory.

‘That includes you, Tilly.’ I glance sideways at her, and although she whines and huffs, I can hear her retreating footsteps crunching in the snow as she does what she’s told. I look down at the pen she’s brought out, and shrug. ‘Any chance you’ve got some paper in your car?’

Rory shakes his head, his hand brushing his jaw. His fingers reach out and brush the bare skin above my wrist like it’s a blank canvas, and I can sense us both having the same thought at the same time. He takes the pen from my hand and pauses with it raised a few inches above my skin. ‘May I?’

It’s not quite the page he had in mind, but I nod and he cups the underside of my arm. He lifts it towards him, and the pen tickles as he inks his number onto me as delicately as possible.

‘There,’ he says once the circle of the final digit is completed, smiling at the scribbled lines that stand out in black ink against my pale skin.

It’s like I’m back at primary school, when I used to draw flowers and patterns onto my hands to pass the time. Sure, his number isn’t quite as artistic as my doodles were, but having his handwriting inked onto me makes little butterflies stir in my stomach. He lowers my arm, then places the pen back in my palm and closes my fingers over it.

‘I know you said you want to handle this on your own, but if you ever want to talk, call me.’

I look again at the number, and then quickly cover it by crossing my arms over my chest so it doesn’t get blurred by the snow. ‘Thank you. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?’

‘I hope so,’ he says, and despite the conversation ending we both stand there a while longer.

I wonder if he’s waiting for something. Should we kiss? Should I hug him goodbye? I don’t know what’s going on between us, only that the longer he stands there, the less annoyed with him I feel, and the more his words from earlier keep repeating over and over again in my head. You’ve been on my mind every minute of those lessons, and every minute outside of them.

Was that just something he said because he thought he was about to sleep me with again? Something to bring up the mood, or something more serious?

‘Can I go back inside to grab my shirt first though?’

I snap back to the present, and to the man in front of me, whose skin must be starting to freeze.

‘Shit, yes of course, one second,’ I say, making my careful way back up the front steps and nearly jumping at the sight of the others standing in a line, barely inside the hallway, fidgeting and whispering like school children waiting for the register.

‘You’re all insufferable,’ I say as I scoot slowly past them towards the bedroom, fishing Rory’s discarded shirt off the floor.

I head back outside, putting some shoes on this time before Adam might appear out of nowhere offering to carry me again. Like seriously, what was that about? I know we need to have a proper chat, but I don’t want to have to deal with him right now.

When I boarded the plane here I was in two minds about whether to get back together with him or not. But if the events of today have shown me anything, it’s that my heart is leading me away from him. And even though this thing with Rory can go nowhere, can I really go back to Adam after I know how much I can care for someone else?

When I step back outside, I catch sight of Rory, his body bent down in front of the steps, scooping up snow with a large shovel.

‘So you have that sitting around in your car, but no paper?’

He disregards my question in favour of transferring another batch of snow from the bottom of our steps into the bank off the side of the path.

‘The better question is when’s the last time you guys shovelled out here? If you hadn’t already hurt yourself I wouldn’t be surprised if this ice would do it for you,’ he says, continuing to clear the last few steps and the path leading out towards the main road.

Once he’s carried the shovel to his car and thrown it back in the boot, I hand over his shirt.

‘Thanks,’ he says, taking it from my hand, but I don’t miss the second where our fingers touch, and my body practically jolts.

‘I’d let you keep it,’ he says, pulling it down over his head, ‘but I think I’d get some odd looks if I drove back without it.’

‘It’s cool, it’s yours anyway. Thanks for today, bar the dick-swinging contest at the end.’