Page 63 of Head Over Skis

I do as he says, but I manage to snatch an extra muffin before I go. I can’t believe how much thought and effort he’s put into this date with less than twenty-four hours’ notice. It’s amazing and confusing at the same time, leaving me wondering if he’s just an incredibly charming guy who enjoys flirting and having a bit of fun for a while, or whether there could be more to this.

But I’m struggling to believe there could be anything more when I still know so little about some elements of his life.

We may have talked about some deep stuff, but what are his plans? His dreams? Does he spend the rest of the year in London after the ski season ends? Does he have another job outside of being an instructor?

These are the kinds of big life questions I asked Adam straight away, wanting to make sure his plan matched mine, otherwise what would’ve been the point in entering something that would’ve inevitably never worked. But how far has that gotten me?

‘Bon appétit.’

A paper plate loaded with food is placed in front of me, and I almost drool. I look around to stop myself from shovelling it all into my mouth straight away, eyes catching on the little shed that must’ve housed all the glasses and plates.

‘So, how many times have you and Kevin pulled this set-up out to impress a girl?’

Immediately I regret asking it when my tone sounds less light-hearted and joke-y and more tarnished with a hint of jealousy.

‘Will you be surprised to know that you’re the only person who’s been here except for me and him?’ he asks, and I am.

So much so that I’m glad when he carries on talking so I don’t have to admit I’d assumed at least Tori would’ve been here.

‘That shed,’ he says, pointing his thumb over his shoulder, ‘was built by us both when we were teenagers, and we used to come here to get away from our parents. My dad was against it from the start. He didn’t like us to be out of his sight, thought it was dangerous. But my mum listened to us begging for our own secret den and a few weeks later all the materials were here.’

He must’ve been coming here for years to have visited while his mum was still alive, and I don’t want to question whether they broke any laws by building this here in the first place.

We both finish off our food in comfortable silence, the sound of other people on the main slope so far in the distance I can barely hear them.

When I push my plate to the side, I’m so full I could fall asleep. It must be obvious too, because Rory bundles two blankets as pillows and goes to lie down, tapping the space next to him. He doesn’t have to ask me twice, and I shuffle so I’m at his side, lying on my back with my face to the sky. I wiggle around as I try to find a comfortable position, but nothing feels quite right. Then his hand wraps around my wrist and pulls it gently towards him, and I instinctively roll over and end up curled with my head on his chest.

‘Better?’

For a second my hand literally hovers an inch above his jacket before I give in and snuggle closer. ‘Maybe, but you know what would make it even better?’

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches to the side and grabs one of the fluffy blankets and throws it over us.

‘I guess you did,’ I concede, letting my body curl into his and telling myself it only feels so perfect because I need the body heat.

His hand drifts to my head and his fingers stroke down over my messy plaits. I try to keep my eyes open and think of something to talk about, but my efforts are futile and I let myself relax into the silence, my body melting down against his instinctively. One minute I remember staring up at the sky, blank and bright as an untouched canvas, one ear pressed against his heartbeat.

In the next, I remember nothing at all.

20

I’m in a dream and I’m lying in a bed with Rory.

It’s one of those dreams where you feel like you’re really there, but it’s dark so I roll over to find the light switch, only to realise there isn’t one.

Because I’m not in a bed.

I’m outside.

I can hear my phone ping from the pocket of my jacket, so I fish it out. It’s blowing up with messages from Tilly.

Where the fuck are you?

I’ve called you a bazillion times, stop making out for one second tolet me know you’re okay please!!!

We’re heading back to the chalet – are you coming back later?

GIRL R U OKAY??