Page 51 of Snowed In with You

‘Yes,’ said Nate, raising his eyebrows. ‘And even if it wasn’t, you don’t do proper relationships.’

‘I do not. But hey, we’ll always have Zermatt.’ She said it breathlessly, like the star of a drippy romcom movie, making Nate laugh.

‘But just on the off-chance there’s a rescue vehicle coming,’ he said, his voice muffling as he dipped his head under the covers, ‘I’d quite like to make the most of your naked body.’

‘I haven’t had a shower,’ shrieked Lucy. ‘Let me out!’

‘No,’ said Nate. ‘I’m half French, washing is strictly optional. You smell filthy in the best possible way.’

‘Yes, but I’m NOT half French.’ Lucy laughed as she reluctantly batted him away. ‘I need to wash.’

‘Fine. But I need you to come straight back to bed and not get dragged into one of Gunther’s schemes to fix things.’

‘I promise,’ said Lucy, extracting herself from his grip and crawling onto all fours as she looked for Monica’s discarded pyjamas. ‘While I’m gone, can you pump one of these beds up? I’m going to have bruises for days.’

‘I will kiss every one of them better.’

‘You’re too good to be true,’ laughed Lucy, draining the rest of her coffee. ‘You know that, right?’

Nate shrugged. ‘Maybe you bring out my best side.’

‘Hmm. Maybe it’s the altitude.’

‘Does it matter? I’m still going to be here waiting when you get back.’

Lucy rolled her eyes and padded downstairs, feeling a little lightheaded and giddy. Was that a hangover, or Nate? The bathroom door was firmly locked, so presumably Willem was still in there. She waited impatiently, desperately needing the loo and taking an inventory of all her bruises. Her neck felt like she’d scratched it, and her inner thighs ached too, possibly from spending too much time with her legs open.

The door opened in a billow of steam, but it wasn’t Willem, it was Chantal.

‘Oh, hi,’ said Lucy. With no make-up and her wet hair hanging down her back, Chantal looked about twenty, making Lucy feel ancient and haggard in comparison.

‘Hi,’ said Chantal, her eyes widening at the sight of Lucy.

‘Just going to grab a quick shower. My clothes from yesterday are wet, is there any chance I could borrow some of yours?’

‘Sure,’ said Chantal, her eyes drifting from Lucy’s dishevelled hair to the scratch on her neck. Her eyes hovered there for a moment, and it occurred to Lucy that the scratch was possibly a love bite. She blushed, mortified that she was a thirty-two-year-old woman who’d spent the night making out like a teenager at a school disco. And even worse, Chantal knew it too, and presumably within ten minutes everyone in the Guntherhütte would also know it.

‘I’ll leave some clothes on the stairs for you,’ said Chantal, looking like her world had ended.

‘Thanks,’ said Lucy, edging past Chantal and quickly closing the door behind her. The shower was tepid at best, but it still felt blissful on her tender skin and within moments, she was restored to her usual self.

She wrapped herself in a towel that was still damp from last night, and hurried back upstairs to the attic, the cool air on her skin making her shiver. She imagined Nate waiting, warm and naked and ready, and pushed aside the thousand reservations she had about making this more than a one-night stand. What else were they going to do while they waited for mountain rescue? Take up knitting?

‘I’ve pumped up the beds,’ said Nate as she closed the door and picked her way back across the floor. Nate had turned the torch on again, but hidden it under his towel so it gave off a soft glow that made him look ghostly pale.

‘Hmm,’ said Lucy, ditching her towel and sliding under the duvet next to him. ‘Not a line you ever hear in sexy movies, is it?’

‘No. What would we call the movie version of this adventure?’

‘What, the story of the Guntherhütte crew?’ asked Lucy, rubbing her cold feet on the mattress. Nate wrapped his arms around her and spooned her cold body into his warm chest.

‘No,’ said Nate, his voice low and seductive as he softly stroked her arm. ‘This story. You and me.’

‘Oh,’ said Lucy, feeling slightly off-balance. ‘Well, that would probably be one of those cheesy Netflix romcoms, wouldn’t it?’

‘Almost certainly, but it needs a name. That’s your speciality.’

‘Hmm . . .’ Lucy felt like she was at one of those crossroads in a conversation where she could keep things light and fun, or head down a path signposted deep and meaningful. Right now, light and fun felt like the safer option. ‘How about Things Snowballed?’