Page 25 of Christmas With My Ex

I swallow hard and give her a half-hearted smile. “It’s, uh, interesting.”

She snorts, shaking her head. “You hate it.”

“I don’t hate it,” I protest, holding up my hands defensively. “It’s just... really intense. Like a punch of cinnamon and potpourri to the face.”

Rives laughs, her beautiful blue eyes brighten in a way that makes me weak in the knees. It’s nice, seeing her loosen up, her guard dropping a little. I got a glimpse of that last night when we had a beer, but she was right back to hating me, it seemed, this morning.

We’ve spent the last hour or so making tea and cracking jokes, and for the first time today when I ran into her, literally, it feels easy. This comfortable way we have with each other is what made me fall so hard for her before. And it's still there.

“I guess it’s an acquired taste,” she says, taking a sip of her own cup. “Mine’s pretty good. You just need to have better tea skills.”

I narrow my eyes, feigning offense. “Oh, so now you’re the chai tea expert?”

She shrugs, her smile teasing. “Clearly. I’ve mastered the art. And, I'm sure I have a more sophisticated palate.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I think I’ll stick to coffee.”

We stand there for a moment, the class wrapping up around us, people gathering their things and heading out. I watch her as she adjusts herself on her crutches, her movements slow and deliberate but confident.

I can’t help but feel grateful for this—this unexpected chance to be with her again. It’s weird to think about how close we came to never seeing each other again, and yet, here we are, stuck together in this snowy, small-town resort over Christmas. If it weren’t for the snowstorm, we wouldn’t be standing here, laughing over bad tea and awkward memories.

I'm all but certain if I tried in any other setting she would have given me a polite "hell no," and moved on with her day. Here, she is captive, so I have a chance to work my magic a little more.

Maybe this was what we needed. Forced proximity to break through the walls we’d built after our messy breakup. We’ve both changed, but the connection, the easy banter, the chemistry are all still there.

I take another sip of the tea, trying to push away the thought of our breakup, but something else creeps in instead. Her fall. The sled ride down the mountain. I haven’t told her yet that I was there, that I saw her before the guide stepped in.

Should I? Or is it better to leave well enough alone? She seems happy now, relaxed. Telling her could ruin everything we've done to chill the ice wall between us.

I glance over at her, noticing how the light catches in her hair, the way she’s smiling at something someone else said.

Maybe I’ll just leave it be. It's not like she needs to know I was the second skier on the mountain yesterday.

"Hey, did you ever hear back about your MRI?"

"You know, I didn't. I had a message to call the office from yesterday afternoon. I must have been enjoying my lamb shank, or something else less savory. When I got the message this morning, I called, but no one is answering. I wish they would have just left the results in the message."

"Hmm. Well, hoping for good news for you there."

"No news is good news, right? If we can deny its existence, then it doesn't have the power to ruin our day, right?"

"I like it. Yes, stuff it down and avoid it. Got it. Rules for life."

She hits my arm with the cloth napkin she is holding. I'm loving the fact that we can be together like this, just like it was before things started going sideways.

“Ouch,” I say, feigning a hurt arm. “What do you say about walking to the Last Dollar Saloon? Looks like the sidewalks are mostly clear.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Walking? You mean hobbling?”

“I could always give you a piggyback ride,” I offer, flashing her a grin.

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

I laugh. “Your loss. But seriously, if you’re up for it, we can grab a beer. It’s only a couple of blocks, and the fresh air might do us both some good.”

She hesitates for a second, glancing at the door, then back at me. “You sure you want to be seen with a limping woman on Christmas Eve? Isn't that a sign of a man of ill repute, or something?”

I shrug. “Perhaps, but I hate drinking beer alone, so I'll take what I can get.”

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