Page 14 of The Lodge

Now it’s his turn to blush. “Just a little. But I can’t place you.”

Interesting.

“You’re a reader, then?” I ask.

“I love spy thrillers. Bonus points if they’re in really epic settings—my favorite one is set in Prague. Have you written anything like that?”

“I’ve never written a novel before,” I say. “But that’s actually why I’m here, to work on a book. Ghostwriting a memoir.”

“Isn’t that an oxymoron?” he asks. “Ghostwriting… a memoir?”

I laugh. “You would think so.”

“That’s amazing,” he says. “Anyone I’ve heard of?”

“The whole world has heard of him, so probably. I’m not really allowed to say more.”

“So how’d you get hired to ghostwrite a memoir if you’ve never written a book before?”

“I’m a writer in my day job, just not a novelist,” I say, weighing just how specific to get—I’ve probably already said more than I should. “My sister moved in a month and a half ago and wrecked my writing schedule. I couldn’t get anything done at home, so they sent me here instead.”

“Must be a big deal for them to hook you up like that,” he says, impressed. “Be glad you weren’t here a couple weeks ago for Presidents’ Day—this place was as crowded as I’ve ever seen it.”

He grins, gesturing to the wide-open expanse of snow before us. We’re far from the only ones out here, but the space is so vast we might as well be. I turn to glance behind me, trying to see what he sees, but it throws my balance off for a second—he’s quick to steady me, catching me with one strong arm around my waist before I turn into a total disaster.

His hand feels sothere—the sort of strong-but-tender touch I haven’t felt in years, if ever. Whenever Blake put his arm around me like that, it always felt… so… possessive.

“When’s the last time you skied, again?” he asks, still steadying me.

“Six years ago, with some friends from college.”

“And you went pretty often before that?”

“Almost every year with my family until I turned twelve, yeah—sometimes twice a year.”

But then Lauren came along and we never went again.

“Okay, so let’s just spend today getting you used to being on skis again—we can do a few practice runs here in the Zen Zone, and if you’re feeling good, we can try something a little more difficult tomorrow.”

“You’re pretty confident I’llwantto come back tomorrow.”

“I’m pretty confident you’ll want to come back every day, honestly.”

“You’re so cocky,” I laugh.

“Just speaking from experience,” he says smoothly, as if nothing has fazed him at all. “Everyone books me again.”

“Maybe I’ll be the first who doesn’t.”

“Maybe I’ll make it so good you can’t refuse.” He raises those thick, dark eyebrows.

“You’re ridiculous,” I tease, rolling my eyes for effect even though I feel my cheeks heating up. “Maybe we should actuallystartthe lesson now?”

We head over to something called the “magic carpet”—a conveyor-belt-like ski lift that will carry us up the bunny slope.

“Since you learned from your brother, I’m guessing you’ve never used one of these before?” Tyler asks as he demonstrates how to step onto it.

I shake my head, following his lead.

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