Page 40 of The Lodge

It can’t be more than forty degrees out here.

“How are you not freezing?” I ask, shutting my laptop. I could use a little break.

Tyler shrugs, and I force my eyes up to his face.

The face that was so close to mine last night. The lips I kissed—and that most definitely kissed me back.

“You get used to it. I like to come out here first thing in the morning with my coffee to help me wake up.”

“It’s hardly first thing in the morning,” I reply.

Understatement: it’s well past noon.

“Not the first time I’ve been out here today,” he says, grinning, a reminder that not all of us overslept this morning.

“Do you have a lot of private lessons to give later?”

“I’ve got three this afternoon,” he says. “But I’ve got time for another five o’clock if you want it?”

I’m still sore from all the skiing I’ve done this week, and probably from the ice skating, too—but it’s too tempting. Especially since I now know, thanks to the deep dive I did on the ski school pamphlet, that he technically doesn’t advertise five o’clock slots since it’s borderline too dark at that time.

He’s made exceptions to spend time with me this week, and I can’t fully process it without a blush creeping into my cheeks.

“Sounds perfect,” I say.

Tyler nods toward my table full of books. “Those for your project?”

“Research, yeah,” I say.

Casually, I shift my laptop on top of them so he won’t be able to tell what they are—a trio of coffee table books about True North. The spines aren’t facing him, so I doubt he saw too much. But still.

“Did the guy you’re writing about ever call you back?”

“Finally, yes.” I make a face. “Turns out his phone was dead because he dropped it in the ocean.”

Tyler cracks up, eyes crinkling at the corners. “He did not.”

“If he didn’t, he’s a pretty convincing liar,” I say.

“Or a pretty creative one, at least.” He gestures to my laptop. “Is it hard not to talk about the book?”

“Not as hard as you’d think,” I reply. “I mean, this guy’s life is living rent-free in my head right now—but that also means I want tostopthinking about it whenever I’m not working.”

“I bet you wish you could talk about whatever it was that inspired such violence against your earbuds.”

I shudder, wishing I could unhear Sebastian’s melismatic journey through an unholy number of octaves.

“Be glad I can’t inflict it upon you,” I say.

I’m dead serious, but he laughs.

“Well, good luck with all of that.” He raises his coffee mug in a toast. “And hey, I just wanted to tell you… last night was a lot of fun. I’d love to take you out again.”

The memory of last night—his hands on my hips, his lips hot against mine—

Fire and ice andmagic—

All of it comes crashing back.

---