Page 75 of Just Let Go

“Then I should work on the designs for the Winter Carnival.”

“The ones you already finished?”

She groaned. Finally, she stuck a gloved hand in his and he pulled her up. Their eyes were hardly level, given that she was about a foot shorter than he was, but her big attitude made up for her small stature. “I’ll go easy on you. I promise,” he said. “We’ll start really slow.”

“This from the fastest skier in the country.” She stuck her hands on her hips and looked up in the direction of the very small, barely-an-incline hill where a group of tiny children were having a lesson.

“Have you been reading up on me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Hardly.”

He straightened his skis. “Well, I’m pretty sure I’m not the fastest anymore.”

She glanced at him, and before she could pity him, he started off for the bunny hill. “You coming?”

Quinn stood there for a few seconds, then finally grabbed her skis and poles and followed him. He knew because her shadow gave her away. He had a feeling she would rather be cleaning out sewers.

They stopped at the bottom of the chair lift, and she stood there, shaking her head. “This is a bad idea.”

“You’re going to have to put the skis back on.” He motioned for her to put them on the ground, then knelt down and set the skis on either side of her feet. “Step in.”

She did as she was told and he clicked her boots in.

He led her over to the chair lift and waited until the guy operating it waved them over. Her face had practically turned the color of the snow.

“I’m not going to let you fall off,” he said.

She glanced at him but didn’t respond. They stood at the loading spot as the chair came behind them, and Grady reached back to steady it as they both got on.

“There,” he said, once they were moving. “Not so bad, right?”

She nodded, but he could see there was still fear on her face. Their feet hung over the ground as it moved them up and over toward the bunny hill. This was usually the point when Grady would get in the zone—clear out his mind and focus on what needed to be done.

But his mind was too cluttered for that.

He helped Quinn off the chair lift and moved her out of the way, stopping when they reached a small clearing near the top of the bunny hill. She stuck her poles into the snow beside her and continued with her scowling.

“First of all, you’re going to have to change your attitude,” he said.

Her eyes widened in full-on irritation, but he gave her a little shrug as if to say,I’m serious about this.

She drew in a breath, one that was undoubtedly meant to calm her down, and the expression on her face softened. Barely.

“There,” he said. “That’s better. Now you’re ready to learn.”

“Are you going to spend the entire time talking to me like I’m seven?”

“If you act like a seven-year-old, I’m going to treat you like one,” he said, doing his very best not to crack a smile. He failed. After all, the whole scene in front of him—her in her marshmallow ski gear, at the top of a hill next to six very small humans who seemed to be catching on at an alarming rate—was amusing.

“I’m an adult,” she muttered. “Why am I putting up with this?”

“Because you’re an adult who hasn’t done anything fun in—how old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Twenty-eight years.”

“Very funny.”

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