Page 39 of Ski You Later
This isn’t a big deal. Just a fake couple going on a fake date.
I keep repeating in my head that it’s all fake. Not one part of it is real, and there is no need to stress. Myhands don’t seem to get the message though, as I repeatedly wipe the sweat from off my palms.
Roman isn’t supposed to arrive for another fifteen minutes, but the nerves are starting to get the best of me.
I really need to relax. I can’t get hurt by something that isn’t real.
My breathing immediately steadies, letting that information settle, and I lean against the entrance wall. He can’t hurt me, so there is no reason to be scared.
Roman is not Daniel; he has done nothing but support me, and he’s earned my trust. If I let Daniel’s actions continue to affect me like this, then that’s when he truly wins.
The knock at the door causes my entire body to freeze, but I run from the room before he rings the bell and gets Aurora involved. She’s going to the fair with the rest of the team and started sulking when I told her I wasn’t going too. Her mood completely flipped around when I told her why, and then it took me forever to get her to go into her own room.
Pulling open the front door, Roman stands with his hat pulled down low on his head since it’s absolutely freezing outside.
Actually, it’s well below freezing, but when has that ever stopped a Canadian from doing anything? He was looking around outside, but quickly turns his full attention to me as I stand there.
“Hi,” is all my distracted brain can think to say as I admire him. We’re wearing the same stain of jeans, his are a straight leg cut and sit nicely on the outside of his boots. He’s wearing his red Polar Athlete jacket as well, since all ski-related events demand we wear it.
“Hi,” he says in an equally breathy tone. His gaze catches on my face, and he seems slightly taken aback before he schools his features.
I can’t help but smile inwardly; the makeup I decided to go with is serving me right at this minute. It’s just a light brown shadow on my eyes, a subtle winged liner, some blush across my cheeks, and a layer of gloss. It isn’t like I went full glam, but I couldn’t help but appreciate my work when I was done.
The fact that Roman also seems to be appreciating it adds a little bounce to my step as I put on my jacket. “Are you ready to go?” I ask casually. Then frown at the way he hesitates and moves from foot to foot.
“Yeah. Yep, I uh –” He starts to trail off, and I notice one of his hands tucked fully behind his back.
“What are you holding?” I ask immediately. The embarrassment that flushes across his face only making me more intrigued.
I can’t help but laugh and repeat my question, being so bold as to grip his bicep as I attempt to look behind him. Unfortunately, he’s built similar to a giant, and I can’t catch a view of anything.
Planting both my hands on his shoulders, I hop and attempt to gain an aerial advantage. This is quickly thwarted when his arm wraps easily around my waist and plants me back on the front landing.
“I’m stupid. I wasn’t even thinking, and it was so dumb of me,” he starts to ramble.
Then without making eye contact, he pulls out a giant bouquet of colourful flowers. The big pink peonies blend in with the baby’s breath and have a complementary array of various orange ones. The whole set would be absolutely stunning, if they weren’t all completely dead.
He moves to scratch the back of his neck, obviously upset about the fact that flowers don’t survive in sub-zero temperatures. “It’s obviously freezing outside, and they died before I even made it to your door. I’m so sorry.”
Fear is written all over his face, but I can’t take my eyes off the bundle in his arms. Alarm flashes on his face, probably due to the tears that furiously well up in my eyes.
Flowers. He bought me flowers for a date that isn’t even real.
He starts to apologize again, but I cut him off as I reach out and gently take them out of his hands. My watery eyes meet his, and I can’t help but smile ruefully.
“I’ve never had a guy buy me flowers. Thank you so much, Roman.” His flustered rambling comes to an abrupt stop, and he looks at me as though I’ve slapped him.
“You’ve never been given flowers? From another guy?” His questions come out more as statements as if he is trying to process this fact in his own head.
“Nope,” I respond, focusing on my new flowers.
“I thought you had an ex-boyfriend?”
I look up and furrow my brow at him. “You know that I do.”
That blank stare is back on his face as if he doesn’t even understand what I’m saying. “Wait. Are you telling me that he had never bought you flowers? He has never bought you flowers?”
He repeats his question with sheer disbelief lacing every word. Again, I agree with his question-like statement.
