Page 50 of See You Next Winter
Ryan sits on thelip of a snowbank, rummaging in his backpack for the chocolate spread sandwiches he made before leaving his house this morning. Once I’ve jammed my skis and poles into the snow, I drop my helmet next to his and sit behind him.
The back of his jacket is warm from the midday sun, and I rest my cheek against it, then pull at his collar so I can kiss the skin at the nape of his neck. He hums and a shudder rolls down his spine.
“Here’s your sandwich,” he says, passing it back over his shoulder. I take it, then rub my nose against the back of his head and inhale deeply.
“Did you just sniff me?”
“I really like your hair gel,” I tell him, raking my fingers through the tufts his helmet has ruffled up. I still can’t believe I get to touch him like this, though my spidey senses are on alert in case one of our parents skis past our chosen picnic spot.
“That’s weird.”
“No, what’s weird is opening pots of it in the supermarket back home so I can remember what you smell like.”
“You are such a freak,” he teases, grabbing my thighs and pulling them tighter around his waist.
I yelp and throw my body back into the snow. “Careful! You’ll tip us over the edge. I’m not ready to die.”
“At least we’d die happy,” he says, leaning back so his head rests on my stomach.
In these stolen pockets of time, my thoughts run away with me. “I wish we could live here all the time.”
He makes a satisfied humming noise. “What would we do?”
“I’d like to teach skiing, I think. Maybe guided touring.”
“You’d be so good at that, but what about summer?”
“Bikes. Walking. Swimming in the lakes. Beers. Barbecues. Suntans.”
“Sounds like a pretty good life to me,” he says, rolling over and pressing himself up to kiss me.
Four days later, I’m back home in Edinburgh, sobbing my way through unpacking. When I pull my half-zip fleece out of my suitcase, something falls to the floor and rolls under the bed. I drop to my knees and scramble about for it, but I know what it is as soon as my palm wraps around the hard plastic container.
Twisting open the cap, more tears come when I press my nose to it. It smells like green apples, mountain air, and Ryan’s hair.
Chapter 39
Ryan
Cameron moved out inearly June, and though I should have seen it coming, it was still a shock. It’s been real quiet around here ever since, and as nice as it would be to split the rent, I don’t have the time, energy, or motivation to hunt for another roommate.
I’m almost certain I’d never find another one like him, even if I think he’s a dick for falling in love with my sister and ditching me for her.
There isn’t much time to dwell on it while I’m working long days on a new sci-fi series. It’s been a few years since I worked on this genre, and I enjoy the technical challenge, but my whole life feels like it's spent working, eating, sleeping, and trying to catch Kayla whenever I can. One more month and I’ll be able to find some time for myself again.
“You missing Cam?” she asks, her phone propped up on her kitchen counter while she gets ready for a day of work.
“Missing you more,” I tell her, and she pokes her tongue out at the camera. The topic of us as a couple is strictly off-limits, another unspoken rule I’m doing my best to uphold. Ever since she flew out to see me, our conversations are light and playful, with a sprinkling of filth if we find a convenient time.
“You should visit him when this production wraps, have a few days at home. You haven’t taken abreak all year.”
“You’re one to talk, Miss Climbing Mountains Seven Days A Week.”
“That’s my business, Ryan, and my job doesn’t feel like work, so it’s fine.”
There was a time where mine didn’t feel like work either. When I was fresh-faced in Hollywood and hungry for all the experience I could get. Most people don’t think about the work that goes into making a film or TV show sound good, but I loved being part of a team that makes all it come together. I still get a thrill seeing the final cut and my name in credits, but now I’m approaching my thirties with a backache from sitting at a desk in a dark room most days.
“Where are you trekking today?”
