Page 62 of The Season
My certification might be incredibly limited, as Eddie pointed out the other night. I might not be able to teach at another resort, and I might be at the very bottom of the instructor hierarchy here. But I did it.
For the briefest of moments, I contemplate calling my parents, raving to my mom and dad. Telling them what I did. That their little Hawai’i-raised child managed to pass the exam to become an instructor.
And then I remember how angry they’d been when I told them I wasn’t enrolling for second semester. That I wasn’t taking the LSAT. How they said I’d be wasting my education.
“It’s not going to bite you.”
An unfamiliar voice has my head snapping up, my cheeks prickling with heat at the sight of a weathered face smiling down at me, pale eyes crinkling with amusement.
“You’re one of the new instructors, I take it.” The man thrusts his hand out, his smile widening at my evident surprise and embarrassment. “I’m Pete.” He nods to the locker next to mine, then winks. “Your locker buddy for the season.”
I take his hand, giving it a firm shake, meeting his eyes with my own, the way my grandpa taught me when I was ten or so.
You’re a pretty girl, Lily. People are going to underestimate you because of it. That can be useful sometimes, but you’re going to have to work twice as hard to make people respect you. Keep your handshake firm, maintain eye contact—no, don’t smile. A man can smile, and look friendly, approachable. A woman smiles and she looks weak.
Of course, he’d been preparing me forhisworld—for the world of corporate meetings and courtrooms. Not for this.
“Lily Dean,” I say, injecting as much false confidence in my voice as possible, resisting the almost instinctive urge to smile.
Pete straightens, blinking in surprise before dipping his head, looking almost contrite. He releases my hand, then drops his gaze to where my jacket rests, folded on the bench. “Hawai’i, huh?” He looks back up at me, cocking his head with a mixture of curiosity. “Can’t say we get many instructors from there.”
I give him a tight smile, and am thankfully spared having to reply when he continues talking.
“I’m a local—born and raised in Utah, started teaching skiing thirty years ago.”
He’s opening his locker, pulling out his gear, his eyes pointedly averted away from me as he starts to undress. I follow his cue, and focus my attention on unpacking my duffle, pulling out my thermals and layers before peeling off my sweater and jeans with trembling hands, stripping down to my sports bra and underwear.
“There’s a few of us old guys still teaching,” he continues, huffing slightly with the effort of pulling on his ski socks. “Oh, hey John,” he says. I see him wave to someone in my periphery, but I keep my eyes on my empty locker as I step into my thermals. “This is Lily, one of the new snowboard instructors.”
“Welcome,” a voice rumbles, just as I’m pulling on my thermal top. “Another snowboarder, huh. I thought we’d seen the end of that trend.”
“I told you ten years ago it wasn’t a trend,” Pete retorts, sounding irritated. “You sound like an old man when you say crap like that.”
I bite back a smile and dare a glance up from my locker. Like me, Pete is dressed in his thermals, while the newcomer—John, presumably—is glowering at Pete as he unzips his windbreaker. Maybe years on the snow have weathered them, but they both look to be in their fifties or sixties.
John grumbles out some inaudible reply that has Pete chuckling, then glances my way, bushy eyebrows lifting. “Oh. A lady instructor.” He blinks in surprise, and Pete chuckles.
“I told you her name was Lily, you old fool. What did you expect?”
John scowls, weathered cheeks reddening as he shoves his jacket into his locker, muttering something aboutyoung people’s names these daysandyou never can tell.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, then quickly pull on the rest of my gear, a surge of fresh excitement coursing through me when I zip up my instructor’s jacket.
“Lily.”
Liam’s voice brushes over me just as I’m pulling on my helmet, and I spin to face him.
His eyes track over my uniform, going from my borrowed goggles—his goggles—to my worn boots, a rare smile curving his lips when he sees my name badge. “You ready for your first day?”
Behind me, John and Pete have gone oddly silent, their conversation reduced to hushed whispers that have me suspecting they’re watching my and Liam’s exchange with unabashed interest.
“Yah. I think so. Thanks,” I say, feeling suddenly breathless. I tell myself it’s just the excitement of starting a new job, the anticipation of teaching my first lesson, but I know that isn’t entirely true. Not when the weight of Liam’s gaze has my skin heating beneath my new uniform.
Liam gives a slow nod, then looks at me in silent expectation. Before I can work out what it is he’s not asking, Tessa rounds the corner, her new-season board tucked under her arm, the lacquer a mixture of pinks and purples that matches her manicure.
“Oh, hey Liam.” Her grin widens as her eyes land on me, taking in my crisp uniform that probably screams newbie instructor. “It fits you perfectly.” She tilts her chin toward the exit. “You ready to go?”
“Yah,” I say, still sounding breathless.
