Page 1 of Merry on the Mountain
CHAPTER 1
DREW
Snow fallsdown in fat flakes catching on my eyelashes as I load our skis on top of the Jeep. I’m used to this type of weather being from Chicago originally, but my daughter, who grew up in Florida, is still obsessed. She shrieks in delight as snow falls onto her outstretched tongue. When I turn I have to blink back the burning at the back of my eyes at the sight of her pink-tinged cheeks and huge smile.
Most of the time I can ignore the guilt that eats at me when I think about missing the first two years of her life because I didn’t know she existed. But in moments where her pure little soul radiates from her like this, I hate myself. Not that I wouldn’t have been there in a heartbeat for her if I had known her mother, Crystal, fell pregnant after a one-night stand.
In the years following her death and the knock on my door from child protective services, I’ve evicted so many people from my life. My agent and publicist were notified when Crystal reached out to find me and let me know. Instead of tellingme, they told her to get lost and that I wasn’t interested in participating in Izzy’s life.
“Daddy!” She tosses her arms out beside her and falls back onto the snow-covered ground to make a snow angel. “Make an angel with me.”
“Not now, Bug. We have to get to our ski lessons.”
“Yay!” She jumps up and races toward me with exuberance I swear only little kids have.
Before I put her in her car seat, I dust the snow off her coat and snow pants while she pats her mittens together. Bending at the knees I wrap my hands around her waist and say, “Hut hut.”
“Hike,” she calls out as I lift her into the air and set her carefully into her seat. She wiggles out of her coat before I fasten her in and lay it over her lap to keep her cozy.
I wasn’t a center when I played in the NFL, but football was all I knew, and back in the early days of fatherhood, I leaned on it heavily while I figured things out. Now every time I lift her into the car, we have to do the little chant otherwise it’s meltdown city.
I back the Jeep up and pull out onto the switchback road that leads from our townhouse down into the valley. We’ve only lived in Holly Ridge since early spring when I retired and decided a change of pace would be good for both of us. I made friends with a few guys over the summer, all of who are also single dads. One of them, Aiden, is a chef at the ski resort. He suggested taking ski lessons with Izzy this winter as a way to bond with her, to have something just for the two of us to learn together.
It takes about fifteen minutes to find a parking spot, which stresses me out. I hate being late for anything, let alone something where there’s someone waiting for me. My parents raised us with the mentality that if you’re on time, you’re late, and if you’re early, you’re on time. I’ve never operated under any other time management system, which means I’m perpetuallyearly or anxious, there’s no in between. Becoming an instant parent has only increased that particular trait. Especially with a daughter who loves lollygagging around.
She’s so damn cute, though, that I don’t care. Her life, as short as it has been thus far, has had enough upheaval. I’m completely okay with changing my own time management schedule to fit her in.
After unbuckling her car seat, she wiggles back into her coat, slides out of the seat and then jumps out of the Jeep. I put my boots on first and then assist her with hers, at least as much as she’ll let me. Her independent streak is growing by the day now.
“I can carry mine,” she says when I pull our skis off the rack.
“Okay.” I demonstrate how she should carry them. Another of the countless lessons parenting has taught me: how to pick my battles. This is one that isn’t worth fighting.
By the time we’re at the designated meeting point, there’s a woman waiting for us. As we come closer. I realize that she’s beautiful. Her blonde hair is braided on either side of her head, a few strands blow in the wind around the ear warmer she wears. She has the freckled skin of someone who spends most of their time outdoors. Our eyes meet as soon as Izzy and I come to a stop in front of her.
Her lips lift into a bright smile as she crouches down to speak to Izzy first. “Hello, you must be Isabel?”
My stomach flips and warmth spreads through me.
“Everyone calls me Izzy.”
“I like that, Izzy. My name is Willow, but everyone calls me Willa. It’s nice to meet you.”
I watch their interaction with rapt attention. After another minute she straightens and extends her hand to me.
“Hi, I’m Willa. I’ll be your instructor.”
“Drew.” Her hand is warm and soft despite the cold air swirling around us.
“Nice to meet you.” She looks us over. “Since you’re both already suited up and ready to go, let's head over to the bunny slope.” She grabs a set of skis from the rack behind her and gestures for us to follow her. “Have either of you been on skis before?”
“Only water skis for me. She’s never been skiing.” At least I’m nearly certain she hasn’t.
“Perfect. You’ll both be starting from the same place.”
Izzy watches the way Willa moves while carrying her skis and tries to emulate her, dropping the skis because her hands are too small. Before I can help her out, Willa is dropping to a knee and demonstrating how Izzy can carry her own skis easily. She’s patient as Izzy figures everything out, never once getting frustrated or taking over. Once Izzy has the skis secure, we set off again.
“Are you here on vacation?” Willa asks as she falls in step beside me.
