Page 14 of Wishing on Snowflakes

CHAPTER5

Gwen

5 Days Later

The guy in the ski shop who got me outfitted with boots and mounted the bindings on assface’s board showed me how to snap on and snap off of them about twenty times. I wouldn’t let the poor lad move on with his life until I had demonstrated it all on my own half a dozen times in a row. Okay, so I’ve got that part nailed. Now to learn how to stand on the thing, and maybe eventually ride it down a hill without colliding with a snow groomer in an epic explosion.

After emptying my bladder and pulling up the bulky snow pants that give me flashbacks to elementary school, I venture out into the clear, sunny morning. Despite how the sunlight reflects off the crystal snow, there’s a definite bite of cold in the air.

When Kyle and I squared away our appointment over the phone, he said to meet him over at the rope tow of the bunny hill, a.k.a., the small hill that has nary an incline where they teach toddlers and other inexperienced novices to ski and board. It’s so small, there’s no need for a chairlift. I don’t see Kyle here yet, and it doesn’t look that hard. I bet I could try it once while I wait for him.

Although I think the point of the rope tow is to hold on and let it pull you while you ride on your board. Not fall down like a plastic action figure while it drags your awkwardly supine body up to the top while onlookers stare curiously.

No matter. I made it to the top, and with the help of two kindly ski instructors, stood in an upright position.

As I look down, I seriously rethink my decision to try the first steps on my own—considering how I fell coming up the hill.

“Gwen!” Kyle calls, pulling me from my thoughts. He’s all decked out in black and white gear with electric blue embellishments. He’s got it all, except a board on his feet, and he pushes his goggles up on his head as he stops in front of me, showing me those buttery-brown hazel eyes.

Is someone playing “Dream Weaver”?

Without his normal black frames, those eyes sparkle with a brilliance that rivals the snow. Aaand my left ovary just fainted.

“Hi.” I wave and try not to coo while a smile warms my face and my right ovary rushes over to fan the left with aCosmomagazine.

“This is the top of the hill,” he playfully points out, tugging on one of my braids.

“I know. I just wanted to give the rope tow a try,” I explain.

“How’d it go?”

“I fell down. Where’s your board?” I deflect.

“It’s better to give a first timer a lesson without one. I can’t help you very well on your board if I’m stuck on mine.”

Ah. Perhaps I’ll look less like a jackass if he isn’t next to me on his own board, showing me up and shit.

“What’s S. M. stand for?” He points at my board.

I hadn’t noticed until now. Scott’s fucking initials are etched into the finish in a frosty blue. Perfect.

I don’t want to go there, but I can’t help the words that pop out of my mouth. “Some Moron.”

He drops his head back in a throaty laugh, and a small wave of pride rolls over me before he composes himself and takes both of my gloved hands in his.

“So,” he starts, “there’s hardly any angle to this hill, and we’re going to take it nice and slow.” His voice is smooth, sure.

I nod, trusting him. He does this all the time, right?

“You’re going to start by shifting your weight to the front of the board nice and easy,” he coaches.

I follow directions, nudging my board and holding my breath when it starts to glide.

“Good,” he praises with a grin. “Now, you’re going to lean on your heels just slightly and focus your weight on your front leg so that you’re heading downhill, and I’m going to swing you around so that you’re toe side. Understand?”

“Yep,” I chirp while shifting my weight to my heels and letting him guide me around like we’re doing a little dance. During the maneuver, my heart jumps up to sit and shiver at the base of my throat. I breathe in a gasp of cold air when I feel my board coast to a stop.

“There.” Kyle’s voice breaks through as my heart lets out a sigh of relief and drops back down in my chest where it belongs.

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