Nichole squeezed his hands. “Promise me you won’t make any steep jumps or race over any moguls.”
“There aren’t any moguls out here.”
Nichole arched an eyebrow at him, revealing her no-nonsense mom expression. The one that moms for centuries had perfected to ensure obedience and respect. He had received the same look from his mom and Nonna growing up.
“I was kidding.” Chase drew her to him and locked his gaze on hers. His voice solemn like a pledge. “There won’t be any moguls or jumps or races. We won’t go over the speed limit. We’ll leave our helmets on at all times and stay on the trail only.”
“And you’ll be careful.” Nichole set her hands on his chest. “Very careful.”
“Absolutely.” Chase tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. Tipped her chin up to capture her full attention. “I promise I’ll watch over Wesley.”
“Who’s going to watch over you?”
“I’ll be fine.” Her concern for him was sweet. Welcome and familiar. But he took care of himself now. “Don’t worry. This won’t be like a bonding thing between Wesley and me.”
“You already connected over your zombie land.” She dropped her forehead on his shoulder. “It’s too late.” Her voice sounded hopeless.
“We won’t connect anymore.” Same as he wouldn’t kiss Nichole anymore either. Or learn any more of her secrets.
She straightened and frowned at him. “How do you intend to do that?”
“We can’t talk much with helmets on.” Chase pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her waist. “It’ll be about the ride.”
The same as their relationship. He’d pretend he hadn’t forgotten this was all fake. A sham. He’d pretend being with Nichole and Wesley was nothing he wanted. “Besides, tomorrow they’ll discover something even cooler than snowmobiles. Then today will be forgotten.”
“You believe that?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” he said. “For boys like them every day is about outdoing yesterday.” He knew because he was one of those boys. Except when it came to Nichole. He just wanted to be with Nichole every day. That would be more than enough.
Chase released her and stepped back. He needed to walk away and remember what Nichole wanted. And that wasn’t him long-term. “I’m going to go change and put on dry clothes.”
And he’d keep adding layers until he’d buried everything he truly wanted.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHASE PARKED THE SNOWMOBILE, slid off his helmet and checked his cell phone. Still no bars or signal reception. He ran his gloved hand through his hair and frowned at the sky. Every tree looked the same: barren, snow covered and dreary. Every trail turn appeared the same as the last. The clouds seemed to have stalled in the sky, offering the same view in all directions. Nature wasn’t to blame for their situation. Rather, the fault belonged to Chase’s poor map reading skills. He’d convinced himself he’d conquered maps. Clearly, he’d lied to himself. “I think we should’ve turned left, not right, back there.”
“So, this isn’t a shortcut?” Wesley slipped off the back of the snowmobile and scooped up a handful of snow.
“Definitely not a shortcut.” Chase set his helmet on the handlebars and stretched his legs.
“Then we should’ve turned left three turns back, then made two rights.” Wesley rubbed his gloved hand under his nose and launched his snowball across the trail. “I thought you knew a shortcut so we could beat Dan and Ben back to the house.”
At this rate, they’d be lucky to beat the sunset home. Dan and Ben were most likely already off the mountain, sipping hot chocolate and relishing their win. The foursome had bet on which of two trails back to the château was faster. The winner got to pick the movie to watch later that night. The losers were on dinner cleanup duty and required to make sure the popcorn bowl never went empty. “I shouldn’t be trusted with a map.”
“That’s okay.” Wesley formed another snowball. “Mom says I shouldn’t be trusted with white clothes or nice new things.”
Chase watched Wesley. The kid tossed his snowball aside, stripped off his glove and stuck his bare finger into the snowdrift as if testing the bath water temperature. No distress wrinkled his face. No fear shadowed him. Chase asked, “You’re really okay that we’re lost on this mountain?”
“Not lost. Just turned around.” Wesley crammed his hand back inside his glove and took the map from Chase. “We just need to backtrack our steps to get to the original trail.”
“You’re sure it’s that easy?” Chase willed it to be that easy. But he’d gotten lost before and had spent hours fixing his mistakes. But he’d never been lost with a child. One he’d vowed to protect.
“Sure.” Wesley shrugged. “I do it all the time to find whatever I’ve lost.”
“Do you lose things often?” Chase formed a snowball. He liked Wesley—liked his honesty and openness.
“I lose things more than Mom likes.” Wesley studied the map, glanced at the trees and then the trail. “She’s always telling me to pay more attention.” He paused and pitched his voice higher. “‘Respect your things, Wesley. Take more pride in your appearance, Wesley. Use a napkin, not your jeans, Wesley.’”
“My mom still tells me to sit up straight,” Chase said, and earned a laugh from Wesley. “And my nonna tells me to eat more vegetables and get off my phone at least once a week.”
“My great-gramma just cooks lots of cookies and pies for me.” Wesley laughed louder. “My great-gramma never gives me any lectures. She tells me that’s my mom’s job.”
Wesley was better behaved than Chase had ever been. “I started cooking with my nonna when I was your age. She taught me how to garden too.”
“Cool.” Wesley smiled over the map, and his eyes sparked. “Can she teach me to cook too? Mom’s great at everything except cooking.”
Chase rolled his snowball away and rubbed his chest. He’d never
