“Oh?” she said after another bite. “What’s wrong with peanut butter cracker sandwiches?”
“Nothing,” Pete said with a laugh. “But for someone who works as hard as you do, it’s hardly enough.”
Cassidy shrugged. Food was fuel, plain and simple. Though this sandwich was a welcome change. “Do you like to cook?” she asked.
“I like to eat,” he said. “Cooking is merely a byproduct.”
They finished off their sandwiches as the lift approached the top. “Where do you want to ski?” Pete asked.
“I just did Pan Face and it was still good at the edges,” she said.
“Let’s do it,” Pete replied. “You lead.”
A thrilling tingle shuddered through her as she pushed off from the lift and soared down the ramp, then cut a sharp turn to the right. The cold wind brushed past her cheeks as she picked up speed, finding its way into the tiny gaps in her neck gaiter and the chest zipper of her coat. She carved a series of short turns to get her blood moving, her edges catching on the more dense, wetter snow underneath the fresh. In her peripheral vision, she saw Pete doing the same, matching her pace, his poles swinging with each turn.
The heat in her quad muscles spread into her core and the slope widened. Cassidy let her turns loose, drawing wider arcs in the snow, leaning her body with each then releasing, feeling weightless at each transition. A whoop sounded from Pete who was now behind her.
Cassidy’s lungs burned and her leg muscles begged for a break, but she pushed on, the final slope steepening. Here she dug her hardest turns, fluffs of snow misting her cheeks, her knees like pistons. Behind her, the sound of Pete’s skis cutting against the slope rang in her ears as if he was chasing her.
Finally, the slope flattened and merged onto the cat track. Pete appeared next to her, grinning, then went into a tuck and sped ahead. Cassidy went after him.
The lift line had thinned further—the lunchtime drop—when they arrived, so that they were still catching their breath by the time they loaded onto their chair and swung away.
“Whew,” Pete huffed. “Have you been down the North Face yet?”
Cassidy tucked her poles under her leg. “Nope.”
“There’s a line not many people know about,” he added.
“Awesome. You lead this time,” she said, feeling warm all the way down to her toes.
They glided down the ramp to the left, and Cassidy followed Pete’s flash of light blue coat down a broad slope. Again they linked turns along the edge, the falling snow blurring her vision. Then Pete dropped suddenly down a steep face partially carved into giant humps. Cassidy made a hop over the ledge and landed in the deep powder with Pete just ahead. Scrubby trees dotted the slope, and they zigzagged through them, Cassidy’s breath sharp and fast in her chest. “Yewww!” someone called at them from the lift above, but she didn’t break her stride to look. The slope cascaded over another edge that steepened below. Cassidy felt her gut lurch as she caught air over the lip. Pete landed just in front of her and continued down, his first few turns explosive, as if his legs were made of coils. She executed a jump turn and found her flow, her core muscles burning with fatigue but her grin stretched wide.
An hour later, they took a short break for water at the lodge drinking fountain, each panting between breaths, then headed back out.
“North Face?” Pete asked, his eyes electric.
“Let’s do it,” Cassidy replied.
By the time they had raced each other down their favorite runs and secret bowls, a precious hour and a half remained before closing, enough for only a handful of runs. Cassidy had shared her hard-boiled eggs and peanut butter M&M’s. They had paused only for water and bathroom breaks. Though they had shared plenty of shy smiles and great conversation, they had not kissed or touched. Cassidy thought she might explode.
“We haven’t hit Chair Eight yet,” Cassidy said.
“You’re right,” Pete answered. “Let’s fix that.”
They were in the Chair 8 line when a voice called out to Pete.
“Yo!” Pete called out, grinning as a group of three skiers fell into the line behind them. He and Cassidy let other skiers pass them so that Pete’s friends could catch up.
“Tara, Mark, Aaron,” Pete said. “This is Cassidy.”
A round of hellos filled the air. “You guys want to ski Gabi’s with us? They’re closing it at 2:30,” Pete said.
“We were just there,” Mark said. “I hit a few rocks, which of course aren’t marked.”
“Anyone know how much snow has fallen today?” Tara asked as they all inched forward in line.
“It’s gotta be at least fourteen inches,” Aaron said. “I had to go to back to the RV at lunchtime, and there was a good eight inches covering her hood.”
As if on cue, they heard a loud boom in the distance. Cassidy knew that sound—the patrollers were launching avalanche bombs. She remembered the feeling of excitement and purpose during a big snow like this. Cassidy wondered if Luke was still on Kirkwood’s team, and who his bomb duty partner was now.
Their group paired up and loaded onto the lift, Cassidy with Pete. Even though it was early afternoon, the temperatures had dipped lower, and the wind had increased. She tucked her chin down into her neck gaiter but it was moist and chilled from her breath. A shiver passed through her. “So, Aaron has an RV up here? Are all four of you sleeping in it tonight?”
“No, just Aaron and me,” Pete replied. “Tara and Mark are just here for the day. Mark and I were dorm mates our first year at Washington State,” he explained while sliding snow off of his ski tips with his poles. “He met Tara in Seattle. She’s a teacher.”
“Did I hear you say the RV has a name?”
“Yep,” Pete said with a chuckle. “Ginny.”
Cassidy pictured a hulking RV with tattered curtains topped with a mounded pile of snow.
“You should
