“And we’ll traverse the slope to take some of the heat off the gradient.” The twisting intensified.
“I don’t—” He lifted a hand and snaked it slowly from left to right, like a shark fin sluicing through the water. She thought she understood; she hoped she did.
“Just follow me, okay?”
“All right.”
Lucy could see the run widening up ahead and that it got a lot steeper. Why would they put the steepest part at the end where you’re supposed to stop?
Will carved left in a gentle arc and she followed. So far, so good. But as he made a rather sharp turn to carve right, Lucy got confused about what to do. Her left ski clipped her right and, in a heartbeat, she was tumbling down the slope. She landed with a thud on her back, leaving her slightly winded. Her left ski—the offending one—was still attached. Who knew where the right one was?
She lay still, arms out like a T, her pole straps limp around her wrists, and took stock of her body. Everything seemed to be intact. Will’s face appeared above her, his goggles pushed up onto his helmet.
She waved, sort of—more of a limp-wristed fling of her hand into the air. “Hello,” she said, as though it was perfectly normal to lie about on the snow with people skiing around her.
“You okay?” Concern etched his face and he reached out a hand.
She lifted one hand to push her goggles up then let it flop back onto the snow. “Are we talking about my body or my pride?”
“Definitely your body. Your pride slunk off that way.” He pointed off towards the ski lift.
“Ha ha, hilariously funny.”
“Am I helping you up, or would you prefer to stay there?”
“Up please.” She thrust a hand in his direction, and he signalled for the other one. When he had both her hands in his, he lifted her from the snow with ease, but as he was downhill from her, she fell into him. He captured her in his arms.
“Oops, hey, are you okay?” They were face to face, barely apart, their breaths mingling in the air between them, and their eyes locked onto each other’s. Lucy nodded slowly, not dropping his gaze. He bit his lower lip, and Lucy had to fight the urge to reach up and touch it. He didn’t seem to want to let her go, and she didn’t want him to.
“Will …” she whispered, not knowing what words would come after that.
He shook his head slightly and the moment was gone. He leant back and made sure she was stable, before skiing off to collect her other ski, which was at the bottom of the run. He put it under his arm, then skied up to her, cross-country style, propelling himself up the slope by planting his poles and pushing.
Lucy watched all of this without moving. They’d nearly kissed, she was sure of it. And the way he had looked at her, he felt something too. This wasn’t just her having a lusty perv at her friend’s brother.
He made it back to her and helped her into her ski. “All good?” he asked as he scrutinised her boot bindings.
Lucy put her weight on the ski. “Uh, yes, thank you.”
Will straightened and looked down at her, his face set in a neutral expression. “So, another run, or we could get some hot chocolate?” he asked.
Right, she thought, so we’re going to pretend that nothing happened between us. Just brilliant.
“Let’s have a break, shall we?” she replied, feigning a smile.
As she sipped her hot chocolate, the feeling returning to her fingers and toes, she watched the activity outside the café and thought back over the morning. Will had been so patient with her, so generous with his time, encouraging her without a trace of condescension.
He’s a good one.
The realisation both thrilled and terrified her, because maybe she had imagined there was something between them and it was all one-sided—her side. And what was the point of falling for a man who lived in America when her life was in London? The swarm of thoughts buzzed about her mind as the hot chocolate warmed her body.
“You look like you’re a million miles away.”
She smiled, snapping back to the present and taking in his tousled hair and pink cheeks. She wondered if hers looked like that. “I was, actually. Sorry.”
“No need to apologise.” Then he reached across the table and took her hand.
Chapter 12
Chloe
“It’s a very pretty village,” Chloe said, stifling a yawn.
She and Archer were walking down the road away from his mother’s house. It was drizzling, but they were sharing Cecily’s giant umbrella and despite her toes burning with cold inside her now-soggy boots, she was otherwise impervious to the grey weather. Archer Frigging Tate! she mused to herself.
“So much so, it’s boring you silly?”
The stifled yawn turned into a laugh. “Nooo, that’s just jet lag. Like your mum said, I only arrived last night.”
“Well, in that case, I agree with you. It is a pretty village. Very small, mind you. It doesn’t even have a school.”
“Were you and Lucy the only children when you were growing up?”
“No, there were a few of us. We all went to school in the next town, Watlington.”
“And you were both in the same class?” Chloe was fishing. According to the world’s tabloids, Archer Tate’s age was somewhere between thirty and forty, but he’d always been tight-lipped about it, saying that it shouldn’t matter what age he was, as long as he was the right person for the role. It was his act of solidarity with female actors to protest how ageist and sexist the acting profession was. Chloe had always admired that about him—and his acting ability.
