Page 9 of Ice To Meet You

“I’m so, so, sorry,” he said, looking anywhere but my eyes.

His cheeks glowed and my tummy curled. Kissing strangers on chairlifts was hardly steady behaviour!

“The chairlift … moved,” I muttered, my cheeks ablaze.

His faint chuckle sent a tingle to my belly. “It did. But we’re on our way now.” He let my arms go, his expression soft and kind, a stark contrast to the fire in his eyes just moments ago.

Did I wish we were still stranded up here? Distinctly not “on our way?”

Guilty as charged.

Neither of us spoke. Instead, I focused on the screen of his fancy watch. Precisely one minute and thirty-three seconds later, the end of the lift run came into sight.

He turned to me with a smile. “Land ahoy. There’s a couple of bars and cafés up here. You can find somewhere to warm up.”

I preferred where I’d been only two minutes ago, but the thought of mulled wine in front of a fire came as a close second.

“You’re going to have to get off on one ski.”

I shook my head slowly. “Don’t remind me.” How was I going to explain my single ski to the Romanos? Would I have to go back onto the hill and search for the lost one?

“I’ll help you,” he said. Did he mean to find the ski or get off the lift? Either would be good.

The tower loomed ahead, its giant wheel turning as it sent a steady stream of chairs whipping around, beginning their descent back down the hill. If I didn’t time my exit right, I’d be stuck, heading straight back to where I started.

My chairlift buddy inched forward in his seat and linked his arm through mine. With a quick wink, he took our ski poles and tucked them under his arm. As the chairlift drew closer to the terminal, he lifted the safety bar.

“Ready?”

I nodded, hoping the ballet lessons my father insisted on had left me with at least a shred of balance. Thankfully, my buddy timed our dismount to perfection, murmuring the word “now,” as our three skis met the snow. On his command, I stood with him, and he guided us safely down the gentle ramp to the cluster of people standing at the side.

We came to a stop, and he unlinked his arm from mine. With the loss of his support, I wobbled a little.

“Hang on.” He took one of our ski poles and, pressing down on the mechanism, released my other ski, leaving me to step away.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, running his eyes over my face.

And like before, the air between us crystallised and the mountain around us felt smaller. Less significant.

He shifted on his skis. “Look, I don’t know if you …”

A sudden, “Yoo-hoo,” rang in the air, and the man’s gaze shot over my shoulder. In an instant, the colour drained from his face and his eyes widened.

“What?” Was there an avalanche barrelling down the hill heading straight for us?

He cleared his throat. “I have to … I have to go. I’m sorry.”

His gaze remained on something behind me, and I turned to see what it was. Maria Romano headed straight for us,pushing along on her ski-poles. She sent me a little wave, and I returned the favour, adding what I hoped was a jaunty smile.

Sucking in a breath, I turned to thank my rescuer, but he was gone—vanished into the thin mountain air. All that remained were two faint tracks carved into the snow, leading down the slope and out of sight. It was like he’d never existed.

“Esmé!” Maria was almost upon me.

I scanned the hill below, trying to spot the man from the chairlift.

“You made it,” she said, pulling up to my side. “These old lifts break down regularly. I saw you with someone. Who was it?”

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