Page 43 of Chef's Kiss at the Chalet
“Just in time. For a second there, you looked like you were going to kiss me.”
“Well, now that you mention it . . .”
He ducked his chin and I closed my eyes. Our lips met. Soft, gentle. Though there was nothing subtle about the thrill of excitement that fluttered through my belly at the familiar sensation. Whistles erupted from the chair behind ours and I pulled away, smothering a laugh and sinking down slightly in the chair.
“See,” he said, that easy smile once more in place. “You survived. Nothing to it.”
“The kiss or the ride?”
His only answer was a self-satisfied smirk.
Unfortunately, my euphoria was dashed the second we arrived at the slope. I didn’t have time to fret about distractions, or how that kiss would complicate our delicate professional relationship. I glanced down the seemingly infinite runway of snow and the experienced skiers shredding powder at breakneck speeds, and swallowed past the lump in my throat.
“You know what?” I said, lifting the goggles off my face. “I think I’d rather take my chances with the ski lift again.”
“No can do,” he said beside me. “The only way down is right there.”
“Uh-uh.”
“Uh-uh?”
“Yeah. Uh-uh. Carry me. I’ll hop on your back.”
Charles smothered a laugh. “You conquered your ski bully, remember? You can do anything. This isn’t much harder than what you’ve already done. Just a little longer of a trip down.”
But my knees began to shudder and my breath became a little ragged. As Charles appraised me, his expression sobered and he lifted the goggles off his face to meet my eyes.
“Hey, hey. You’ve got this, okay? Think of it like cooking.”
“This is nothing like cooking,” I shot back.
“Sure it is. When you’re in the kitchen, you’re not panicking, right?”
“Only when I’m cooking for your mom.”
Charles coughed out a laugh. “Fair. But otherwise, you’re in your element, right? You’ve got control. What does it feel like?”
“I don’t know.” I’d never really asked myself the question in those words. “I suppose I just sort of get into a rhythm, you know? A flow. Sort of space out and just let the muscle memory take over.”
“There,” he said. “Exactly. Skiing is the same way. Don’t overthink it. Just trust your body and let go. Relax into it. Tensing up is the worst thing you can do.”
I took a deep breath, steadying myself.
“Good?” he said. “Ready to give it a try? I’ll be right here beside you the whole way. I promise.”
“Don’t let me face-plant.”
Charles kissed my forehead, smirking against my skin. “I won’t let you face-plant.”
So, I put on a brave face and crept up to the precipice, saying a silent prayer to the ski gods not to let me slam into a tree or go tumbling off a cliff. Then I mustered up all my nerve, leaned forward, and pushed off.
I started slow. Ignored the other skiers breezing past me and concentrated only on myself and the snow ahead. And I kept telling myself to relax. Don’t think. Go with the flow. Then, somewhere along the way, I became aware of the sweet, woodsy scent of fresh pine. The elegant way the tree limbs bowed under the weight of snow piled on their branches. That lovely sound of skis slicing through the powder. The luxurious warmth of the sun on my face and the wind in my hair.
Until suddenly, it was over. I was at the bottom and I’d stopped all on my own, without crashing or falling over or causing a ten-person pile-up.
“Hey, look at you!” Charles exclaimed, almost slamming into me to give me a huge hug. “That was terrific. Didn’t it feel great!”
It was exhilarating. And calming. Sort of like a trance.
