Page 101 of A Little Too Late
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
AVA
When Reed mentioned “private business,” I thought he meant the naked kind. So I’m a little surprised to find myself tucked against him on a ski lift instead of a bed.
Surprised, but also thrilled. It’s been a decade since I rode a ski lift with Reed’s arm around my shoulders. I can’t believe we’re here together, and that Mark is going to let Reed get involved with the resort’s future.
Thirty feet below us, the resort is in the midst of a quiet, midweek ski day. A young female snowboarding instructor is leading a student down the trail beneath us, both of their ponytails flying out from beneath their helmets.
It’s a beautiful December day in Colorado, with a flawless blue sky. The wind isn’t even brisk as we skim up the mountain on a quad chair that we’ve got all to ourselves. The white snow reels past like a carpet up the hillside.
It’s beautiful here.
I put a hand on Reed’s thigh. “Well? How does this view stack up to Palo Alto?”
He chuckles and presses a kiss to my temple. “You already know the answer to that. I can’t believe I stayed in Silicon Valley for so long when I could havethisfor an office.”
“You’re really doing this? You’re going to quit your job?”
“Definitely,” he says. “I’ll have to phase out my work, though. I’m on the board of seven different companies, and it’s not fair for me to resign from them all at once. But I’ll do it. I just need to know a few things first.”
“What’s that?”
He doesn’t answer me, because we’re arriving on the peak. “Can we ski down Zipshot? There’s a spot I’d like you to see.”
“Of course.”
“It’s a black diamond,” Reed says with a smile. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”
I can see my own irritation in the reflection of his goggles. “Reed Madigan, do you honestly doubt that I can ski every trail on this hill? I’ve got ten years of practice. It’s you who won’t be able to keep up.”
“We’ll just see about that,” he says, his grin teasing. “Lead the way, girl.”
I ski off the lift to the left and whip down the slope toward the trail’s entrance. Then I don’t even slow down—I hop the lip and carve down the steep terrain at a fast clip.
Fine. I’m showing off a little.
When the fall line flattens out a little, I slow down, looking over my shoulder to see that Reed is right on my heels. When I swing to a stop, his grin is exactly the same one I fell in love with all those years ago.
“Somebody learned a few things.”
“Pfft,” I say. “Let me know if I’m skiing too fast for you.” Then I take off again.
Reed must have something to prove, too, because he straight-lines the next swath of the hill. Before the next lip, hemakes a sharp turn to the left and beckons to me before scooting into the treeline.
It takes me a minute to get there, and I’m breathing hard by the time I ease into the trees. I find his skis and poles tucked into the snow at the base of a giant tree.
Reed is seated on a broad branch about four feet off the ground. It forks to the side like an L, making an easy perch. “This is what I wanted to show you. I wondered if it was still here.” He pats the branch, indicating that I should join him up there.
“What is this?” I ask, using my ski pole to disengage the bindings on my skis. “Your high school make-out spot?”
“You know it.” He lifts his goggles and smiles at me. “Three brothers, one car. A guy had to get creative.”
Laughing, I approach the tree. It’s not clear how I’m going to get up there with bulky ski boots weighing me down.
“Come here, sweetheart. We got this.” Spreading his legs for stability, Reed leans over and offers me his arms.
He hoists me up beside him, tucking me into his embrace. For a few moments, we sit quietly and enjoy the vista of snowy mountain peaks all around us.
