Page 6 of A Little Too Late
Last but not least, it’s going to givemea promotion and a raise. And—best of all—a two-week vacation. I haven’t had more than a few days off in a row in five years.
Reed Madigan is not going to screw this up for his dad, who’s finally found happiness. Or for me. I won’t allow it.
“Okay, wow, we’re pretty booked up,” I say, squinting at the screen. “You might have to stay with your dad and his new wife.” That ought to get him out of here. Even cool, collected Reed wouldn’t be immune to the awkwardness of sleeping in his childhood bedroom while elsewhere in the house his father behaved like a lovesick newlywed.
“There must besomethingelse,” Reed insists. “It’s only November.”
“Yes, but…” I nod rapidly, because lying doesn’t come naturally to me. “It’s the Penny Ridge Brewfest this weekend.” That’s the honest truth, although Madigan Mountain is too far out of town and too pricey to fill up on a Brewfest weekend before the ski season properly begins.
“What about employee rooms?” he asks. “Don’t try to tell me that you’ve got a full house of lift operators this early in the season.”
“Right, right.” He’s just given me another evil idea. “That’s a good plan. I can put you in a staff room.” We’ve got space on the property for more than thirty staff members. There are twelve employee apartments, plus a two-story lodge containing dormitory-style rooms.
ThinkDirty Dancing, only with less dancing and more snow. It’s hard to staff a seasonal ski mountain in a tiny town, so we need to make it easy for seasonal workers to stay nearby. The smaller rooms aren’t stylish, but they sure are convenient for housing the youngsters from Denmark and Germany and New Zealand who spend their winters working for low pay and a free ski pass.
“I’ll take it, whatever it is,” Reed mutters.
“Suit yourself!” I reach into a drawer and fish out a key. It’s for unit number twenty-five, which is the smallest, darkest one. The heat pipes clank, and there’s a wicked draft under the door.
But that’s the key I offer him. And I’m not even sorry.
CHAPTER 3
MIDDLEBURY COLLEGE, VERMONT
January Term 2011
It’s Friday morning, and Ava is smoothing the sides of a wet piece of pottery in the art studio when someone puts a work tray down on the table next to hers.“Can I sit here?” a male voice asks.
She looks up to find a stunning guy with dark, wavy hair and broody eyes waiting for an answer. “Yes. Yup. Sure,” she says in a rush of words.
He pulls out his chair and sits. “I’m Reed.”
She already knows who he is. Everyone does. He’s a vaunted all-American ski racer, known for his daredevil attitude. Athletes are everywhere at Middlebury College, but there’s something intense about Reed that has always drawn Ava’s gaze. In a sea of frivolous college boys, Ava can tell that he’s a serious person. A man. Even if they’ve never had a single conversation.
Until now.
“I apologize in advance if I try to copy off your homework.” With a frown, he pulls the plastic bag off a half-formed clay vase he must have begun earlier in the week. It’s lopsided. “This isn’t going too well, is it?”
She studies his vase, which lists to one side like the famous tower in Pisa. “You want my opinion?”
“Yes,” he says, his eyes steady.
“You could spend an hour trying to straighten that up. But clay isn’t like an oil painting—not everything can be fixed. Sometimes you really just need to start over.”
“From scratch? I spent two hours on this.”
“The second time won’t take two hours, though. Trust me. Besides—” She lifts the less beautiful of her own two vessels off her tray. “Starting over is fun.” She shows him the vase in her hand. Then—with a flick of her wrist—she dashes it to the concrete floor where it folds in on itself with a satisfyingly wet slap.
Reed is rarely scandalized. But when Ava’s project implodes on the art room floor, he experiences a moment of pure shock. That is not what he expected her to do. Not at all.
But then he gets a look at her smile, and everything is better. He even barks out a laugh.
The truth is that he’s been sneaking looks at Ava during the lecture portion of this class. She’s very beautiful. Now is not the time to lose his nerve. “I think I understand,” he says, picking up his awful vase and holding it out in the palm of his hand. The form is hideous. So he gives it a toss upwards. It arcs through the air before landing at Ava’s feet with a loud and unexpected farting sound.
They both double over laughing. They’re so loud that everyone else in the art studio looks over their shoulders to see what’s so funny.
It takes them a long time to calm down again. But eventually Reed peels the clay off the floor and starts over. He kneads it into a ball while fat snowflakes fall gently past the studio windows.
