Page 34 of Good as Gold
Her shy smile makes everything worth it. “Good,” she says. “We’re not done. We can’t be.”
“No,” he agrees.
She pushes back from the table. “One more run. Let’s make it a good one.”
She chooses their last trail for its length, not its difficulty. It winds down the mountain, the low-slung sunshine blinding them from behind the evergreen trees. At the bottom, they carry their boards through the resort village at the mountain’s base. It’s the usual collection of bars, restaurants, and shops.
He can’t suggest an après-ski drink, because his credit card might be declined, so they walk, Leila browsing various shop windows.
If it were up to him, the day would never end.
“That’s pretty,” she murmurs in front of a display of jewelry.
His eyes scan the display, and he knows immediately which item she’s looking at. That’s how well he knows her. There’s a necklace—a silver chain, and a chunky silver snowflake pendant. But the details on it are done up in gold. It’s pretty, and yet a little funky.
It’s justher.
She tilts her head to try to see the price and then makes a face. “Four hundred bucks? Ouch.”
Ouch, he privately agrees as she straightens and leads him toward the next window, which is full of colorful winter hats.
Still, he notes the name of the shop.Alpine Arts. It’s way out of his price range.
But someday it won’t be, he tells himself. If he works hard enough for a couple more years, he’ll become the kind of guy who can afford gold jewelry for the golden girl.
That’s when he’ll be able to tell her how he feels.
But not until then.
CHAPTER13
LEILA
You’re a terrible lay.
I know they’re the pathetic words of a man who can’t think up a better insult.
Nonetheless, they land on me hard. I’ve never felt less sexy in my life than I feel tonight. I’m tired and tipsy. It’s not easy being single at thirty-five in a small town and having your ex make a scene every week.
And Matteoleftwith him, which fills me with irrational despair. I know he was only trying to help. He walked Rory out for me and for the benefit of everyone else in the bar.
But there are a few things impeding my gratitude.
1: I’m drunk, which makes logic difficult.
B: I bet Rory sat there all night talking smack to Matteo about me.
The sight of them leaving together brought back every irrational high school emotion that I ever had. I feel excluded. Like I’m thirteen again and worried about shifting loyalties at the lunch table.
Emotions don’t have to make sense. I pick up my third margarita and drink it down.
“Should I cut you off, too?” Zara asks gently from behind the bar.
“Probably,” I say, careful to enunciate all the syllables. “Drinks are on me.” I pull my credit card out of my pocket and slap it on the bar.
Zara doesn’t pick up the card. “Benito already paid the tab.”
“Fuck,” I grumble. “I was trying to treat. You guys have been great to me. And pity is a bitch.”
