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I glanced over at him and realized that was the opposite of what I wanted. I leaned over and bumped his arm with mine. The water-repellant fabric of our parkas shushed together.
“Is there any way we can pretend I’m not your boss today?” I said without thinking. “I mean… I seem to recall you talking smack about my skiing prowess a minute ago. What if we agreed to some kind of… contest?”
“Oh, now you’ve done it, Thatcher Pennington.” He shook his head sadly. “Don’t you know better than to challenge a Wellbridge?”
He turned his head to face me, but instead of teasing aquamarine eyes, I saw the reflection of my own face in his sunglasses. I wanted to lift them off his face and fling them hundreds of feet to the snowy ground below. Instead, I clenched my grip on my ski poles.
“I think I can handle it,” I told him and said a silent prayer of gratitude that there were no shades covering up his giant, gorgeous grin.
Chapter Nine
Reagan
I was desperate to know what Thatcher’s ex-wife had called about.
While everything I’d heard about Thalia said she was a better person than his more recent ex, Heather—who had, incomprehensibly, been hooking up with her tennis coach when she could have been fucking Thatcher—Thalia was still someone I significantly side-eyed. How anyone who’d had a chance to settle down with Thatcher Pennington could have given him up was a mystery I’d never solve.
Since it was none of my business, I forced myself not to ask, even though we’d agreed not to be boss/employee today. If we weren’t boss and employee, though, then what were we? Friends? Was he back to being my dad’s friend? After spending one night in his bed and nearly a week soaking up his presence, every part of my soul rejected that idea.
The sun bore down on us, taking the edge off the frigid temperature this high up. I took a few moments to enjoy the deep blue sky and crystal-clear mountain air while I thought of something impressive and mature to say to the man sitting next to me.
“Did you ever think about having kids?” Thatcher asked after several beats of awkward silence.
I swiveled my head to stare at him in shocked disbelief, and his body shook with deep, rumbling laughter.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “God, the look on your face. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I, ah… Thalia called to talk to me about Brant, and I… never mind.”
Thatcher sounded uncharacteristically unsure of himself, which got my attention more sharply than the brisk air on my face. I rubbed my lips together, considering. “I’ve never given much thought to children one way or the other. The question’s never come up.” I shrugged. “But then… Brantleigh’s not really a kid, is he?”
“No,” Thatcher agreed a bit sadly. “He’s not.”
“If you want to talk,” I offered, “I could listen.”
But Thatcher was silent for so long I decided he was trying to come up with a way to politely turn me down, and I felt stupid for offering. Thatcher probably saw me as being not much different from Brantleigh, after all.
“Sorry,” I muttered, leaning away from him toward the side of the chair to peer over to the pristine snow below. Suddenly, Thatcher’s gloved hand shot out and grabbed my arm, nearly scaring me out of my seat. If his ski pole tether hadn’t been looped around his wrist, it would have dropped to the ground far below.
“Don’t get too close to the edge!”
I turned to stare at him. The sound of sheer terror was something I’d never heard in his voice before.
“Thatcher,” I said calmly. “There’s a safety bar. I’m not going anywhere.”
The blood had drained from his face, and his grip stayed tight on my arm. The ramp to disembark was quickly approaching. I moved my hand over and held his, removing it from my arm. “Hey. Hey. It’s okay,” I said softly. “Take a breath.”
He shuddered and cleared his throat, pulling his hand out of mine and nodding his head. I could tell he was trying his hardest to pretend it had never happened. He gripped the safety bar in front of us like it was the only thing keeping us from plummeting to our deaths. Was he scared of heights the same way he was scared of flying? Were the two things related?
When we reached the off-load ramp, we lifted the bar and skied off the lift, stopping when we got to the flat area at the top of several runs.
“What trail do you want to start on?” he asked, not meeting my eyes.
I tossed my poles down on the ground and then took his off his wrists to do the same. I grabbed his shoulders and duck-walked until my skis bracketed his and we were face-to-face. “Talk to me.”
“I’m fine.”
I bit back an affectionate smile. It was rare to see the tender underbelly of a man as strong as Thatcher Pennington, but god, he was adorable. “You’re scared of heights.”
“It’s a common fear.”
