The climb is hard work, too, and we leave birch trees behind to trek through snow-covered conifers. Eventually, we come to the ledge. We sit in the snow to admire the view.
The mountains stretch out beneath us in undulating layers, black and white with the bare trees and the snow, the trees distinct near us but becoming more obscure in the distance. The farthest mountains are soft peaks of smoke gray and charcoal. On one slope, ski trails curve down the mountain, white paths through dark trees.
“Beautiful,” Ayla murmurs, holding the flask. Her cheeks are bright pink, eyes sparkling. She takes a drink then hands it to me. “This was a good idea. I was kind of stressed.”
“You’re welcome.”
She does a tiny eye roll. “Thank you.” She pauses. “Does this remind you of home?”
She doesn’t mean Hoboken. She means Canada.
I nod. “Yeah. The mountains aren’t as big, though.”
“The mountains right around Salmon Arm aren’t that big, though.”
“True, we had to drive to go snowboarding or skiing. But there are nice places not that far away. And the Rockies are way bigger than this.” There’s nothing like the Rocky Mountains.
“I loved it in the summer.”
“You even learned how to water ski.”
She snorts. “Not very well.”
“You got up. That’s huge.”
“My thighs killed me for days after that.” She laughs.
“I thought that was from all our adult funtivities.”
Her mouth falls open, then she snaps it shut, her cheeks going even pinker. She lifts the flask to her lips and drinks more.
“Easy there.” I reach to take it away from her. “We don’t want any drunk snowshoeing accidents.”
“I’m not drunk,” she protests, grabbing the flask back and taking another swig.
“I’m just looking out for you.”
“You’re crossing boundaries again.”
“What the fuck?” I shift and stare at her.
She meets my eyes defiantly and drinks more rum-laced hot chocolate. “I’m a grown adult. I’ll drink more if I want to.”
“Well. To be honest, that doesn’t sound like a very grown-up statement.”
Her jaw sags. “What? What are you saying? I’m childish?”
“I didn’t say that.” I keep my voice level and calm.
“That’s what you meant.” She chugs more of the beverage. “You’re not my caretaker.”
Jesus.I rub my head and tug my toque back into place, frustration making my temples throb. “Maybe we should head back.” The sun is getting lower in the sky and the air is taking on more of a chill.
Her lips thin. But she recaps the flask and stands. “Here.”
I take the flask and give it a little shake. Empty. I tuck it back into my jacket and set off along the trail, glancing over my shoulder to make sure she’s following.
She’s not. She’s gone closer to the rim of the ledge to peer over.
