Page 62 of Head Over Skis

‘No, don’t apologise. What I mean is, it was confusing because I thought we’d had a good night and then I woke up and you were gone.’ A flicker of something crosses his face as his brow furrows and he continues looking out at the view. ‘I didn’t even know your last name to try and search you up.’

‘Well, you do now. I bet you’ve got my email address and bank details too in the ski school system, so now who has the power,’ I add, trying to lighten the mood.

But his jaw stays locked, and when he finally turns to look at me fully, there’s a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. ‘Why did you leave?’

It’s a simple enough question, and one that up until now I’d always thought had been pretty easy to answer. I’d thought he would’ve been glad to have me gone quickly, that this was a common sentiment among guys after a one-night stand. I know from Tilly’s stories, she’s been victim to a fair share of awkward breakfasts the morning after and ‘do they really want me to stay for coffee or are they trying to be polite’ deliberations.

‘Because I realised in the morning that you’d probably had all these plans for your evening, and then I barged my way in, coming on super strong only to blabber on about my ex like a loser for half the night. And then you took pity on the sad girl and let me stay whilst giving me the hottest night of my life even though I’d been nothing but a nuisance in the first place.’

I probably didn’t need to admit that last part, but it sort of slipped out before I could stop it, and it isn’t a lie.

‘Woah, hold on – is that seriously how you remember that night?’

I shrug, taking a bite out of my cookie and really wishing we were having a different conversation right now. Like discussing where on earth he got these cookies from because oh my god I’ve never tasted something so good.

‘Okay, let me get a few things straight,’ he says, rubbing at his face with both hands before pushing his fingers through his hair. ‘First, the cookies are Kevin’s special recipe and no I can’t get it for you because I’ve been trying for the last ten years and the fucker says he’s taking it to his grave.’

I force myself to swallow my mouthful so I don’t spray him with crumbs as he yet again shows how closely he pays attention.

‘Second, and more to the point, I didn’t let you stay out of pity.’ He’s shaking his head as he looks at me like he can’t believe that’s where my mind went. ‘I wanted you to stay because while you were talking about your ex, all I was thinking about was how beautiful you looked perched on my kitchen counter, my T-shirt bunched up around your hips, your lips still swollen from when I’d kissed you.

‘I know you think I have a good memory, but I actually don’t remember half the things you said because I was so distracted by this one curl in your hair that kept falling in front of your face. You kept mindlessly tucking it back behind your ear and I had to sit on my own hands to stop myself from going over to you and doing it myself.’

I’m frozen where I sit, and it isn’t because of the cold. In fact, my whole body feels like it’s burning up, but I’d rather let the flames engulf me than move a millimetre and risk him stopping his speech.

‘I slept with you because from the second I bumped into you in the street I was entranced by you. I wanted you to stay over that night. And the morning after. I was ready to go and grab us coffees and pastries from the bakery on the corner until I rolled over and realised you were gone.’

I try to picture it, me making a different choice and staying instead of creeping out on my tiptoes, silently begging his dog not to bark as I slipped out of the door. But my mind hadn’t been made up about Adam back then, and I never would’ve been able to entertain the fact I could fall for someone else. Am I even ready now?

‘I didn’t know,’ is all I can think to say.

He stares at me as if to say that now I do, like it’s some casual information he’s dropped instead of confirmation that I was right on all those times over the last few days when I thought he was paying me special attention. I’m not sure how to respond, so instead I take another sip of my drink before burying the bottom in the snow to keep it steady and shuffling closer towards him. We’re both sitting cross-legged, leaning back on our hands, and I move enough so that my fingers brush against his. Then I shift my weight to the left and place my head on his shoulder, and everything feels right.

‘So, what pastry were you going to buy me?’

‘Why don’t you go over to the table and have a look,’ he says, and my curiosity gets the better of me.

I force myself to move from his side and stand up, and when I get back to the table I realise something I hadn’t before – it’s a massive spread of breakfast food.

Rory’s voice sounds just above my ear. ‘Promise you won’t run off until you’ve at least tried the blueberry muffins this time.’

‘That depends, did Kevin also bake those?’

‘Not those,’ he says, and then he looks wistfully at them and it’s an expression he’s worn before. ‘I did. It’s the one thing I can bake better than him, but I’ve never been able to get them quite as light and fluffy in the middle as she did.’

He doesn’t specify who he means, but he doesn’t have to because I remember then where I last saw that expression. It was directed at a photo frame. I reach out and take a muffin, cupping it with both my hands.

‘I promise I won’t run away this time. And that’s not just because blueberry muffins are my favourite.’

That makes him smile.

‘They were her favourite too,’ I hear him whisper to himself.

Slowly, the faraway look in his eyes starts to fade and he’s brought back to me, standing in front of him holding a muffin that he baked using his mum’s recipe.

I don’t rush him as he comes out of whatever memory he was falling into. I want him to feel like when he’s with me, he can let himself drift off and let his emotions show instead of covering them with a smile, even though that smile’s quickly becoming my favourite thing to stare at.

‘How about you go back over there and get warm under one of those blankets and I’ll bring you a plate with a bit of everything,’ he says, already ushering me back to the mat. ‘A do-over.’