Page 64 of Head Over Skis

My heart stops when I notice the time.

‘Fuck,’ I curse. It’s seven p.m. How on earth did it get so late?

I prod Rory’s shoulder to try and wake him, but it’s like poking a brick wall. I’m surprised I was so comfy given he’s all hard lines and muscle, but clearly I was because we managed to fall asleep for over four hours.

‘Rory, hey, wake up.’

I use both my hands to shake him and he groans, eyelids slowly peeling open. He looks straight at me, and as soon as he does his face lights up and my heart melts a little. Then his eyes shift behind me and he jolts upright, looking around us wildly.

‘What the—’ He blinks over and over like that’ll change the fact we’re sitting here outside in the growing dark. ‘What time is it?’

I flash him my phone screen and he groans.

‘We’ve missed the last lift,’ he says, scratching at his adorably scruffy hair and shaking his head.

‘And that means what exactly?’ I ask, hoping there’s another easy way back to my chalet and to an actual bed. The look Rory’s giving me doesn’t fill me with much confidence.

‘We can get a taxi, but it’s at least two hours’ walk to the closest place they can pick us up from.’

‘Ah,’ I murmur, not thrilled at the prospect of a two-hour walk in these boots.

‘Or there is another option,’ he says, and this time his tone is a tinge more hopeful.

‘Does this option mean more or less walking?’ I ask, knowing that’s the most important question.

‘Less, only ten minutes.’

An excited squeak escapes from me as I get to my feet, but despite the dramatic reduction in walking time, Rory looks hesitant.

‘There’s one thing though,’ he says, and suddenly I’m not so jubilant. ‘This plan involves staying the night.’

Oh. I wasn’t expecting that. To be honest, I was expecting something bad from the way he looked, but this sounds fine, even though it throws lots of questions into my head.

‘There’s a hotel on the slope, right next to where the ski schools are,’ he explains.

I try to visualise the area, and now that he’s mentioned it, I do remember that there is a hotel. It partly stayed in my mind because of its charming name. Darlington’s Den, or something like that.

‘What if they don’t have a room?’

‘They will,’ he says with a suspicious level of confidence.

‘What if it’s super expensive?’

‘It won’t be,’ he replies just as casually, and I’d push him more if I wasn’t still a little groggy from the nap. He waits while I weigh up the options, taking into account how much I detest walking in these rigid boots versus the unknowns of trying out the nearby hotel.

In the end, the idea of freeing my feet in the next ten minutes is too tempting to resist.

‘Hotel it is.’

Rory nods and disappears into the shed before coming out with little takeaway boxes, and together we pack up any salvageable leftovers from the breakfast spread. I text Tilly so no one freaks out at the fact I won’t be coming home tonight. Unsurprisingly, when I mention I’m going to a hotel with Rory her response is an unsavoury selection of emojis.

‘Ready?’ he asks, holding out his hand after he’s locked up the shed.

I look down at it, liking the little butterflies that are dancing around in my chest before I take it, our gloved fingers interlocking. The path through the trees is dark, but I trust Rory as he guides us until the view opens up and the hotel comes into sight.

From the outside, it looks like one huge log cabin, with the roof and every windowsill covered in a thick layer of snow. When we walk through the entrance I’m immediately hit with a wave of warmth and I’m certain I went with the right option in picking here over the long trudge and taxi ride back to my chalet.

‘Rory! Comment tu vas?’