Page 27 of Counting Down To You

Stop listening to the audiobooks I’ve recorded on repeat. It’s creepy, unless you particularly love the story.

My gut twists and drops, a horribly visceral reaction. Last night, I’d fallen asleep listening to Robyn’s voice. I’m sure she meant this to be helpful, to enable me to “move on.” But the thought of giving up the audiobooks makes me feel panicked, like my skin is suddenly too hot. I don’t want to stop listening. I don’t want to forget the sound of her voice or how much she could make me laugh, or how brilliant she was at all the accents.

Despite the ridiculousness of some of the other challenges—and the situation I’m currently in—this is the first one that feels properly difficult. The first one that makes me question whether I’ll be able to go through with everything Robyn has in store.

I set the little piece of paper on my bedside table, along with the calendar. I’ll think about it later. Right now, I want coffee.

I head over to the hotel to grab it, though I really need to stock up on some basics for the cabin so I don’t need to keep doing this. A message pings on my phone as I climb the steps to the lobby.

Farah. Farah is texting me. I’m not sure Farah has ever messaged me before. Nerves spike in my stomach. Does she need me back in the office? I can’t work out how I’d feel about that. Maybe it would be a relief, an easy excuse to go back. I could tell everyone it wasn’t that I couldn’t do it—it was that I was needed elsewhere.

I open the message.

How’s the sabbatical? Cal says you’re in France.

It makes me smile that Farah cares enough to check in.

I am! I type back. And did I tell you that Cal’s amazing at his job? How’s everything there?

I get a reply instantly. All good here.

Then, seconds later: I’m proud of you.

I wait for something more, wondering if Farah is gearing up to something, but no other messages come through. They are a little blunt and to the point, like Farah, I suppose, but reading them again makes my throat swell irrationally. Recruitment may not have been my dream job, and I may have gone into it thinking it would only be temporary, but this makes me realize I’m grateful—both for the job and for Farah.

I grab a mug of coffee from behind the bar, adding Thermos to the mental list of items I need to pick up from town today. On the way back through the hotel, I hear Leo’s voice coming from the communal office. My steps slow as I pass the open door, despite the fact I tell myself it’s not my business. But whoever he’s talking to, he’s using a tone I haven’t heard before.

“What do you mean I have to re-sit it? I’ve been cleared.” There’s a pause, then, “Precautions my ass. If I say I’m fit enough, I’m fit enough. Haven’t I proven that?” Another beat of silence. “For God’s sake, Tony, I’ve been training for this for over two years now, when you add it all up.”

Something to do with rescue skiing, maybe?

“Fine,” Leo says into the phone. “Yes. I’ll talk to you later. Okay.”

I hear him swear loudly, presumably after he hangs up. I should keep walking. But it feels odd to pretend I haven’t heard anything. After all, he’d wanted to help me last night with Adam, so I can at least offer him the same.

I stick my head cautiously around the door to see him rubbing his chest as he slumps into a chair behind one of the computers.

“Hey,” I say, and his head snaps up, his hand dropping to his side. “Umm, is everything okay?”

“Fine.” His tone is clipped, and very different to the way he spoke to me last night. He is very obviously not fine.

I hesitate, hovering awkwardly in the doorway. “Can I do anything to help?”

“Yes,” he says shortly, looking at the computer screen as he clicks on his mouse. “You can leave me alone.”

I blink, a little taken aback. It is harsh, dismissive. It is downright rude. “Right,” I say, a hint of frostiness creeping into my own voice now. “Okay.”

He doesn’t even look up. What a dick. Is this what he’s really like? Is this why people part ways from him—because he’s just plain mean?

I open my mouth to say something—what, I’m not quite sure—but stop when I hear footsteps behind me. Fan-bloody-tastic. It’s Lucie, coming past on her way to reception. She gives me a knowing look as she passes, making me think she overheard. Brilliant. And is the knowing look because this is what Lucie expects from Leo? Or because the conversation has made it obvious we are not, in fact, deeply in love? I can’t decide what’s more embarrassing at this point.

I remember what Leo said last night. How about in the hotel I’m your manager. Is this just him, treating me as a member of staff? Do I have a right to be treated any differently? Well, I have a right not to be treated rudely. But I can’t exactly call him out on that with Lucie within earshot. So I let the office door swing shut, then fall into step beside Lucie—because even though I have no desire to talk to her, I need to leave the hotel, and it’s weirder if I walk several steps behind.

Lucie glances at me. “Doing anything on your day off?” It’s a normal enough question, though her tone is disinterested.

I try for a smile, even though trying to be nice to people who aren’t nice to me is starting to feel exhausting. “I’m going to go for a hike, I think.”

Lucie looks down at my boots. Well, her boots, technically. “You’ll need snowshoes.” But she doesn’t offer me any this time, olive branches apparently done with.