Page 64 of Counting Down To You

A giggle bursts out of me. I put my face in my hands. “Oh God. He really did, didn’t he?”

I drop my hands to see Leo giving in to the smile. He shifts, just slightly, so that our knees knock together again. And I’m thinking about it before I can help it, his mouth on mine, the taste of whiskey and mint and something richer. I’m staring at his mouth, I realize, and force my gaze up. Only he’s staring at my mouth too, and when he meets my gaze, his fingers flex on the bar. Almost like he’s trying not to touch me.

Maybe he doesn’t fancy me—not the way I do him. Maybe it was just for show, to help me save face. But he’s not unaffected by me, either. And that thought makes me wonder what would happen if I leaned in right now, if I placed my hands on his chest, ran them up to his hair.

“Brooks?” Both of us jump, looking at Elodie, who is striding toward us. “Désolée,” she says in French. Then, “I am sorry to interrupt date night. I know you’re not working, but we have a Room Six–related emergency. Can I steal you? For ten minutes?”

“If it’s Room Six, it’s going to take longer than ten,” Leo says drily. I try to remember who is in Room Six—a young couple, I think, not on the VIP list, meaning I haven’t had much to do with them.

“You’re right, chérie. I’m sorry. I can—”

“Don’t worry.” Leo glances at me. “This okay? Sorry to bail.”

“Don’t be. I’ll head back to the cabin.”

“I won’t keep him longer than I have to, chérie, I promise,” says Elodie, bangles jangling as she pushes a stray strand of hair away from her face.

I smile at Elodie, accepting the apology. Maybe it’s a good thing we were interrupted, anyway. Safer, for the both of us.

It’s as Leo is walking away with Elodie that he turns back to me. “By the way…Lee Lee?”

I laugh. “Don’t even.”

I’m still smiling as I let myself into the cabin a few minutes later. Smiling—and trying very hard not to think about what might have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted.

Chapter

19

I pace back and forth along a thick layer of snow, on the edge of what I’m pretty sure is a meadow, with a forest stretching out beyond—the meeting point I set with Stuart. I tell myself it’s to get used to the snowshoes strapped on the bottom of my regular shoes, and not because I’m struggling with Robyn’s latest challenge.

Talk to yourself about your career options, the way you would with a client.

I know exactly what Robyn is getting at here. But just because you don’t like the idea of me working in recruitment forever, doesn’t mean I don’t like it, I tell her in my head.

I don’t have a problem with it—if it’s what you really want to do. And is it what you really want to do, Al? Or is it just because you’re afraid of figuring out what you do want?

I’m not afraid, I argue back. But I’m aware that I’m basically arguing with myself here, which raises the question: Am I afraid? I know I’ve lost satisfaction with my job. But it is still, ultimately, a good job: it pays the bills; it’s safe. And I don’t know what else I’d do. Which is Robyn’s point, I suppose.

Cold air burns the back of my throat as I pace faster. Back and forth, back and forth, compacting the snow in the same spot. Do I want to go back to London? I pause to look around me at the snow-covered trees in the distance and the mountains stretching out beyond. I imagine sitting at my desk in London, speaking to clients, matching employees with companies. I wasn’t lying when I told Leo there are parts of my job I love—or used to love. And I’m grateful for an office where I count one of my colleagues as a real friend, and where I have a boss who genuinely has my best interests at heart. So why do I feel a bit despondent at the thought of going back there? At having to pick up where I left off, like nothing’s changed?

It was always Robyn’s dream to live in London, to experience our twenties together in one of the biggest and brightest cities in the world. And I’d been on board with that dream, but since Robyn died I’ve been struggling with the monotony of it, with feeling like I’m having to drag myself through my life, one step at a time. I didn’t realize quite how much until I came here.

In my ski-jacket pocket, my phone buzzes. I wonder briefly if it will be a message from Adam, after yesterday. And try not to hope that it’s Leo, who I haven’t seen since he left the bar last night. But when I slip off my gloves to unlock the screen I see a WhatsApp from Lucie. It’s not enough that we see each other at the hotel practically every day, we have now taken to WhatsApping each other too.

How are we feeling about tomorrow? You need one more practice ski later today?

I smile, and it doesn’t escape my notice that the idea of both hosting an intimate dinner party in a hut on the mountains and improving my skiing in order to fulfill said hosting fills me with far more joy than the thought of going back to London.

But I can’t stay here. Can I?

Well, why not? Is it Robyn’s voice or my own, asking that question?

Because Lucie deserves the GRM role, I tell myself. Because taking a month’s sabbatical is one thing, but staying for several months without any idea of what to do after that is another. Because Farah is great, but she won’t be able to hold my job indefinitely.

You could get another job in recruitment, if you needed to. You are good at it—you have enough contacts.

I huff out a loud breath. What would I tell a client?