Page 67 of Counting Down To You

“What would that entail, exactly?”

I laugh at the suspicion in his voice. “All you have to do is the actual guiding. But I’ll frame it as the right way to start New Year—you know, as opposed to in bed with a hangover. Probably lunchtime, no point in going too early. And it gives me time to sort it all with Leo, and make sure we have information online.”

He nods slowly. “I can only take six at a time. It’s a safety issue, for some of the harder routes—but also, people want to talk, to know the area. They need one-on-one time.” I wonder what he’s like with that part of it. He hasn’t exactly come across as a people person, but after today, I find I can imagine that side of him. “Unless you want to come along,” he adds, like an afterthought. “With a backup guide, we could take ten.”

“I’m not a guide,” I say immediately.

Stuart gives a little shrug as if to say suit yourself.

When we get to the hotel, I open the car door to let myself out.

“Ali?” Stuart voice stops me. He opens his mouth, closes it. Clears his throat. “I appreciate it, you know. What you’re doing.”

On instinct, I reach out, squeeze his forearm. “New Year’s Day, Stuart. We’ll kick off with a bang.”

Chapter

20

I wake to a streak of sunlight across my face. I should close the curtains properly, but I quite like the winter sun waking me up on days when I don’t need to set an alarm. I lie still, excitement and nerves twisting in my stomach. Today is Refuge day. I have to ski to this secluded hut, not embarrass myself in front of the guests in the process, host a dinner, make sure it’s epic, and just generally be charming.

I roll onto my side and open the next square on my calendar.

Do something that scares you.

I smile. This is classic Robyn, always pushing me to do things out of my comfort zone. I kind of already have this covered, though—skiing to a remote hut in the Alps is more than a little terrifying, especially given a week ago I had never skied before in my life.

On my bedside table, my phone buzzes, and I see a WhatsApp from Lucie light up the screen.

Please don’t hate me.

I sit upright with a wave of anxiety. That statement is never followed by something good.

I snatch up my phone, type back.

Please don’t tell me Gabriel has bailed.

No chef would be the absolute worst-case scenario.

Gabriel isn’t bailing, but I am.

Before I can reply, another message follows.

I’m so ill.

Charlotte ill or real ill?

Real ill. I am GUTTED. I really want to come. But I honestly don’t think I can leave the house. My stomach is not okay.

I stare at my screen, trying to control the panic. This has to be a joke. Lucie cannot be ill. She is the one who knows Gabriel, who helped set the whole thing up. Most importantly, Lucie was going to lead the skiing so that I could hide in the back. There is no way I can lead the ski excursion on my own. I’m barely qualified to stand on my own skis.

Maybe you’ll be better later?

If I stop throwing up in the next few hours, I’ll definitely try, but it’s not looking good.

Shit.

I’m so sorry to let you down Ali. I really wanted to come. Can you ask Brooks for someone else? Elodie’s a good skier. I’ll message her now, see if she can do it?