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Wow, she was something else.
She is effortlessly flying down the hill and around the flags when she approaches the first jump. Then, she tilts her pelvis.
What was that?
As she crashes to the ground and EMTs and her coaches rush to her side, the camera quickly clicks back to the concerned commentators in the studio.
I hit the link again and rewatch it several times.
I wake up to the sound of my alarm blaring.
Sitting up in the bed, I do a quick assessment. Only have a slight headache, not bad.
Fighting the urge to roll back over and continue the naughty dream I was enjoying about a certain bossy ski instructor, I get up and hop into a cold shower to prepare to spend the day toting said instructor around Balsam Ridge.
Sounds a lot less fun.
I throw on a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, and a warm flannel, then take a seat to pull on my boots when I hear a knock at the door.
I swing it open, and Zoey is standing there with a travel mug in each hand. She’s wearing a pair of black yoga pants and an oversize pink hoodie that saysPray for Snow. Her hair is pulled through the back of a vintageSki Aspentrucker hat.
I lean against the doorframe and greet her, “Well, hello, Miss Phillips. I thought I was supposed to come get you at eight.” I look over my shoulder at the clock on the microwave. “It’s only seven forty-five,” I state.
She shrugs. “I got up early to watch the sunrise so …”
She offers me one of the mugs.
I take it from her hand. “Thank you. Come in. I’ll grab my keys and wallet.”
I move aside, and she slides by me and takes a seat at the breakfast bar.
“Are you hungry?” I ask as I head down the hall to the bedroom.
“I had one of the muffins from the welcome basket a couple of hours ago, but I wouldn’t turn down a veggie omelet,” she calls.
I return to the kitchenette. “Welcome basket?”
“Yeah, the one with the wine and pastries they left us,” she says.
I raise an eyebrow.
“You didn’t have a welcome basket in your cabana?”
She looks around the tiny space, as if I could have somehow missed it.
“Nope.”
“Oh, that’s odd. It had a note from Sara-Beth Tuttle. I’m sure they meant to bring you one.”
I chuckle. “Mom.”
She purses her lips and then smiles. “Yep. Your mom. That’s right; you and Langford have the same mother. She was probably leaving them for those of us from out of town.”
“Probably.”
I raise the keys in the air. “Let’s go. Us basket-less saps need food.”
I lock up and lead her down to my truck and open the door.
