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I tap her nose. “You can ask two the next round.”
She blows out a long breath.
“That’s a hard question. I’ve skied some of the best mountains in the world. I love Japan. The Swiss Alps. There’s a charming ski resort in Uludag, Turkey. Then, there’s Banff and Whistler in Canada. Each one has its own appeal, but there are too many great slopes to pick just one.”
“What about here in the US? Any favorites?”
“Ah, that’s much easier. Alaska. Hands down,” she says.
“Alaska?”
“Don’t get me wrong; Aspen, Vail, and Sun Valley are all great places to ski, but Alaska is out of this world. If you go at just the right time, there is no wind, it’s bitter cold, and you will find some deep, deep, untouched powder. I’m talking real snow. I skied the deepest day of my life up there. It was kind of a magical, once-in-a-lifetime weekend. All out of bounds. I think we ended up with eighty-two inches of cold, dry, light, powder snow with a fresh fall each night. It was mind-blowing. I had the time of my life. We had to dig out our snowmobiles every morning. You couldn’t ski anything technical. You were completely blind at every turn. It was fucking epic,” she says, and I can feel the emotion emitting from her.
Pure joy.
“We would ski till it was dark every single day. I hated watching the sun go down because I wanted it to last forever. Those are the runs you live for,” she adds.
“Wow. That sounds amazing.”
“You have to try it for yourself.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Okay, it’s my turn. Other than skiing, what’s your favorite hobby?”
“Probably playing the guitar.”
“Interesting.”
“Why is that?” I ask.
“I thought you were going to say fishing or something like that.”
“Well, I’m no Garrett Tuttle, but I know my way around a guitar, and I enjoy playing it.”
She grins and shakes her head.
“What?”
“You really are the sum of all the good parts of your family, aren’t you?”
I shrug. “I guess I picked up a thing or two from Pop and my brothers,” I admit.
“A thing or two or ten,” she muses.
“I suppose there was some advantage to being the runt after all.”
“The runt?”
“Yeah, that’s what my asshole brothers always called me, growing up, because they were all so much older than me.”
“That’s hilarious.” She starts giggling.
“Go ahead. Laugh. Get it all out.”
“I’m sorry,” she gasps. “I’m sure they were just teasing you.”
“I know. I just wish Langford trusted me more, you know? I’m not the runt of the family any longer. I’m a grown-ass man, and all he seems to see is his kid brother,” I confess.
