I feel kind of guilty for keeping Greyston away from the more advanced trails, but I can tell he’s trying to make the most of it by doing a few fancy moves and turns every so often. I make myself a promise that by the end of our trip, I’ll be good enough to take on one of the bigger hills with him.
Even though I’ve fallen more on the intermediate hill than I did on the beginner one, I want to keep going, even when Greyston suggests a little break. It isn’t until I realize it’s almost two in the afternoon that I agree to it—but only if he promises to bring me back out after we grab a bite to eat.
“So, what do you think?” Greyston asks as we store our boards and head for the chalet. I don’t realize just how cold it is outside until a warm blast of air hits me in the face upon walking through the door.
“It’s fun!” I exclaim. “I’m having a blast.”
Greyston smiles, taking my jacket from me when we reach the restaurant. “Good. You’re doing amazing.”
Greyston and I both order a mug of hot chocolate and a chicken club with fries. We enjoy a private lunch, but the entire time, I’m thinking about getting back out there. While I had an inkling that I’d enjoy the sport, I never imagined being this taken by it. Normally, I’m not the biggest fan of cold weather, but I realize I’ve never really given it a fair chance. Honestly, I love the way the cool air feels on my face as I go down the hill, how crisp it smells, and how soft the snow is beneath me.
After lunch, Greyston suggests a walk around the grounds for a bit before we hit the slopes again. We put our jackets on, and Greyston takes my hand, leading me from the building and toward one of the walking trails. It’s warmed up a bit since this morning, and the cold wind has died down a little. There aren’t many people on the trails, making it even more romantic with the frosted branches overhead and the shimmery flakes of snow blowing in the gentle breeze. It’s almost magical, and I snuggle into Greyston’s side as I take it all in, not even caring that my face is cold and my nose is threatening to run. Sure, not my sexiest moment, but I can’t find it in myself to really care about that right now.
Well, not much.
I’m so lost in the perfection of the moment that I’m caught off guard when Greyston wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to the ground. My playful cry of surprise turns to laughter, and Greyston props himself up on one arm to look down at me. My first thought is to seek revenge, but seeing the flecks of snow in his dark hair and the creases in the outer corners of his eyes has me overcome with desire.
Despite the fact that snow has found its way up the back of my jacket and is melting against the skin between my ski pants and upraised sweater, I lift my head, bringing one mitten-clad hand up to cup Greyston’s face as I draw him closer to me. Despite the winter chill, Greyston’s lips are soft and warm against my own. Our big puffy jackets and ski pants keep us from getting too close, and they seem to trap in the heat that radiates from every pore of my body.
Because I know there’s only so far we can go here, I open my eyes to see his are still closed and reach out with my free hand to grab a handful of snow. Greyston is none-the-wiser as I slowly raise my arm and press my snow-filled palm to the back of his neck. His eyes snap open in shock, and my lips curl up into a smile against his before I burst out laughing.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” he admonishes, his eyes glinting with a plan for revenge that I don’t recognize until it’s too late, and my moment of triumph is short-lived when he grabs his own handful of snow and shoves it down the top of my jacket. I’m lucky to have chosen a turtle neck, because, had I worn any other sweater, there would be a lot more melting snow between my boobs instead of the tiny droplets that are currently seeping through the fabric.
I jump to my feet before he can realize this and rectify it, but it’s too late; a full-out snowball war has begun. It really isn’t fair, because I’ve never been particularly good with throwing things and hitting my target. Give me a gun, and I can shoot circles around anything—as well as hit the target, time and time again—but give me a ball of any size and material, and I’m a lost cause.
As luck may have it, however, I manage to get a few shots in, and after about twenty minutes of this, Greyston and I are both covered in snow. I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts, and Greyston leads us back toward the hill.
“You want to hit the slopes again?” Greyston asks, wrapping an arm around me and holding me close while he leans down to kiss the top of my head. I quickly agree, and we head over to where we left our boards, strapping them on and make our way to the lifts.