Page 76 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Rory
Breck and Willow are carving their way down the mountain through the snow we got last night, but they haven’t seen me yet. He texted that they were headed up for an afternoon session and I’ve been waiting for our paths to cross. I’ve been up here since midday, having wrapped up in the office so I could take advantage of the spring-like conditions to get some new content. The sun is shining, glinting off the snow like diamonds, and the lake is bright blue under an equally dazzling clear sky.
My camera hangs around my neck, and I stop every couple of minutes to get as many pictures as I can of the adorable daddy/daughter duo laughing their way down the run. Breck stops, facing uphill toward me, attention on Willow working her way down the mountain, a wide smile on his face. He’s in a long sleeve T-shirt and his snow pants, the full sun making it feel warmer than it is. His hair peeks out from under his helmet, and though I can’t see his eyes with his goggles on, I know they’d make even the lake look dull in comparison.
I lift my camera just in time to capture a picture of him. In the next second, I capture another of Willow sliding to a stop just above him, spraying fresh snow up his thighs. She sits down on the hill, her tinkling giggle and Breck’s bark of a laugh carrying up to me. He falls to his knees in front of her, grabs her board, and pulls her toward him, her butt sliding against the snow.
Watching them together is a dopamine hit. Since that very first day in the airport months ago, their love has been plain to see. He never holds back even a little bit of his devotion or makes her feel like she has to earn it. And what she returns is a love that’s tender and carefree. Given without thought.
This thing with my parents, this “fight” we’re having… it runs deeper, cuts deeper. It’s made me understand that our love has always been transactional—at least from their end. And I worry that there’s no coming back from this awareness now that I’ve seen the real thing.
I huff out a breath and cut my way down to Breck and Willow, drawing their attention with a whistle, and their heads snap to look at me, smiles crossing both their faces. I end up twenty feet below them and take another picture. These are for them. For them to remember their time here. For them to have memories they can look back on. For them to decorate their house with.
They’re also for me, to remember how I got to help Willow learn to snowboard. That I got to be the lucky woman who had apart of Breck, even if for only a short time. That I got to be part of helping them heal.
“Wait there,” Breck bellows down to me, pushing himself up and extending a hand to Willow. “Can you take a picture of the three of us?” he asks, sliding down next to me.
“I mean, this isn’t the ideal camera for selfies, but I’ll do my best,” I joke, flipping the screen out so I can manage to see what I’m doing.
They crowd in and our boards bump into each other, nearly knocking me off-balance. Breck’s arm bands around my waist to hold me steady. His fingers splay against my hip and I feel it like a brand, warming me even through all the layers of fabric. The casual touches have lingered more and more the last several days, since our morning dancing in the kitchen. I revel in every single one like the gift they are.
I lift the camera up at an awkward angle to attempt to capture the three of us and the lake. The shutter clicks and my board shifts on the sun-softened snow. There’s no catching us now. The three of us fall in what feels like slow-motion, Breck and I mostly side by side, Willow landing square on top of us both. I hit the button again on a whim, capturing us in a heap of laughter.
Our breathing evens out, people zipping by giving us odd looks, and we start the process of untangling.
Willow gets upright first and asks, “Can I take a picture of you two?” She raises an eyebrow, holding her hand out for my camera.
I hand it over, knowing she’ll be just as careful with it as she is with the one I gave her. She slings it around her neck while Breck and I push to our feet and shimmy closer together. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and mine loop around his middle, both of us smiling at the camera. Willow smiles too, looking atus with her head slightly cocked, the camera pressed to her small face.
After the first click, I pull back and glance up at Breck. He looks down at me, the moment frozen in time, committed to memory. This is where the couple in a rom-com would kiss. Where the guy would say he can’t leave. That he can’t live without her, that they’ll find a way to be together. This is where the girl reaches up to kiss the guy and tells him she loves him. It isthatmoment, and I want it to be ours. It’s right here, so close, yet neither of us reaches for it. The shutter clicks again and it’s gone, like a snowflake in the wind.
“Race you to the bottom?” Breck asks, head tilted to the side, grin illuminating his face.
Flicking my braid over my shoulder, I give him a playful shove. He topples back onto his ass and I wave to Willow. “Let’s go. Last one to the bottom has to buy dinner.”
My stomach is rumbling when we walk up to Azul Latin Kitchen for dinner. They seat us at an outdoor table near a firepit and a heat lamp, making it balmy despite the dropping temperature as the sun begins to set. The waiter takes our drink order and walks away just as Jamie walks up. His first kiss lands on Willow’s cheek and her whole face flushes under his attention. The second kiss is for my cheek before he slides into his seat across from me.
“What, no kiss for me?” Breck jokes.
Jamie laughs and claps him on the back. “Nope.” He turns to me. “Thanks for the invite. I needed to get out of the writing cave and this was the perfect excuse.”
The waiter comes back with menus, a basket of chips, and the promise of our margaritas being out shortly. I reach for the chips at the same time as Breck and when our fingers graze, sparks fly between us. I grab one and break our eye contact, looking instead at Jamie—who’s staring at me with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.
“How was the elopement yesterday?” Jamie asks.
Willow pipes up first, wanting Jamie’s attention. “It was amazing! You should see the pictures I took. It was so fun!”
He peppers her with questions, and while his attention is on her, Breck’s hand finds its way under the table to my knee, then slides higher until it’s resting possessively on my leg, his fingers wrapped around and pressing into my inner thigh. My breath hitches, and a pleased grin appears on his face even though his eyes stay fixed on Jamie and Willow.
I slip my hand over his, enjoying every moment when we can touch like this.
The margaritas arrive, our food coming shortly after, and we relax into easy conversation and laughter.
Willow talks Jamie’s ear off about the last week of school and he listens with rapt attention. She tells him about our fall on the mountain today and insists I get out my camera to show him the pictures. She’s squealing with excitement over each candid one I took of them, and the look of gratitude on Breck’s face softens me like butter.
The waiter drops off our check and Jamie reaches for it.
