Page 7 of One Last Gift

Cassie’s phone lit up on the table and she picked it up to see a message from Hazel on their skiing WhatsApp group.

Me and Tom going to tackle a black run!! Then we’ll go to a pub at the bottom of the mountain—meet you guys there?

Cassie made a face. She’d known this would happen, had told both Tom and Hazel that she’d hold everyone up, that it would be awful. But would they listen? No. They’d both just said that she’d learn, that it would be fun anyway, that no one minded slowing down for her. And now bloody look at them.

She looked up to see Sam scrolling through his phone too, presumably reading the same message, and sighed. “You can go and join them, if you want.” She should offer, she knew, even though she didn’t want to be left alone, really—and how the hell would she get down the rest of the slope without him?

He shook his head, slipped his phone back into his ski jacket. He’d taken his sunglasses off now, and the deep blue of his eyes was even more obvious than usual up here, surrounded by the blue sky and sparkling snow. “Nah, I’ll leave them to it. Fighting it out on a black run doesn’t really appeal.” She gave him a look, and he grinned. “OK, fine, it does, but sitting here with you also appeals.”

She met his gaze, held it, and offered him a little smile. Cool and confident, Cassie. But she didn’t quite know how to play it. This wasn’t like one of the boys she flirted with at university. Sam knew her. Had known her for basically her entire life. There was no pretending to be someone else with him. He was still looking at her, and his grin had been replaced by that same intense look she noticed sometimes when he watched her—usually when he thought she wasn’t looking. She tried to think of something to say, but nothing seemed right. They’d been edging their way toward this for a while now, but both of them, it seemed, were being careful—ever so careful—not to step over that friend line. Or, more accurately, that “sister of best friend” line, she supposed.

Another message popped up on the WhatsApp group, saving her.

How are you doing Cassie? From Tom.

Cassie wrinkled her nose as she typed. If I make it down in one piece, I’ll let you know.

Her phone lit up immediately, but it was a message from Sam, not Tom. She’s doing great.

Cassie raised her eyebrows at him, and he shrugged. “You are.”

She ignored him and typed back on the group. I fell.

She got back up.

She gave Sam a scathing look.

“Well, you did,” he said firmly. “Shows more courage to get back up and keep going than it does to be brilliant at something right off the bat, doesn’t it?”

That’s the spirit, Hazel had written back.

“So how’s London?” Cassie asked, trying to take the focus off her. “Everything you hoped it’d be?” He’d started a training contract with a solicitor, she knew, at a pretty impressive London law firm. He was living down there with Tom, who was doing a master’s in sustainability at UCL, determined to follow in their parents’ footsteps—despite the fact that being environmentalists was the reason their parents had died, crashing in their little plane while they were on a research trip. She hadn’t pointed that out to Tom, of course—he knew just as well as she did, and she didn’t want to ruin something he was so passionate about by voicing her concerns. She did worry, though. Worry that his ambition and passion for his work would take him away from her—and maybe take him into dangerous areas.

Sam nodded. “It’s hard work, but good.” Then he let out a little laugh. “I love it, to tell you the truth. London is so goddamn glamorous, Cass.” He cocked his head. “When are you coming to visit Tom and me?”

“Soon,” she said vaguely, ignoring the little jolt that he wanted her to visit. But Tom had only just moved there, and she was letting him settle. “I hear your place is all right?”

Sam wrinkled his nose. “All right being the key word there. It’s a bit of a dump, but it won’t be forever. The first two years at the firm aren’t great money, but from there it’s onwards and upwards and I’ll be able to afford a better place in no time.”

Cassie chose not to say anything to that. Sam had always been like this, a little obsessed with money. It was probably the thing she liked least about him—though she got it. She knew that his mum had struggled a bit while he was growing up—presumably his dad, who was hardly ever around, didn’t contribute much to the finances. It wasn’t that they were on the verge of homelessness or anything, but she always tried to shop at charity shops for her and Sam, was careful about the food they ate, that kind of thing. Sam had been so self-conscious about having a second-hand uniform at the beginning of one school year that Tom had made him switch, and Tom had used the second-hand stuff instead. Claire didn’t notice, of course—she wasn’t exactly “present” as far as parenting went. Sam got over it after that, but he’d always been aspiring for more. Cassie hoped he’d be happy, once he got there, once he had the money to rent that fancy place in London and buy the type of clothes he wanted.

“What about you?” Sam asked. “How’s Leeds? Heard you met a guy…?” His eyebrows shot up in a way that made her lips twitch.

“I’m enjoying it,” she said. And it was true, she was enjoying university more than she thought she would, though the first year had been a bit of a whirlwind—she was very glad she’d chosen a campus university, where everything was all in one place. “And yes, I met someone”—Why, why was she blushing?—“but we broke up a couple of months ago.” Cool and confident, Cassie. Cool and confident.

“Oh, sorry.” He sipped his hot chocolate.

“You don’t look sorry.” And he didn’t—he was smiling.

He shrugged. “You’re too young to be settling down.”

It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but she went with it. “Hmmm, advice I hear you’re taking yourself, according to Tom.”

“A string of girls,” Tom had told her once. And she’d tried to control the jealously. Told herself that—maybe—the reason it was a “string” instead of just one was because he, too, couldn’t find one to stick. Because maybe, just as she was comparing the guys at university to him, he was comparing other girls to her.

He cocked his head. “Are you disapproving, dear Cass?”

“Not disapproving,” she said primly, “though I do feel sorry for the wave of heartbroken girls you’re leaving in your wake.” Keep it jokey. She could do that—they were on solid ground if she did that.