A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain #1)(6)

They both double over laughing. They’re so loud that everyone else in the art studio looks over their shoulders to see what’s so funny.

It takes them a long time to calm down again. But eventually Reed peels the clay off the floor and starts over. He kneads it into a ball while fat snowflakes fall gently past the studio windows.

January term—or J-term, because everything at college needs a nickname—is an unusual time on campus. Everyone takes just a single class. This one is called The History and Practice of Ceramics. He’ll spend half his classroom hours studying ancient cultures’ use and decoration of pottery, and the other half of his time muddling through pottery projects.

It’s harder than it looks. Reed thought taking a ceramics class would make him feel closer to his mom. But it isn’t working. She’s still gone, and he can’t even call her up and ask her how the hell to make a vase that doesn’t tip sideways.

“This class may have been a mistake,” he mutters as his second attempt comes out imperfect again.

Ava turns to him. Her hair is the color of dark honey, and he wonders how it would feel sifting through his fingers. “Why did you pick this class?”

He considers telling the truth, but then doesn’t. “I needed an arts credit. How about you?” He looks over at her vase and does a double take. She’s drawn an exquisite bird onto her pot. It has a berry in its mouth and a cocky look in its eye. “Fucking hell, that’s amazing. Is it a crow?”

“A raven,” she says, setting down the pointy metal tool she’s using for her artwork. “I plan to draw animals on all my projects, so they won’t notice that I’m not a very good potter. Oh, hey—” She reaches out and touches his wrist.

The warmth of her hand is unexpected, and he lifts his chin to meet her gaze.

Her cheeks flush, and she withdraws her hand. “I think you should brace your piece inside with some balled-up newspaper, and then use a sponge on that rough spot. If you keep going like that, you’re going to put your thumb through it.”

“Ah,” he says. “Good idea.”

“Now I have to go to work.” She starts cleaning up her station, and disappointment crashes over him. But now he remembers where else he’s seen her before. “Don’t you work at the Bowl?” Middlebury has its own ski hill. That’s partly why he came all the way to Vermont for college.

“That’s right. Two days a week. I race cross country, but I thought learning to ski downhill would be fun. I haven’t even tried it yet, because I’m freezing by the time my shift is over.”

“Ah,” he says. “Hands, feet, and face.”

She stops cleaning. “Sorry?”

“That’s how you stay warm as a lift operator. Do you have Sorel boots?”

She shakes her head.

“Then you need toe warmers. Those little packets that heat up when you expose them to the air? And wool socks. Those are just a given. Bring an extra pair of gloves to swap for the second half of your shift, because they get wet.”

Her smile is bright and unexpected. “You know a lot about this.”

“It’s the family business.”

“Operating a chairlift is the family business?”

“We own a ski mountain in Colorado.”

“Ohhh. I see. That’s glamorous.”

“Sometimes. But I put in a lot of hours working the chairlift. Somebody would call in sick, and my parents sent me right out there to cover a shift. Not so glamorous then.”

“Got it.”

Another moment passes, as both Reed and Ava just stand there, trapped inside their lingering gazes. Reed has lost the thread of the conversation, and he doesn’t mind all that much. He could stand here all day talking to her. This is the most alive he’s felt in months.

But Ava reluctantly drops his gaze, checking the time. “I’ve got to run, Reed. See you Monday? I’ll need an update on that vase.” Her smile is bashful.

“Monday,” he agrees softly. And when she finally walks away, he stares after her like a lonely hound dog.

That afternoon he buys a whole box of those toe warmers at the pro shop, and then starts counting down the hours until he can give them to her.





CHAPTER 4




NOT EXACTLY SCANDALOUS





REED

When Ava stands up from her desk to hand over the key, our hands brush, and I experience a powerful zap of déjà vu. Ava Aichers, with whom I had the only truly passionate and absorbing love affair of my life, is right here in front of me.

Either that, or I’m having a very freaky dream.

But if this is real, Ava looks incredible. Her hair is wavier than I remember, but it still carries golden streaks, and it’s long enough to wrap around my fist. Her skin is a healthy, sun-warmed hue—the shade you get when you spend time outdoors.

She’s wearing a blue V-neck top that shows off a silver chain around her smooth neck. I used to kiss her right there while I stripped off her clothes one piece at a time…

Her gaze flips upward and collides with mine, and it’s chilly. Arctic, even. Ava is not happy that I’ve shown up here.

I really want to know how this happened, but I can’t interrogate her in front of my dad. She works for him.