A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain #1)(62)

“Huh. You’re an heir to a Colorado ski mountain, and you’re heading to Tahoe on the weekends?”

“Something like that,” he says gently. “You going to interrogate me? Or are we going to ski together now, like in the before times?”

“I’m a much better skier now than I was in college.” It comes out sounding churlish. Reed used to have to ski the beginner’s slope with me at the Middlebury Bowl. It was sweet of him, but I don’t need those memories surfacing now.

I wish he’d stop being charming and go back to California already. This is already tearing me apart.

“I’m glad you still ski,” he says quietly. “You deserve all the fun.”

Luckily, I don’t have to think of a reply, because the couple ahead of us begins to follow the line down the hill, and suddenly it’s our turn. Together, we move into their tracks and begin the slow zigzag route down the face of the hill.

We’re in synch, even as we carve the first turn. The new snowfall quiets our skis, so we swish across the hill, picking up speed, rolling into the next turn like well-trained dancers.

“What a beautiful night,” Reed says as we swing into the second turn. “In California, you can’t see the stars. Ever.”

“Why would anyone rather live there?” I ask, sounding needy.

“The paycheck,” he says simply. “Restaurants. Food delivery. Uber.”

I drop the subject, because I don’t want Reed to think I’m campaigning for his return to Colorado. I want it, and also fear it at the same time. If Reed moved back here, we’d have to confront the question of what we mean to each other.

If it didn’t work out, I’d probably have to leave this place and start over somewhere new.

Yeah, I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s a sickness.

As we continue the journey to the bottom, the band becomes audible. They’re playing selections from Nutcracker Suite, and they sound fabulous. We’re skiing to live music in a parade formation toward an awed mob of onlookers. It’s special. I love this night. I look forward to it every year.

I sure hope this isn’t my last one.

Reed gives me a big smile as we make the last turn and finish up at the bottom. The moment we come to a stop beside the others, I hear a crack and a hissing sound. The first firework explodes colorfully overhead a moment later as the audience gasps.

The band starts playing “Let it Snow,” and Reed puts an arm around me, his strong fingers curling at my hip.

It feels nice. Shoot me.

“There’s a cup of spiked cider with my name on it,” I say under my breath.

“Me too,” Reed says. “Unless that Halley chick is bartending. She’d probably put a snowball in mine.”

“And you’d deserve it,” I grumble.

“Maybe. But will you have a drink with me anyway?”

Danger, Ava. “It depends on whether that’s code for something else.” I tilt my head back to see a big blue starburst explode in the sky. I wonder if I’m strong enough to make the smart choice and go home alone tonight.

Reed and I are like two of the celestial bodies up there in the sky, powerless against all the different gravitational forces pulling on us.

Even if I don’t give in to another night with him, he’s still a force in my orbit. I don’t know how to shake him.

“Look, I need you to know something,” he says, leaning closer to me.

His nearness causes a thrum of excitement to roll through me. I could no more stop it than I could stop the moon from rising. Still, I don’t look at him, because I don’t want him to read it off my face. “What’s that?”

“I have to leave tomorrow morning. It was the only flight back to San Jose with a seat.”

My stomach plunges. “Yeah. Mountain gossip had you already gone.”

“Without saying goodbye? I wouldn’t do that.”

Anger rises in my chest as I turn to him. “You’re still leaving, though. And if you let your father sell this place, I know you won’t be back.”

“Let him?” Reed repeats. “You think I have a choice?”

“I think you could make your case again. How much trouble is Madigan Mountain worth to you? Your talk this morning lasted less than thirty minutes.”

“He won’t listen,” Reed says, and his voice is calmer than it should be. “Doesn’t matter how many times I say it.”

“You think that, but you don’t actually know.” My hands are balled into fists, because I’m so frustrated with both of them. They’re both hurting and too stubborn to be the one who admits it.

“Look…” Reed grabs the back of his neck and sighs. “Just because I can’t make my vision for the mountain work, doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you again. Will you come to California with me?”

“When?” I demand. “On vacation? I guess I could. But what would it lead to, besides more awkward goodbyes?”

“I don’t know what the future holds,” he says quietly. “But I don’t want to lose you again.”

“So don’t.” I sound angry, I think, but this really isn’t that complicated. “Stay here. Talk to your dad again.”

Slowly, he shakes his head. “I can’t stay here, Ava. I have to be at a meeting Monday morning. If I don’t go, it undoes months of work. But you could come and see Palo Alto. Try it on. There are hotels to run there, too. They’d be lucky to have you. And so would I.”