WHEN I WAKE up the day after Thanksgiving, I look out my window and see that the entire property is blanketed in white. I step into boots and walk out onto my patio in my robe and a jacket, only to find Jesse already outside in a jacket and jeans.
“What do you think?” he asks, looking over.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I admit.
It’s gorgeous. In contrast with the snow the red barn looks bright, as if it had a new paint job, the fields are glistening with thick powder, and it’s so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat.
“The first day it snows is always my favorite day of the year,” Jesse says. He leans against his railing and gathers some of the snow on the ledge with his hands, packing it into a ball. “Do you ever get snow in Atlanta?”
“Rarely,” I share. “It’s always a big deal when we do.”
It’s also always a day off, I think. A day off from school, from work, and from any other responsibilities. The thought crosses my mind that maybe that’s how I should treat today—as a day off.
Maybe today I don’t think about my dilemma. I can pick that back up tomorrow.
I walk a little farther out onto my porch in my boots so I can hear the snow crunch beneath my feet. Then I turn back toward Jesse. “I know decorating for Christmas is high up on the agenda today. But what do you think about checking off a bucket-list item and teaching me to ski or snowshoe first?”
The faint smile that appears on his lips lets me know that, as always, he’s up for the challenge.
“I’ll do you one better,” he tells me. “I’ll teach you how to snowshoe and ski, and we can check two items off your list.”
—
There’s a large shed near the barn filled with snowshoes, skis, boots, and poles that Jesse opens once we’re both dressed. Everything’s organized according to shoe size and pole height, so it’s easy for him to find our gear.
“Will one of us be out here helping the guests on snow days?” I ask as we take a seat on the bench outside the shed to put on our boots and fasten our snowshoes. Since snowshoeing is easier, we decided to start there.
“That’s how my parents used to do it, yeah.”
“Are they the ones who taught you how to do these winter activities?”
“They used to take Brendan and me up to Spruce Peak or Mount Mansfield every weekend in the winter. Those are the two mountains around here. Once they bought the inn, though, cross-country skiing through these trails became our weekend winter entertainment.” He gestures to the acreage in front of us.
“Sounds like an idyllic childhood.”
He nods and leans down to help me tighten my toe and heel straps. “What was winter like back home for you?”
“It took place mostly indoors. Picture Christmas movies with popcorn by the fire.”
“Sounds pretty idyllic too.”
“No complaints here.”
After fastening his own straps, he hands me my poles and shows me how to step into the binding, then instructs me to lead with the poles and keep my feet wider than I would when walking. After we get going, I’m surprised when he circles back to the topic and asks what kind of childhood I’d like to give my kids, if I want kids. “Do you want kids?” he clarifies.
Jesse and I have covered most topics since I’ve been here, but we haven’t covered this one; I think because it’s more normal to discuss it with a guy you’re dating than with a friend. Given that neither of us is exactly sure what category our current dynamic falls into, it makes sense we’re delving into uncharted conversation territory.
“I do want kids,” I share. “I can’t say I’ve given much thought as to what our weekends, summers, or winters would look like. That would require me to know where I plan on settling, and I’m not sure that’s Atlanta anymore, but I don’t really know. As for how I’d like to raise them, I’d love to give them unconditional love and the tools to help them be the best versions of themselves. That’s partly why it feels so important to me to figure out how to be the best version of myself first, so I have a way to help them on their journeys.”
I briefly take my eyes off the trail and look at Jesse as I ask him the same question.
“I want kids, yeah,” he says. “Several, if possible, since family is so important to me. I suppose I’m open to where I raise them, although I do love the idea of that place being here. As for how I’d like to raise them, I’ve only gotten as far as knowing I’d like to give them an example of a loving relationship to look up to. I think having that foundation is everything.”
I try not to have an emotional response to his answer, but I lose that battle fast. Jesse’s not even talking about loving me specifically, but his words make me wonder how good it would feel if he and I were to ever fully open up our hearts to each other. The idea causes my heartbeat to kick up and my breath to catch. If Jesse notices this, he doesn’t let on. He doesn’t say anything, in fact, for the rest of the loop. It’s not until we’re stepping out of our snowshoes and into our skis that it strikes me that maybe he wasn’t saying anything because the same exact thought was on his mind too.
—
“How are you feeling about the bucket list and your progress?” Jesse finally asks me another question once we reach the bottom of our first hill on skis. I watch as he climbs it, then follow his lead, angling my heels out just as he’s doing.
“I’m learning a lot about myself. But I still don’t know that I’m any closer to discovering my passion.” I pause. “What if I don’t?”
“Then you don’t,” he says with a shrug, as if it wouldn’t be that big of a deal.
I wish it weren’t such a big deal to me, but it is. I’m breathing hard, so I wait until we reach the top of the hill before I share this with Jesse.
He looks out at the snow-covered trees and then down at the slope before responding.
“I think the important thing to remember is that if you’re truly searching for answers, you need to be open to all the possibilities, not just looking for confirmation of what you think you’re supposed to find.”
Jesse’s comment hits me on so many levels. Is that what I’m doing? Am I so set on expecting my newfound passion to reveal itself in some dramatic fashion that I’ve overlooked how I’ve fallen into a career that fits me? And have I been so determined to wait for Sky that I’ve ignored all the signs that it’s Jesse who’s captured my heart?
“Are you saying I should let go of my original intentions?”
“I’m saying I don’t think it’s a bad idea to just trust the ride and see where it takes you.”
And with that he kicks off down the hill.
So much for trusting the ride. Halfway down the hill, I tumble. I wish I could say it was a casual fall, but I roll several times before coming to a stop at the bottom.
Jesse is at my side in seconds, crouching down and asking if I’m okay.
I spit out snow to answer him. “I think so,” I say, doing a quick mental scan of my body. “I just have snow in my hair, and now I’m wet and cold.”
“Here.” Jesse tugs off his gloves and brushes the snow out of my hair, then pulls off my gloves and rubs his hands over mine.
Funny thing: I’m not cold anymore. I also decide maybe falling isn’t so bad, after all. In fact, for this kind of treatment, I’d consider falling on purpose on the next hill we climb.
Okay, maybe not. The fall hurt.
Jesse brings his lips to our hands and blows on them a couple of times as if he’s trying to make everything better. And he does. Jesse always makes everything better. And he has since I got here.
He blows one final time and then looks at me.
“Better?” he asks.
I feel a burst of yearning and then a rush of something more. Something deeper.
“Better,” I grin.
Then he pulls me up and helps me get back on my feet.