Griffen released the rope and skied toward the peak of the bunny hill. The morning was quiet except for the grinding sound of the rope tow and the shhhh of three pairs of skis slicing through fresh snow. His breath released a puff of fog. It couldn’t be more than fifteen degrees, and even wearing one of Reese’s quality ski suits, he was feeling it.
After an hour, Sawyer had managed the plow and straight run. They’d given him instructions on pointing his way down the slope, and this was his first go.
“Okay,” Reese said. “I’ll head down first. Watch me and follow.”
Griffen watched her descend the gentle slope, her athletic body gliding back and forth effortlessly.
“She makes it look so easy,” Sawyer said, pulling his ski mask into place.
“You’ll be fine.”
“Here goes nothing.” Sawyer pushed off, going straight at first, then trying a turn.
The morning hadn’t gone quite the way Griffen had hoped. There was little time for displays of affection when they were busy keeping a six-foot-two guy on his feet.
It was gratifying to be the competent one, though, and he was enjoying the fact that today Sawyer hardly resembled the country music star all the women went gaga over. Without his cowboy hat he looked like a regular guy; and on skis, well, he looked like a giraffe with broken kneecaps. How could a guy, so at ease onstage, be so awkward on the slopes?
Griffen watched Sawyer totter when his skis crossed. He was losing control. “Plow!” he called, but he didn’t think Sawyer heard because he was skiing a straight run now and quickly gaining speed.
Griffen pushed off. “Plow!” he called again.
But Sawyer was picking up speed and heading toward Reese, his ski poles waving wildly.
Oblivious to Sawyer’s proximity, Reese cut back to the left, right into Sawyer’s path.
“Reese!” Sawyer yelled, and she must’ve heard because she looked back just in time for the collision.
Sawyer snatched her around the middle as he hit her and leaned backward. Their skis clacked together, then there was a thud as they hit the ground. Their skis and poles went flying. Reese landed on top of Sawyer, and he grunted.
“Reese!” Griffen surged forward, not liking their stillness. But then Reese flopped off to the side. When he slid to a stop, they were laughing like maniacs.
“I take it you’re fine,” he said, aware his voice was frostier than the air.
They were laughing too hard to notice. Griffen collected their things, remembering his own recent collision with Reese. She hadn’t found it so amusing then. In fact, if memory served, she’d been a smidge testy. But then, that collision had been with him, not her beloved Sawyer.
Griffen dropped their skis and poles beside them. Sawyer was flicking the snow from Reese’s hat. Her cheeks were rosy pink, her eyes twinkling.
“Right. Going inside to warm up.” Because clearly they were having enough fun without him. Clearly Griffen was only in the way.
Reese worked with Sawyer until he could successfully point his way down the bunny hill. She’d expected Griffen to return by now, but after a while she realized he was giving them alone time—which was what he thought she wanted. She had enjoyed Sawyer’s company this morning, just not the way Griffen supposed. And fact was, she’d felt guilty being so alone with Sawyer on the slopes when he was engaged to someone else.
She skied back to the lodge, leaving Sawyer to practice his new skill. Inside, the lodge was quiet and lit only by the bank of windows facing the slopes. Griffen sat in front of the stone fireplace, staring into the cold grate. On the table behind him sat a cup of coffee he must’ve made himself.
He didn’t seem to notice her approach. Smiling, Reese snuck up behind him and covered his eyes. “Guess who?”
He pulled away, hardly looking at her, and she recalled his departing words on the slope—or rather, the tone in which he’d said them.
Reese plunked down beside him on the bench and rubbed her cold hands together. The mock plan to win Sawyer probably seemed to be working from his perspective, which was exactly what they’d set out to do.
“You seem to be making headway.” He didn’t sound entirely pleased.
“I guess.”
“What do you mean? You were rolling in the snow like a couple of lovebirds.” His mouth smiled, but his eyes didn’t follow.
“Well. It’s a start.”
He nodded. “And then what?”
“What do you mean?”
He looked at her then, those piercing blue eyes, and she knew exactly what he meant. The wedding. The town’s only hope. Her plan, if it succeeded, would ruin it all, and they both knew it.
She felt like a dog for even pretending to attempt it. He must think she was selfish to the extreme. It was right there in his eyes, and she hated it. God, I wanted Griffen to notice me, but I’m making a mess of it. Now he thinks I’m a jerk.
A lock of hair had flipped over his forehead and tangled in his long lashes. She fought the urge to brush it away, fisting her hands. She looked back into his eyes, and that’s when it hit her.
She loved him. Not just loved him—she was in love with him. Two totally different things. How had it happened so quickly? The line between “love” and “in love” was much thinner than she’d thought.
“What?” he asked.
And she was suddenly sure her every emotion must be sketched on her face.
“Nothing.” She cupped her cold hands over her mouth and warmed them with her breath. How ironic, the way her feelings had flip-flopped. She now felt only friendship toward the man she used to love, and was in love with the man who used to be her friend.
Maybe she should just tell him. Right now. End the charade. Get it off her chest once and for all. Griffen, I don’t love Sawyer . . . I love you.
See, she even had the words. They were right there. She opened her mouth to say them, willing the words to make the short journey from her brain to her tongue.
But fear reached up and snatched them from her throat. Only air escaped her parted lips.
He looked away, his jaw twitching.
What a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive. The old quote scrolled across her brain like a TV crawler.
Griffen was probably hating her, hating himself for his own part in this scheme. Maybe it was time to end this charade. If she couldn’t tell him her feelings, she could at least let him off the hook.
“You know,” she said, “why don’t we just call it quits.”
“What do you mean?”
She tucked her hands in her pockets, warming them. “You don’t want to do this anymore. I get it. I can take it from here.”
“Get someone else to help, you mean.”
She shrugged. Hadn’t thought that far ahead, but the mere thought of another charade left her exhausted. Weren’t things complicated enough?
“No,” Griffen said. “Said I’d help, and I will.”
He still didn’t look too happy about it, but Reese was at a loss as to how to fix the mess. She bumped his shoulder, trying to lighten the mood. “You sure?”
Griffen stood and pulled his gloves from his pockets. “I’m sure.”