FALLING FOR MR SNOWFLAKE

Lily

There's nothing quite like the quiet after a snowfall.

Up here, the world feels suspended in time pine trees draped in white, rooftops sugar-dusted, and the slopes stretching out like a canvas waiting for the first brushstroke. The air is so crisp it stings the tip of my nose, and the snow beneath my skis is perfect fluffy but firm. The kind of snow instructors like me dream of.

I carve a slow curve into the hillside, just for the feel of it. My legs know what to do, my body responding like second nature. I've skied this mountain since I was old enough to stand, and even now, after years of teaching wobbly tourists and overconfident teenagers, it still feels like home.

Until I hear the yell.

It cuts through the still morning air like a snapped branch. Sharp. Human.

My eyes scan the slope and there he was.

A man in a sleek white jacket and glossy helmet is barreling downhill like an out-of-control shopping cart. Arms flailing. Legs bent in all the wrong ways. He's not skiing. He's surviving. Barely.

"Shift your weight!" I yell before I even think about it.

He doesn't.

He hits a bump and catches a terrifying bit of air. My stomach drops. His left ski lands first, catches on something, and suddenly he's veering sideways right towards a tree.

Crap.

I launch forward, skiing straight down with reckless speed. Not exactly instructor protocol, but I'm not about to watch this poor guy turn into pine bark.

By the time I reach him, he's face-first in a snowbank, limbs sprawled in what looks like a very undignified snow angel. His skis are still attached, but barely. His goggles are crooked, helmet tilted like it's trying to escape.

"You alive?" I ask, dropping to a knee beside him.

He groans and pushes himself up slowly. "I think I broke my dignity."

I let out a breathy laugh. "Happens to the best of us."

He looks up at me then, and I'm not prepared for how blue his eyes are. Icy, glacier-blue like something out of a travel magazine. He blinks a few times, dazed, before trying to sit up fully. He winces.

"And possibly a rib."

"Let's start with sitting." I hold out a hand. "Come on."

He takes it, warm fingers closing around mine, and I help pull him into a more dignified position. Or as dignified as one can be while half-buried in a snowdrift. He's tall and broad-shouldered under his jacket, dark hair peeking out beneath his helmet and annoyingly still handsome even after wiping out.

"I should've stayed on the bunny hill." he mutters.

"Let me guess...first time?"

"Was it that obvious?"

I raise an eyebrow. "You have the gear of someone who knows what they're doing and the form of someone who absolutely doesn't."

He sighs, brushing snow from his sleeves. "I watched four YouTube videos."

"Ah. The Holy Grail of ski training."

He grins a little sheepish