Valentine Kisses: A Kiss to Last a Lifetime

by Abigail Drake

  Gabe had no idea I was coming, but his place is immaculate. All the blankets are folded corner to corner and draped across the sofa and chairs at perfect right angles. A wood slab coffee table has Ski and Snow magazines, along with Country Living fanned across the top. In the far corner, a wrought iron wood stove warms the small room with a dry, hot heat. I rub my hands as I rush over to it, already making myself at home when my host hasn’t welcomed me to do so.

  Satan rushes past me toward his food bowl. He whines until Gabe gives him dinner.

  Once Satan’s taken care of, Gabe stops in front of the fireplace. “Do you mind?” I shuffle out of his way. He shakes his head as he kneels down to open the door. A blast of hot air invites me to stand in front of its flames, but I keep my distance from Gabe and his icy glares as he loads it with wood.

  I can’t believe me luck. This morning I fled Arizona and eighty-degree heat, and now I’m here at Wolf Creek on a cold winter night with the warmth of a fire. Life doesn’t get much better than this. Just as I sign in contentment, Gabe slams the door shut, jarring me from my happy place. “You got something to change into?”

  Oh crud. In my hurry to get into his truck, I forgot my bag and my toothbrush. I could also go for hot chocolate with a shot of Baileys, but I’m guessing that’s a pipe dream. “I’m fine.”

  He scowls at me, leaves the room (stomping is of course involved), and returns with a flannel shirt. “You can wear this. Bathroom’s the second door on the left.”

  Before I can say thank you or ask where I should sleep, he disappears back down the hall and slams a door.

  Satan shoves his head under my hand. “He’s not very talkative, is he?” He whimpers and nudges my leg to pay him the attention he deserves. Once satisfied, he circles the hearthrug and flops down next to fire.

  I quickly change in the bathroom and hang my clothes by the fire. I eye the neatly folded wool blanket on the back of the sofa. It’s a real blanket with weight to it instead of those polyester jobbies you can buy at Target. I’d love to bury myself under it, but I don’t want to earn any more of disapproval from Gabe. I’ve earned enough already. I lean over and scratch Satan’s back.

  “Thanks for the company Satan.”

  “Satan, come,” Gabe yells from down the hall.

  Someone has sharing issues. I curl up in a ball and stare out the window. I watch the snowflakes dance around until the warmth of the fire lulls me to sleep.

  ***

  It wasn’t my intention to sleep late. I planned to wake up early, call a tow truck, and bribe the driver to pick me up. I’d leave Gabe a note thanking him for his help and that would be the end our strained interactions. Sure, I’d miss saying goodbye to Satan, but there will be other dogs. Maybe I could get one of my own. I’ve always thought dogs were better company than most people anyway.

  When I wake up to the smell of coffee and wood smoke, I know I missed my walk of shame window. Someone, I’m assuming Gabe, draped the wool blanket over me while I was sleeping. This small act of kindness makes up for his surliness.

  The promise of coffee lures me into the kitchen. On tiptoe, I creep in. Satan’s scarfing down breakfast and Gabe’s hunched over a book with a steaming mug of coffee.

  In the soft glow of morning, his cheeks and shoulders lose the harsh angles of the night before. The anger and annoyance I came to pair with him are gone with a few hours of sleep.

  His flannel hangs loosely from his shoulders. My eyes drift to his exposed chest. Hard muscled from long hours of wood chopping. Perfect except for one long, jagged scar from his sternum down across his ribs.

  Satan’s nails click across the tile as he spots me. Gabe shoots his head up and catches me staring at his chest. His scowl returns and he buttons up his shirt.

  Two steaming mugs sit in front of him. He grips his but doesn’t offer me the other one. This is a test of wills I see. He lifts it to his lips.

  Check and mate.

  “Is that for me?”

  “No one else here.” His ability to use as few words as possible and still get his point across is remarkable. I should probably take some lessons after last semester. Over-sharing got me in trouble more than once.

  My greedy hands reach for the mug. I pour generous helpings of sugar and creamer into it, slide onto a bar stool, and take a sip. As the coffee hits the back of my throat and works its way into my system, everything becomes right with the world. I sigh in euphoria.

  Somewhere between my grabbing the coffee to my sitting on the bar stool, Gabe’s surliness returns. He slams down his. Coffee splashes across the counter. He stops and stares at his mess, as if undecided whether he should clean it up or storm out of the room. He decides on the later but his stocking feet don’t create the same room shaking effect as his boots. It’s more of a swish swish swish. No fear will be struck in this snowbound heart. “I called a tow truck. They’re meeting us in fifteen minutes.”

  I stare at his spilled coffee seeping toward the edge. I set mine down to clean the counter.

  “Now,” he roars.

  I clean his spill, toss the paper towel in the garbage, and run toward the door. I take one parting glance at my coffee. The coffee and Satan are the only things I’ll miss from this place.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Can I help you?” asks a guy with a crew cut, but he doesn’t sound like he’s really interested in helping anyone at all.

  I fumble my application. The papers fly in a half dozen directions. One for every page. No one stoops down to help me pick them up, even though the line behind me is ten deep.

  They are close enough to snicker. That’s always helpful.

  I crawl toward the last two sheets with the scattered stack clutched in my hand. Worn gold brown duck canvas knees bend beside one of the sheets. A gnarled scarred hand with grease stained fingertips offers it to me. “Thank you,” I murmur as I scurry over to my remaining link to ski instructor job security.

  “Arizona?” he says.

  I reach for the last sheet just as a red and blue Asolo hiking boot steps on it. The paper tears in half.

  I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.

  “Oh sorry, was that important?” A male voice says who doesn’t sound the least bit sorry. He must be friends with the non-helpful crew cut guy.

  I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not. I take a deep breath before I push myself up. Before me stands a god, a golden ski god. Forget everything I said about him not being sorry. He doesn’t need to be sorry because he is so very beautiful. I am the one who should be sorry that my application caused him to stop amongst mortals.

  “Excuse me miss, is this guy bothering you?” He says or I think that’s what he says. I am bathing in his blue eyes still.

  Gabe grunts and snaps me back to my fully dressed present. “Me bothering her? You’re the one who just ripped her paper.”

  “That was an accident, Gabe. You know about accidents, right?”

  Gabe steps in front of this ski god. “I know the difference between an accident and murder, Harrison the fourth.” He spits the name like he’s expelling rattlesnake venom.

  Harrison the fourth laughs. “Are we really going to have this conversation again? Should I get out the Cease and Desist Order?”

  Gabe swallows. The vein above his right temple pulses. He shoves three people out of the way and stomps away. I stare at his departing red beanie and his Carhart behind. I’ve always found Carharts very attractive.

  “Oh, don’t mind him,” Harrison the fourth says. “He’s got issues.” He stoops down to pick up the other half of the ripped paper. The spikes on top of his head are far too perfect for sloppy bed head. His face ought to grace the cover of Ski magazine. Cheekbones and jawlines speaking to the Bode Millers of the past. “So, you want to become a ski instructor?”

  I nod, choking down a gondola worth of tears.

  “You ever ski before?”

  I nod again.

  “Do you know who I am?”
r />   Oh, yes, I know this answer. “Harrison the fourth?”

  “Yes, but Harrison the fourth who?”

  My cheeks burn before this gorgeous hunk of man flesh. I shrug.

  His solicitous grin disappears. “Too bad. Next time, learn the boss’s name before applying.”

  The boss. Oh shit.

  He drops the torn paper on my stack. I catch it before it slides back to the floor. “Next?”

  I realize I’ve just been dismissed, but no one’s even looked at my application. Surely, they can’t not hire me just because I didn’t know Harrison the fourth’s last name. I couldn’t have just blown my shot. “Excuse me Harrison, could you look at my application please. I really want to be a ski instructor.”

  He sighs, “Alright.” He flips through the pages, nods his head, flips through a few more pages. “What type of equipment you use?”

  “Equipment?”

  “Yeah, what skis? Boots?”

  “I was hoping I could rent skis for the training.”

  “Rent?” He laughs. He pokes the not-helpful check in guy. “Double D, did you hear her? She just asked if she can rent skis for the ski instructor class.”

  Harrison tosses my application in the garbage. “I hear they’re hiring in food service. Next?”

  Tears stream down my face. The next person in line bumps me to the side. Another person shoves me out of the way. I run toward the door while the room fills with laughter and cries of, “Rent! She wants to rent skis! Can you believe it?”

  I half stumble/half fall out of the lodge. All I want to do is throw my arms around a snowbank and let the mountain whisper that it will be okay. I wander down a side trail that leads to the giant boulder I used to sit on as a kid. I need something familiar right about now.

  “Watch it!” Gabe yells a second too late. I land spread eagle in a snowbank. His harsh angles and rough edges have returned in all their surliness. “Watch where you’re going.”

  His face softens when he notices my tear soaked face. “What happened?”

  I brush the snow off. “Harrison the fourth won’t let me try out for ski instructor school because I wanted to rent skis.”

  At the mention of Harrison the fourth, the granite returns to his features. “I told you, you weren’t cut out for the mountain.” He continues down the trail toward the old maintenance shed.

  “It’s the only thing I am cut out for,” I yell at his departing back.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When I finally compose myself, I return to the lodge. Clutters of people are still hanging around the Ski Instructor sign-in table, but Harrison the fourth and company are nowhere to be seen. I breathe a sigh of relief.

  I follow the long hallway down to Human Resources. I take comfort in the familiar wood-sided hallway with the old framed pictures of Wolf Creek’s early years still hanging on the walls. With each step, my confidence and determination returns. I know every trail at Wolf Creek better than anyone, and I’ll be damned if I allow some cocky, Alpha males to tell me what I can and can’t do.

  I push through the doors to Human Resources and smile at the familiar front counter and the back office. In the fall and half the winter, Mom filed new job applications and employee paperwork. The rest of the year she worked on marketing in the back office. During the off-season, I wandered between Mom’s office, Dad’s office, and the woods surrounding the resort. But as soon as the snow fell, I was the first one on the mountain and the last one off. Mom and Dad always knew where to find me. Every lift operator, ski patrol, ski instructor, and food service employee kept an eye out for me. The three of us were as much a part of Wolf Creek as the gondola until the new owners brought in their own people even though they promised the previous owners that Mom and Dad’s positions were secure. I stop in front of the large picture hanging in the front office of the new owner-Harrison William the third.

  “He looks like he’s got a stick up his ass, but his son is GOR-geous!” A girl about my age with streaks of pink and purple in her hair says. I notice she’s filling out a job application with purple ink. “I’m Kendall.”

  “Lexi.”

  “You work at Wolf Creek?”

  “I want to.” I don’t recount the gory details of my morning. Lexi doesn’t want to hear about my baggage.

  She hands me a green pen. “Here, work with me at food service—we can be cashiers together.”

  “Cool.” I start filling out the application for Wolf Creek support staff. I stop when I get to address. “Kendall, you know of any places to rent around here.

  She turns to me and her eyes light up. “Yes! My friend bailed. You need to live with me because you’re awesome.”

  No one’s called me awesome before they’ve even met me. “How can you tell?”

  “I saw you run out of the lodge after H4, that’s Harrison the fourth’s nickname, was a dick to you. From what I hear, once H4 finishes someone off they leave in tears never to return to Wolf Creek. You’ve got spirit.” She tilts her head and smiles, “I love a girl with spirit especially if she wants to go out and drink tonight.”

  I grin at her. “I’m very thirsty.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The stainless steel tray slide sparkles by the time my sponge works its magic. I squat ten times before moving on to wipe the cash register island. Weak turns won’t be my downfall at this Saturday’s open ski instructor tryout.

  Randy, the dishwasher, told me the Ski Shack outside of town gives a fifteen percent discount to Wolf Creek employees. Depending on who’s working, they’ve been rumored to give almost fifty percent off used equipment.

  The lanyard swings back and forth on my neck as I scrub the soda dispensers. Wolf Creek policy states the employee ID must be visible at all times. I learned this policy after Bonnie, the food service manager caught me with my ID tucked under my shirt to keep it out of the cleaning bucket. I am now a rule violator and considered a disturber of the peace.

  So what else is new.

  Working in the kitchen isn’t so bad. The staff seems much nicer than most of the ski instructors, and Kendall knows everyone at Wolf Creek. She said I was awesome the day we met, but really, she’s the one who’s awesome.

  “Lexi, you done yet?”

  “Almost.”

  “You know, if you didn’t do all those exercises while you clean, we would have been drinking at the bar an hour ago.”

  I shrug, wringing out the washcloth. “I gotta be ready for next weekend’s open tryout.”

  Kendall’s sporting a slinky shirt and tight jeans. Her heels could shatter an ice block. She glances at my ripped jeans and paint splattered Converse. “You don’t have to stop at the apartment or anything, do you?”

  “Well…,” I say. She squints at me. “No, let’s rock.”

  ***

  Hard cider sloshes around the pint glass as Devon fills it from the tap. “So Lex, Kendall tells me you’re still planning to try out for ski instructor school. I thought we had turned you to the dark side.”

  Devon, Kendall’s nightly hook-up guy, has become a semi-permanent addition to our apartment these last two weeks. I’m not sure if Kendall likes him because he’s sort of cute in a hipster, ski bum way or because he’s the bartender at Ripstop. Probably both.

  “I’ll still party with all of you,” I say.

  “Ski instructors don’t mix with the workers. Ain’t that right, Gabe?”

  Down at the end of the bar, Gabe clutches his own pint glass. He raises his head. “Huh?” He’s wearing the same flannel he wore the night he towed Dot out of the snowbank. He digs through his beard to scratch his chin. I’ve never made out with a guy with a beard. I wonder if it’s itchy.

  “Ski instructors and employees don’t mix,” Devon says loud enough that I’ve no doubt that Gabe heard him. Gabe sucks down the rest of his drink as his answer.

  “See?” Devon says, pouring Captain Morgan into a new glass. He splashes some Coke on top, shoves in a straw, and places it in front of Gabe. T
he service at Ripstop is unbelievable.

  Gabe wraps his lips around the tip of the straw. More than half the drink disappears in one mighty swallow. Ice collapses against the bottom of the glass now left without their flotation device.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll still party with you,” I say.

  Devon waggles his finger at me. “You say that now but when you become a mile high ski instructor you’ll parade around with your fancy blue jacket and your jazzy little pin like the rest of them. Just wait and see.” He drifts to the other side of the bar.

  I nurse my cider. I’ve already had two, and the buzz is starting to come on pretty strong. The frost on the glass reminds me of the ice spidering on my bedroom window each morning. I still can’t believe I’ve returned to my mountain. After all this time, after so many disappointments, after a year and half of hell at Arizona State. Sometimes, I pinch myself to make sure it’s not a dream.

  “Heeyyyy Arizona.” Gabe plops down next to me. I turn to him in surprise. Since the job application rescue, he refuses to even acknowledge my presence. He uses Kendall’s line in the cafeteria for lunch. He changes direction when he sees me in the lodge or the service entrance. I have become the ugly patch of asphalt in the snowbank he is unable to rid himself of.

  It bothered me for a while. After all he was the first person I met, he saved me from a snow bank, he let me sleep on his sofa, and he has the cutest dog in the entire world, though his name choice leaves something to be desired, but still, we share history.

  A lot’s changed for me since I returned to Wolf Creek. I moved in with Kendall, I got a job in Food Service to hold me over ’til the next ski instructor tryout, and I spend half my nights partying at this bar, meeting loads of people—people who enjoy my company, people who don’t ignore me when I see them at the lodge, and guys who want to hook-up with me—though none of them give off that sexy, broken vibe of Gabe or that drop your panties and let’s fuck smile of Harrison the fourth.