“No wonder everyone’s been raving about you,” Harley says, trying to smooth things over. “I’m off to entertain the masses.”
“Yeah,” Melissa says to Dove as they get ready to leave. “You’re sure to rake in the money this week.”
“I hope so,” Dove says. “I need to pay Harley back for the ticket. Maybe I’ll get a nice envelope,” she says, referring to the red envelopes guests are given the option of leaving as they check out.
“Matron said tips can’t be split.” Melissa twirls her hair so it stays put behind her ears. “Is that true?”
Dove nods, thinking. “It is. And some people try to get around it by pitching in and saying they’ll pool all the tips, but you can get well and truly screwed….”
“Hey, that just might be the first time I’ve heard you use improper language,” Melissa says, imitating Dove’s uppercrust voice.
“Well, people give tips however they want to—and you never know the way it’ll work out. I remember my parents …”
Melissa’s mouth falls open with her realization. “You came here, didn’t you?”
Dove looks at the floor and then at Melissa. “I thought I’d said as much.”
“Implied, maybe, but …”
They exit the bunkroom, heading out the squeaky back door, leaving the mess of their room, and Harley’s voice encouraging a game of charades upstairs. Outside, the frigid temps make Melissa’s eyes water.
“We were part of the toujours—the always crowd. The people who come back year after year.”
“Oh my god, that must be so weird, then,” Melissa says. Her feet crunch over the hardening snow.
“What, you mean do I find it awkward picking up trash where once I dropped it?” Dove laughs. “At first—okay, maybe I still do. But when I met William, I kind of got to be friends with his crowd—the summer season people. He taught sailing on the lake and I met him …”
“And the rest is plane ticket history?” Melissa says. Then she calculates something. “Haven’t you been apart longer than you were together?”
Dove’s smile turns into a tight twist. “I’d rather not think of it like that. He’s got to do his job; I made a promise to myself that I’d function and be on my own—and then be with him.”
“And what happens after the infamous meeting on the tropical island?” Melissa and Dove stop in front of the Main House. Melissa has to borrow skis from the equipment shed out back—unclaimed items went there at the end of the season, or damaged goods no one wanted, or castoffs from the rental shop when they turned over inventory.
Dove’s eyes are wide; her face glows in the cold. “You know what? I have no idea.” She pauses and sucks in, then coughs. “It’s so freezing out here I can hardly breathe. Are you sure you want to ski?”
“It might be the only shot I get….”
“You mean the only shot with those boys Harley’s all chummy with.” Dove smirks. “But as for your last question … I think I’ve spent my whole life living on this planned-out route—from nursery to primary school to Fairfax.” Dove pauses, remembering the uniform at Fairfax, how once in the autumn-crisp wind Max had draped his school blazer over her shoulders. She’d loved feeling blanketed by that coat, by him. She wonders if William would lend her a jacket—of course he would. Only, the days had been warm enough when they were together that she’d never had to ask. “Anyway, now I’m free. I have no plans whatsoever beyond this week, holiday week, and then the islands. With William.”
“What about college?” Melissa asks, mainly curious because she’s confused about what to do next also. I could travel, stay on here for the summer, go to cooking school? Now, there’s a thought. Maybe if I had a plan beyond these next few months …
“I deferred a year,” Dove says. “Oxford gave me a one-year grace, and then if I don’t accept by next September, I lose my place.”
“Oxford? Wow—that’s pretty … well, you know the reputation.” Melissa unzips her side pocket and takes out her staff ID. “Could I look more shocked in this photo? They took it right as I was stepping onto the coach to get here.” Dove nods. Melissa looks over to the Main House doors, which now all but shout “holidays”—with their swags of green and red holly, and small blinking white lights. “Hey—there’s Max.”
Dove is about to ask how Melissa knows Max, as if she alone has him. Then she realizes they could have spoken in the kitchen or outside at the resort while Dove’s been locked in the loos cleaning and sweeping. “I feel like Cinderella, frankly,” Dove admits. She stares at Max as he outfits himself by the ski racks.
“You look like her, too,” Melissa says, tugging on Dove’s long silvery locks. “I mean, this is total princess hair.”
Dove tucks it under her ski cap. “I don’t feel like a princess, I’ll tell you that much.”
“So come skiing—maybe that’ll brighten your day,” Melissa says. She scans the area, wondering when Harley’s guy friends will show up. “Harley did say to meet them at the equipment shed, right?”
Dove nods. “You go. I’m going to walk and stretch my legs—and enjoy fresh air before I have to retreat to the laundry room to get the next set of towels and sheets.”
Melissa perks up. “Laundry room? Oh, Dove—huge favor. Please?” Melissa stammers as she sees some guys walk toward the shed—I have to meet them if I’m gonna take a run with them. I can’t wait to see what kind of guy Harley would follow thousands of miles without knowing him. “I left a bunch of my clothes there yesterday—and I don’t …”
“Let me guess—you don’t want the hassle of picking them up.”
“It’s not out of laziness, I assure you,” Melissa says. “More like saving face.” She pulls a bright red ski cap on over her curls, holds her ID in her hand, and starts to walk away.
“Why? Did something happen?” Dove asks. Max has disappeared from sight, and she’s thankful. Not that she minds being around him, but he’s a distraction, a link to her old life she doesn’t want to complicate her present.
“This guy—never mind, I’ll just tell you. I’m assuming your mouth is a vault, right?” Dove nods. “JMB—his name’s JMB and I guess I kind of like him. Or, really do. But … yesterday it was like my humiliation came back to haunt me. Turns out JMB’s friends with that guy from last year—the one who I liked so much and then …”
“Oh, that’s rough,” Dove says. “What’re you going to do?”
Melissa claps her hands. The sound is muffled by her gloves and she doesn’t see her ID card fall to the ground. Dove is too busy eyeing Celia Sinclair’s posse of poseurs and paparazzi. “She’s just a movie star. That’s all—an actress. Why all the fuss?”
Melissa turns so she can see Celia’s latest getup—an all-in-one bright white ski outfit topped by a fur-rimmed hood. “She better hope that’s fake fur.”
Dove rolls her eyes. “Who’s she with?”
Melissa puts her hand over her eyes, shielding them from the bright light. “It’s …” When she figures it out, her face falls. “It’s JMB,” she says. “I guess he gets around. First Charlie …”
“Who’s Charlie?” Dove shakes her head. “I can’t keep this straight.”
“Charlie’s this girl—she seems sweet, actually. A nanny for Celia’s brood.”
“Oh, lucky her,” Dove says, reveling in the sarcasm.
“But when I left the laundry room yesterday—I don’t know—it seemed like Gabe Schroeder—blech—I feel dumb just saying his name—was talking about her with JMB.”
“And did JMB have anything to contribute?” Dove watches the cameras flash as Celia and JMB wave, walking toward the foot of the mountain.
Melissa starts to hurry. “Look—I have to go if I’m going to do this. I’m not going to have enough time for cooking tonight as it is … and yes, from what I overheard, it seems like JMB already had a taste of Charlie’s sweetness and maybe now he’s going in for some famous fun.”
“It could’ve been a misunderstanding,” Dove
says.
“Or it could just be my bad patterns of picking guys who are ultimately lame and lascivious.”
Dove smiles and sighs. Her back is sore from bending down to make the beds—though she has to admit, it’s been nice skipping Max’s room. Just as well, really, she thinks, I don’t want to see his underwear on the floor or his letters home to girls—his anything. “Whatever happens, happens,” Dove says. “I know that sounds ultrapassive, but it’s worked for me so far. Three months ago I was vacationing here, now I’m working here—and so on. You just never know.”
“I guess not,” Melissa says. “Well, I’m off to try the green run. I figured I’ll start intermediately.” Dove nods. Melissa walks to the shed, asks for skis and poles, and as she’s clicking into the bindings, sees Celia Sinclair kiss JMB on the cheek while Dove walks toward the laundry, figuring she’d better get a move on with her work—it’s a good distraction from the muddle in her mind.
15
Check the weather every day—twice.
MELISSA CAN’T HELP BUT stare at JMB and Celia—he spins her around, laughing, faux-dancing on the snow as the wind picks up around them. “Bit of a spectacle, aren’t they?” Gabe Schroeder sidles up to her. Melissa tries for calm, knowing she’ll never achieve cool. “Fame has that allure, I suppose.”
Gabe shrugs. “Been there, done that.” He gives a last look at JMB and Celia. JMB starts to make his way to the shed.
Suddenly, Melissa can’t hold in her feelings, all the resentment and embarrassment from last season. She remembers seeing him for the first time, how kind he’d been lifting her bags, how they’d hung out and traded stories over frozen lemonade. He’d invited her to watch his race—and when he’d won, he’d waved to her. And then, everything ended when he’d allowed her journal to be announced to everyone—and denied any of it was true. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?” Gabe looks at her with a serious expression.
Melissa tries to steady herself on her poles so she can get her other ski on. “You know what happened last year—and God knows I’ve tried to avoid you. But you keep popping up.”
“I do not,” Gabe says. He reaches out to hold firm her pole.
“You were at that club, the one with no name—”
“You were there?” Gabe asks. He sounds genuinely interested. “Why didn’t you say hi?”
“Um, hello? This might come as a shock-surprise, Gabe, but you made my life a living hell last season. I …” She doesn’t care anymore about feeling stupid, about harboring feelings for him, and realizes it might just feel good to let it out and let it go. “You knew I liked you, okay?” Gabe nods, a blush creeping over his cheeks, highlighted by the paleness of his curls. As he watches her, Melissa recalls the intense way he stares at your mouth, which makes you feel like you’re the only one in a ten-mile radius. “And yet you did nothing—no, correction. You did the opposite. You did everything in your power to see that I became a laughing stock. Reading my journal out loud? Into a microphone?”
“It was called Night of Humiliation,” Gabe explains. “And if you’d stayed, you’d have learned that …”
“I would have learned that it is a huge mistake to ever put anything on paper if you want it kept private.”
“No, wait. After you left that night—you missed my act. You didn’t hear that I …”
“Oh, shut up!” Melissa says to him and feels redeemed. “I’m sick of sneaking around here hoping not to see you this season. I’m tired of feeling dumb for having feelings. So I had them. Had being the operative word in the past tense.”
Gabe stares at her, his eyes still on her mouth. Then he looks at her directly, their eyes glued until he speaks. “The past, huh? I’m sorry. I—You—I never meant to …”
JMB dashes over, out of breath and happy as a puppy. “Hey—did I miss her?”
Gabe shakes his head. “No.”
“Miss who?” Melissa asks. She feels strong, powerful, present in the here and now rather than trapped with one foot in the past.
“We’re supposed to meet …,” JMB starts.
“Oh, wait—me, too,” Melissa says. “I have to look for someone named James? James Benton?” Gabe and JMB exchange a look. Melissa shrugs and explains. “My friend Harley sent me to ski with him—I haven’t been on a run yet—can you believe it?”
“Uh … ,” JMB starts. He puts a hand on Melissa’s shoulder and she’s sucked right back into liking him but being determined not to. Then again, maybe the Charlie thing was just a fling, and the Celia Sinclair thing just a photo-op. Or maybe, like Gabe’s reputation, JMB is just a ski slut. “I’m James.”
“What?” Melissa feels her toes grow numb in her boots. Her fingers feel chilled, too. Just as she puts the pieces together, small flakes begin to fall. She takes a breath. “Wait. You’re James? Harley’s James?” She doesn’t even hear the possessive slip out.
JMB makes a face and wrinkles his brow. Gabe raises his eyebrows. “I’m not her James first of all. And yeah—my full name is James Marks-Benton. Thus the JMB.”
“Thanks for the grammar lesson,” Melissa says. “Now I feel lame all over again.” Really, I feel torn and totally conflicted—I’ve liked JMB from the start—he was kind of mine, even if he wasn’t. But now he’s Harley’s, which changes everything. Doesn’t it?
“All over again?” James asks. “Why again?”
Melissa looks at Gabe, urging him with a glance to speak up. She wonders if he’ll cover for her or use this opportunity to ridicule her—air out the misfortunes of last season. Gabe shrugs his shoulders, his jacket crinkling. “No reason—we were just talking about the past before you got here. How it …”
Melissa interjects. “How it’s better kept back there.”
James looks at Gabe for further info, but none is offered. In fact, Gabe switches gears. “So—funny coincidence, huh?”
“Harley mentioned she had a cool friend in the chalet.” James nods. “So if you’re the cook who works with Harley, you probably know her, right?”
Melissa nods. She can see where this is going. Harley will get her man, just as she said. Only, her man is my man, Melissa thinks. Or was. Or wasn’t. But still. “I’m getting to know her,” Melissa says. “We haven’t been here long….” And I’m getting re-acquainted with having unrequited crushes. But maybe it’s like cooking—the more you do it, the better you get at it. After all, those first few days waking up before dawn to set up coffee and scones were hard—and now it’s just a fact of life.
The three of them ski over to the base of the mountain, lining up for the triple chair. “One quick run, okay?” Melissa says. “I have loads to do.” She thinks about tonight’s meal, and tomorrow’s party. Now that the brownie swirls have been a hit, there’s even more pressure on me to create something fun. But what? Still half in shock she’s here, and standing with him without the urge to bolt—or without that urge taking total hold of her—she looks at Gabe. “And not a difficult run. I’m out of practice.”
“Got it,” Gabe says. “We’ll take care of you.”
With James out of earshot, Melissa whispers to Gabe, “If you’re taking care of me, then I’m in real trouble.”
Gabe laughs, his eyes registering a little hurt, but his mouth staying in the moment. “Give me a little credit, okay?”
JMB, Melissa, and Gabe move up in the line every few minutes, but the crowd is thick. JMB fiddles with his binding, Melissa ponders party ideas. Tacos? Fortune telling and pizza? No—something sweet and simple, with a twist. JMB looks over his shoulder toward the Main House where Celia Sinclair is putting on a show for some little kids, dramatically smiling and cooing at them. Melissa sees Charlie, the nanny, and waves. Charlie waves back. When she does, Melissa isn’t the only one to acknowledge it—JMB waves, too.
“Hey, guys?” JMB says when the line seems to take forever. “Do you mind if I bow out? I have some errands to run and if the weather’s going to be blowing in as they say, I need to go—
like now.”
Gabe shrugs. “You’re leaving me in charge of this young thing?” With his hand looped into his poles, Gabe thumbs to Melissa.
“I’m sure you can handle it,” JMB says to him. To Melissa he adds, “Keep him out of trouble. Keep him away from the nanny population. In fact, keep him away from any and all females. And let’s meet up tonight—hot drinks at The Ledge?”
Melissa nods, wondering how she could keep Gabe from all females when she is one—unless, that is, JMB doesn’t consider her part of the risky population. At least JMB mentioned going out. That has to mean something, right? She hasn’t been to The Ledge yet—the small cabin in the center of the frozen lake. It served only hot chocolate and homemade sticks of marshmallows. “Can he really get me in there?” Melissa asks Gabe once they’re next in line for the lift.
“To The Ledge?” Gabe asks. He takes his poles off his wrist and holds them in one hand. “It’s invite only, but trust me—with a background like James has, he’s golden.”
“Cool.” Melissa smiles. The chair comes around and she doesn’t have time to move to the edge seat, so when she sits on the triplechair, she and Gabe are right next to each other.
“But just so you know …” Gabe swallows as the chair lift hoists them into the air. Melissa feels her stomach flip. From the height, she assures herself, not from being with Gabe—the Gabe who enticed her all last year, who trashed her feelings, whom she hadn’t seen since. Gabe and James whom Harley had been hanging out with on the side. All those times Harley’d gone off to watch people ski jump, or meet random people for coffee, she was probably seeing James.
“What?” Melissa asks, taking in the amazing view. Mountains, peaks covered in snow, and below them skiers swishing down the slope. Everything seems in slow motion, with the falling snow.
“I’m just trying to help you now … Not that you want my help and not that you trust me enough to tell you the truth….”
Melissa turns to him, trying to get comfortable on the metal chair. Her breath comes out in puffs. “Look, I’m not some fragile bird. Don’t treat me like I’m going to get wounded with everything you say.” Melissa can feel her confidence build the more she speaks—just like making soufflés, or dishes people said were too tricky for a novice cook.
Balancing Acts Page 13
