“I can ski,” I say, but then I stop, not willing to give much more away. But he fixes me an expectant stare and I sigh, shrugging.
“Well…I used to be really good at athletics in school. I ran track, hurdles, relay…the lot.”
“I can imagine you’re a good runner. You’ve got those wonderful long legs,” James says brightly.
Coming from any other man, I might find the comment gross or inappropriate, but from him, it’s like music to my ears. I dip my head.
“Well, school was a long time ago. I didn’t keep up with it, but I like watching sports now.”
“Tell me about it. It was very exciting when the Olympics came to London. My school buddies and I had the day off to go and see the torch. We ran alongside it for miles,” James tells me dreamily.
I can’t help smiling at the image. He has a knack for making me feel invested in any story he decides to tell me.
He keeps asking me questions about sports, and we talk for a long time about childhood memories. He has me cracking up every few minutes with his outrageous stories, and he seems genuinely interested in everything I tell him. It feels odd to be the center of somebody’s attention for once. I’m so used to blending into the background that each smile, each laugh, each question I earn from him seems like a triumph. And I find that I’ve missed this. I’ve missed the ease of communicating with someone that makes it seem so easy to be sociable.
Why do I keep pushing him away when I already know he’s offering me everything I’ve been craving since I’ve been alone?
A comfortable silence falls between us. It’s getting dark out now, and I have to think about serving dinner soon, but for once, my mind isn’t on work. James looks perfect right now, with his red nose peeping out from under his hooded sweater, his lips a little cracked from the cold, but still inviting. He looks at me and smiles, glancing down at his watch.
“Well, would you look at that? You managed to last a while in my presence without the universe imploding.”
I hang my head to hide my smile. “Alright, alright. Don’t get too used to it.”
Before I can stop him, he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His skin doesn’t even touch mine—he still has his gloves on—but the gesture itself sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine. That’s how I know I’m in trouble. He has the part of me that I never wanted to let go of again. The part of me that feels so strongly about a person that I want them to be by my side forever and always. I’m falling for him. Haven’t I always been, from the moment I met him three years ago?
“Was that so hard? To sit with me a while?” he says gently, though his voice is full of amusement. He’s shuffled a little closer to me and I haven’t stopped him. He knows I’m trying to push him away, and yet he’s still insisting on coming closer.
For a moment, with his gloved fingers resting on my cheek, I’m certain he’ll kiss me, and I’m certain I’ll let him. But then he withdraws his hand with a smile that almost looks shy.
“It’s starting to snow,” he says quietly.
I glance out at the landscape before us and see that he’s right. Beautiful flakes are drifting down before our eyes. It’s the fairytale setting that every girl dreams of. But when I look back to tell James how beautiful it is, I see that he’s already got up and left.
5
Five Gold Rings
I didn’t sleep much last night, and when I did, my dreams were filled with snowflakes. I have so many questions after last night, all of them about James. If he likes me the way I think he does, then why didn’t he kiss me? If he’s trying to get closer to me, then why did he run away the second I let my guard down? Is this all just some big game to him that I’ve been playing along with, or am I missing something?
Either way, he seems insistent on keeping it up today. This morning’s picture is, of course, the five gold rings, but he’s arranged them like the Olympic symbol. I can’t help feeling a rush of warmth toward him. It just goes to show that he was actually listening to me yesterday. If he’s playing a game with me, he’s doing a bloody good job of it.
My feet seem to be in charge today because they lead me straight to him. After days of trying to avoid him, I find myself taking this opportunity to be around him. It’s still early and the chalet girls are the only ones awake, aside from James. Today, he’s sitting in front of the fire, already drawing. He keeps sniffling to himself, his nose red-raw from the cold. He seems unaware of my presence at first, so I sit down in an armchair to watch him for a while. When he looks up and sees me, he smiles.
“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” he teases.
I roll my eyes, but the photographer in me was actually thinking the same thing. I love the feeling that you’re capturing someone unaware, taking a photograph of the person they are when they think no one else is looking.
He puts his drawing pad aside with a quiet sigh, closing his eyes.
“I think I’m going to avoid the slopes today. I’m feeling pretty lousy after sitting out in the cold yesterday. I blame you entirely, of course.”
“Naturally.”
“It’s the perfect day to sit inside and draw. It’s blowing a gale out there anyway,” he says with another sniff. “At least I’m feeling motivated. I have to admit, the drawing I did for you last night was a bit of a rush job.”
“It was one of my favorites,” I tell him honestly.
He cocks his head to the side in interest, smiling at me.
“Really? What makes you say that?”
I shrug, blushing as I think of the perfectly drawn gold rings. I clear my throat. “Well, I…I guess the drawing felt…personal.”
James can’t stop smiling, and I have to look away from him. Last night was confusing, to say the least, but looking at him now, I’m almost certain he can’t be faking this whole thing. It doesn’t seem like an act to wind me up, though the best master pretenders would never let on, I suppose. I’m praying quietly to myself that he cares. I’m hoping he wants me the way I want him, even if I’ll never allow myself to indulge.
“We talk about me far too much. I want to know about you,” he says. “Even after all this time, you’re still a mystery to me.”
“Maybe I like it that way.”
“Well, I don’t. I want to know,” James insists. “Come on. Tell me your deepest darkest secrets, Hazel.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Alright, alright…let’s start smaller, then. I’ve told you what my passion is. What’s yours?”
I chew my lip. It will be far too embarrassing to admit that I’m not passionate about much these days. I can’t exactly claim to be passionate about being a chalet girl. He knows me well enough to know this is just something I do to get by and get out of the city. So what do I tell him? I take a deep breath.
“Well, work takes up a lot of my time these days. But I guess I used to be a pretty good photographer.”
James raises his eyebrows, his face aglow with obvious interest. “Really? That’s great! Why don’t you take photographs anymore?”
“I don’t know. I just got out of the habit a while back. And work keeps me busy.”
“Work should never get in the way of a passion. I mean, money is great, sure. Obviously you need to work to live. But you’ve got a lot of free time here, Hazel. You should never waste the opportunity to exercise your talents.”
“Wow, thanks for the pep talk, Mom.”
“I’m serious. I mean, I get it. If you’re not feeling your best self, it’s hard to feel like anything you create is worth doing. And falling out of patterns makes it hard to get back into it, of course. So I understand, for sure. But once you find that strength to start over again, nothing will be able to stop you.”
Everything he is saying rings true, but I can’t picture him ever having a bad day, let alone a bad year. I’ll bet he’s one of those people who turns pain into art because it’s a healing process for him. I’ll bet there’s rarely a day where he doesn’t have a
pencil in his hand. But he’s right. Because the second I had a bad day, my camera was put back in its case and hasn’t been out since. Maybe I’m just not that passionate.
“It’s no big deal. It’s just something I used to do.”
“It is a big deal,” James insists, sitting up straighter as though to drive home his point. “You’ve got to show me some of your old photographs. I want to see them. And I want you to remember how good you are.”
“James, I shouldn’t even be sitting here with you now. I’m supposed to be working,” I say, using my lame excuse as a way to escape.
He shakes his head at me, but he’s still smiling. He’s always smiling.
“Later then, Hazel. Promise me!”
I don’t say another word as I leave the room. That boy never gives up. I guess that’s what I like about him. He tries hard, and his efforts are turned my way. I know that if I’m not careful, he’ll give up on me, but I can already feel him slipping away. In a month or so, I’ll be back in the city, and in less than a week, he will be back in England, making more money in a month than I do in a year. We’re worlds apart and it’s going to stay that way, no matter how hard I try.
The day passes by quickly with thoughts of James circling around my head. He’s the perfect antidote to a boring day, especially when I keep passing by him. I see him several times, laughing and joking with the staff, or drawing by the fire, or watching others ski. Every time, he pauses to wave to me, and each time, he brings a smile to my face.
I finish work a little earlier than normal. Everyone seems to be tired from all of the Christmas celebrations, meaning they’re happy to mill around the chalet without much entertainment. I head outside to where James and I sat on the patio the other day and open my phone. I don’t have much time for technology, especially when I’m out here in the wilderness, but there’s something I need to see.
I haul up my old photography website. Once upon a time, this side project took up most of my time. Now, of course, it’s long abandoned, and my inbox is filled with unfulfilled requests for me to attend weddings, kid’s birthday parties, and new puppy photoshoots. I flick through my old pictures with a heavy heart. There’s a whole folder dedicated to astronomy photographs from my trip to Sweden.
I took that trip with David.
The other photos have happier memories. I used to love the moment when I made a child laugh during a shoot, capturing the expression of joy for their parents forever. I adored getting involved with weddings, acting as a fly on the wall as I wove through the crowds, capturing candid images that the bride and groom would look back on with fond memories. I even worked as a club photographer for a while, captioning images with witty messages for the drunk citizens of New York City to view the following day on the club Facebook page.
There’s so much punctured passion on this page. Once, my love for photography was as full as a blown-up balloon. Now, there’s little to nothing left.
Or is there?
Before I can question what I’m doing, my feet find a way to return me to my bedroom. I find my camera at the bottom of my suitcase. It’s been there since I arrived at this resort for the start of the ski season. I grab it and head out in the snow. The sun is beginning to set, and I feel my heart swell. I can’t believe I’m back with a camera in my hand, but it’s making me happier than I thought I would ever be again.
My finger clicks as I take my first shot. I’ve forgotten to turn the flash off so the blinding light shocks me, but it’s a start. I crouch to get a better frame of the mountains, taking multiple pictures. I shift to find better lighting, though it’s harder under the darkening winter sky. Even so, I don’t stop. Even when my knees grow horribly damp from the snow and my fingers begin to freeze from my lack of gloves, I keep going.
Every photo I take brings back a new sense of hope. A renewed sense of self-worth. The pain of my Sweden photoshoot moves to the back of my mind. I forget David.
I’m happy.
By the time the sun has disappeared, it’s quiet and cold out here, but I make no effort to go inside. I stand, cherishing the sensations I’m having right now. I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive…
I don’t know how long I stand before turning back to the chalet. I can hear the distant laughter and raucousness of the evening guests, but I don’t fixate on it. Only one thing comes into focus, like a camera adjusting to the most important part of the photograph.
James sits in the window, his face split with a smile. He knows. He knows he’s winning his own bet. Not only am I falling for him…
I’m falling for Christmas all over again.
6
Six Geese a-Laying
This morning, I’m not going to be the only person presented with a gift. I plan to head straight over to James and show him the photographs I took yesterday. I’ll tell him the truth—that he inspired me to get back out there and take some pictures. I know it’ll earn a smile from him at the very least.
But when I check the space under my door, there is no sign of a drawing. There’s no paper waiting for me with a witty picture. My heart feels a pang of pain. Did James forget about me? Did he give up on the idea of making me love Christmas? Is he bored of his little game and left me behind?
I feel completely deflated as I get ready for the day ahead. I hadn’t realized how much I’d come to love my morning delivery from James. Now that it’s gone, I wish he would give me anything. A doodle, even. I feel stupidly abandoned for no good reason.
I know I’m being ridiculous. They were only drawings. But the fact that he thought of me each day and made something for me made me feel special. I guess I should’ve known this would happen. I kept pushing him away… What reason did he have to stick around?
I make breakfast for the guests in a daze, but as I head into the dining room to serve it, I realize there’s no sign of James. His parents are sitting talking to one another quietly, but there’s no sign of him. I scan the table once more just to make sure I haven’t missed him, but he’s definitely not there.
“Looking for James, darling?” James’ mother asks me with an almost sympathetic smile.
Can she see on my face how much I miss him already? Am I that easy to read?
She continues, “I’m afraid he’ll likely be in bed all day. He’s got a severe case of…man flu.”
“He’s just like his old dad. He suffers when he’s got a cold,” James’ father says. “I think all the fresh air has done him more bad than good.”
James’ mother rolls her eyes. “Men are all the same, aren’t they, darling?”
I force a small laugh, feeling a little relieved. At least James hasn’t disappeared entirely, even if he has forgotten to send me a picture. As I’m stacking the final plates from the table, James’ mother pats my arm lightly.
“I almost forgot, darling… James asked me to give you something. He said it was important.”
My heart skips a beat. There’s only one thing she can be talking about. He did remember. My hand is trembling as she hands me the slip of paper. I can feel James’ parents watching me carefully to see my reaction, so I hide my face behind my hair.
“Not writing you love letters is he?” James’ dad teases as I blush beet red.
“Oh, stop teasing the poor girl. That’s none of your business,” James’ mother says, swatting him with her napkin. Then she looks back at me with a sugar-sweet smile. “Don’t worry, darling, he’s just being nosy. You seem like a lovely girl, Hazel. You’d be lovely for our James…not that there’s any pressure.”
“We’ve said too much,” his father exclaims, wiping his mouth on a napkin and standing up. “We won’t bother you anymore. Have a good day, lovie.”
James’ parents leave the room together, giggling like school children. I whip around and find that the other guests have been watching this entire interaction. I hastily retreat to the kitchen with the plates, my head spinning in confusion.
Everything this morning has been so strange. Like the m
oment that James wasn’t present, his parents were swooping in on me like hawks. I wonder what he’s told them to make them think there’s something happening between us? I can’t stop blushing now, and I’m glad I have a while to hide out washing dishes.
One thing’s for sure…James hasn’t forgotten me. Even on his sick day, he’s managed to draw me something. The picture in my pocket feels priceless to me; it feels like reassurance. I pat it gently, already looking forward to looking at it later. For now, though, I’ll simply daydream of him while I wash dishes.
There are much worse ways to spend a morning.
7
Seven Swans a-Swimming
As I wake this morning, there’s no sign of a picture yet again, but I’m not as worried now. I feel like I should cut him some slack considering he’s sick in bed. But today is going to be a busy day anyway. It’s New Year’s Eve, so I’ll be prepping the chalet for the celebrations tonight. Despite there only being a small group of guests here now, they will be expecting an impressive display, from an appetizer buffet to the fireworks on the mountaintop. I’ve got my work cut out for me, and certainly no time for fawning over handsome British boys.
And yet, I can’t avoid him. As I enter the dining room to set up for breakfast, I find him on his favorite sofa in front of the fireplace. The dull embers of the fire crackle, but he must be freezing. No one has topped it up for several hours now. I add more wood and paper to the fire to keep it going and then check on James.
His nose is red and raw, and his blocked nose is causing him to snore. He’s still wearing one of his fancy designer sweaters, but over the top of pinstripe pajamas instead. His hair is disheveled and his skin a little pale from having a cold. He’s certainly not at his finest, but he’s still gorgeous to me.
On the table beside him are his drawing utensils. His sketchbook is open on a half-finished drawing of swans, but there are plenty of abandoned masterpieces on the table, scrunched up to obscure the drawings. I smile to myself. It’s nice to know that he tried, even when he’s feeling his worst.
Christmas Promise Page 3
