Oops, I've Fallen

Ryan groans in some strange form of misery-based bonding, his smile growing large and unrestrained. It’s the first time I’ve seen him looking so relaxed, and I have to admit, he wears it well. “I’m so, so sorry. I truly understand your pain.”

I laugh, and the timer on the front of the oven sounds with its decree that the loaf has meat-ed long enough. Or something.

I grab a mitt from the drawer beside the stove and take it out, and then I start the task of cutting it up and plating it while Ryan shuts the appliance down and refills my waning glass of wine.

I understand exactly zip about cooking fancy meals, but I saw Stella throw enough dinner parties in my youth to know the routine. According to my mother, it’s all about the presentation.

“How long do you think you’re going to stay with your mom?” Ryan asks, and I glance over my shoulder to see him pouring more wine into his own glass.

“Honestly, I’m not sure.” I sigh and move to the carrots and mashed potatoes, serving big helpings on each plate. “Another few weeks, I guess? I want to make sure she can handle it all on her own before I escape back to my solitude,” I explain with a laugh. “What about you?”

“I’m in the same boat,” he responds. “Just trying to work remote and stay with my dad until I’m confident he can handle shit on his own.”

“Where do you live exactly?”

“New York,” he answers. “You?”

“Colorado.”

“And what about work for you?” he asks. “How are you managing it in Florida?”

“I’m not,” I answer on a laugh, meeting his eyes again. “I own a ski shop in Vail that revolves around giving lessons and selling equipment. And, well, since it’s the off-season right now, my store manager is handling everything.”

His responding smile makes me tilt my head to the side.

“What?” I question. “What’s that look for?”

“It just makes sense, is all.” He shrugs, his straight white teeth cutting playfully into his lip. “Your job. Living in Vail. It makes sense.” I narrow my eyes, and he laughs, qualifying, “In a good way.”

I shake my head and grin. In a good way. Sure.

“Do you like to ski?”

“Actually, yeah. I love it.” He nods. “I just never have time to get out of the fucking city to do it.”

“A suit-wearing, New York workaholic.” I grin at that. “Now that makes sense.”

He smirks and glances down at his jeans and T-shirt. “I take no offense. I love my job, and at the risk of sounding conceited, I’m pretty good at it. I’m a strong believer in getting back the effort you put in, so I put in a lot of effort.”

I don’t know why I even think it, let alone ask it, but it’s like the words in my throat have a mind of their own, and they bubble up and out into the space between us before I can stop them.

“Do you ever put that kind of effort into anything other than work?”

He studies me closely, his blue eyes lighting with a hue that reminds me of the hottest part of a flame. It brings an unnatural pause to the flow of our easy conversation, but when he finally answers, it’s more than worth the wait. If I’m honest, it’s a little bit scary too.

“Oh yeah.” His voice is like black velvet. “When it’s worth it? I put in that much effort and then some.”

Ryan

“You know what, Ryan?” Carly’s mom asks from across the table, her red-painted lips curling up into a little grin.

“What’s that, Stella?” I ask, grinning at the way her smile seems to take up her entire face. It’s not just an expression for her; it’s a feeling. One that could just about thaw even the coldest of hearts like my own.

“You’re what my Tok-ers would call a thirst trap.”

Instantly, wine shoots out of Carly’s mouth on a shocked cough, spewing all over the table next to me and making my dad laugh almost uproariously.

Good thing she’s drinking white, I think sardonically as I survey the droplets all over the white tablecloth.

“Mom!” Carly exclaims on a shriek. “You can’t just go calling dinner guests thirst traps like it’s normal!”

I have to admit, I’m not entirely sure what a thirst trap is, but seeing Carly get all fired up about the thought of her mom calling me one makes me want to find out.

“Why not?” Stella scoffs dramatically. “He is. If I posted a video of him right now, they would go crazy.”

My dad turns and studies me for no more than a brief moment, nods in agreement, and lifts his glass of wine to take a hearty pull. “Like I said, Stell, he’s got my genes.” He winks at Carly’s mom, and she giggles like a schoolgirl.