Matchmaker Backfire

Carter was right about the ancient ski lift, which we can hear long before we see, but it does work.

We go up single file, with the lift only having a kind of small hooked seat that goes between your legs, using our skis to keep ourselves moving smoothly up the steep slope.

The place looks empty, with most people here for the seclusion and food more than skiing I gather. But who can really tell?

Dad’s in front, with Carter behind me. Only making me feel more self-conscious as I can feel his eyes moving over me as dad cranes his neck from time to time, asking if we’re there yet.

Finally, at the top, it feels a lot colder and the snow’s already coming in thicker.

If I was alone I’d be worried, but between dad’s expert knowledge and Carter’s too, I feel safer up here than anywhere right now.

Dad’s primed to get going and after explaining to me once again he wants me to stay between him and Carter the whole way down, we can both see how eager he is to get going.

“I’ll be right behind her,” Carter promises, saluting him as dad slips on his goggles and stabs at the ground with his poles, inching himself closer to the edge of the slope.

“See you in a few minutes,” he calls out and in a second, he’s gone over the edge.

I slide up to the edge myself, peering into the thickening snow, only just making out dad’s figure before he disappears.

“It’s coming down now,” I remark to Carter, feeling him close behind me but not darting to turn around.

I’m trying to keep my mind on skiing.

But once I feel his hands on my waist again, I can’t help it.

“I’m right here behind you, Serena. Always,” he reminds me.

I don’t know what comes over me, but I turn as fast as I can, lifting myself up until my ski boots snap out of my skis and peck Carter on the cheek.

He looks shocked for a moment, and with a devilish grin, I feel my heels snap back into place as I shoot over the edge too, noticing straight away how long it’s been since I skied, but dad’s right.

This slope is so steep, there’s only one thing to do, and that’s ski.

I feel the rush of frigid air and the thrill of skiing sure, but my heart’s in my mouth as I replay what I just did over and over again.

I actually kissed Carter!

Well, sort of. More of a good luck peck, really.

He couldn’t read too much into that, surely?

A serious wobble makes me focus on my stance again, making sure I don’t tumble on my first run of the day.

I think I can see my dad’s fluorescent visor band in the distance, or is it a marker?

Either way, I decide to follow it, noticing how much heavier the snow is again and just how hard it’s making it to see.

I turn back, expecting to see Carter not far behind, but I can’t see anything.

A little panic sets in and I gasp once I can’t see anything apart from white in front of or behind me.

I can make out the trees on either side, kind of, but once I near the biggest bend I slide to a halt.

No point skiing at full speed towards something I can’t see.

I hear my own heart pounding in my ears, but straining them I can’t hear anything else.

The wind’s starting to howl through the trees, and the snow’s coming in so thick I can’t make out which is up and down the slope until I finally hear Carter, who skids to a halt not far from me.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he says, full of concern.

“This isn’t great weather, and those markers are as old as the lifts.”

We both listen suddenly, hearing a call from what must be the base of the slope.

“That’s your dad,” Carter sighs, giving me just a reflection of myself in his goggles as I move to get closer to him.

“We’d better move. I’ll be right next to you, just a little further ahead, I memorized the slope map and we’re not too far. Okay?” he asks, his voice concerned again.

I nod a few times, telling him I’ll be alright.

Carter’s suit is a bluish color, easy to see up close, and even when he gets a little further ahead.

I can see his goggles as he turns every few seconds to make sure I’m keeping up.

I wonder what took him so long to catch up in the first place. Carter’s more of an athlete than my dad even.

I tell myself it’s because he was struck dumb by my kiss, but I have a creeping doubt he may have felt just as awkward as I did thrilled by it.

Dunno.

Towards the base of the slope, the brewing wind tosses the snow more violently, but it’s easier to see and we’re soon all together again, my dad shaking his head a little.