Deer Valley Resort, Park City, Utah

The clean, thin mountain air whipped across Zee’s face, causing his eyes to water. This was his last run of the day. The chairlift climbed up the mountain with a speed equaling a robin in flight. Although the cold air met his face with force, his cheeks remained warmed from the sun that had blanketed them with a fresh suntan that day. It was reminiscent of having spent the day surfing.

He took in a deep breath and admired his surroundings. The white mounds met the azure sky with resplendence, then cascaded down the mountainside in perfectly groomed trails, skirting the verdant rows of evergreen trees.

Zee preferred to be here in the mountains, alone, to hobnobbing with the Hollywood actors and onlookers in town. Sundance Film Festival was not all he had expected it to be, or perhaps it had been. He was ready to get back to the beach and do some surfing.

He jumped off the lift, and skied toward an intermediate run with a few switchbacks through the trees. He wasn’t an experienced skier by any means, having lived near the ocean a good portion of his life, but he’d picked it up rather quickly over the past few days.

A group of young kids pulled up next to Zee with their instructor at the helm.

“Follow me. You know the drill.” The instructor gave a wide grin and a thumbs-up. “Everyone good?”

The kids raised their ski poles in the air, and hollered with enthusiasm. Zee watched as they wound down the hill, leaving behind beautiful bowtie ski tracks.

What I wouldn’t give to be young again, Zee thought. Being in his mid-thirties wasn’t bad, but it’d be better with a wife, and a kid or two. These children were about the age that his child would have been. Zee adjusted his ski mask, pushed off in anger, and flew down the hill.

His legs were beginning to feel the burn from squatting and bending into his turns. He approached the group of young students as they were advancing past a rustic, log cabin.

What was an old cabin doing in the middle of a ski run? Zee maneuvered up to the front of the cabin, removed his skis, and clomped onto the wide deck. Peering in through the window at the primitive room, he caught a glimpse of a large stuffed bear in a state of slumber on the bed. With a low chortle, Zee expressed his amusement.

“Help,” a young cry emanated from amongst the tall trees. “Anyone there?”

Zee ran to the side of the cabin. “Where are you?”

“Down here.”

Zee looked across the forested slope to find a boy buried up to his waist in fresh powder. “Hold on, kid.” He advanced slowly, trudging through a few feet of dusty snow. “What happened?”

The young boy, with clear blue eyes and a pasty face peppered with freckles, shook his head. “I came into the trees, then hit a wicked jump.” His arm shot up into a fist pump. “It was awesome!”

“Awesome, huh?” Zee said with a chuckle as he began digging his arms into the snow.

The boy smiled with a nod, revealing his two missing canine teeth.

“I like you, kid. How old are you?”

“Ten.”

“When I was ten, I was trying to catch some awesome, cranking waves in the ocean.”

“Cool.”

“There ya go.” Zee pushed the last of the ensnaring snow aside. “What’s your name?”

“Ethan.”

“I’d hate to see you get hurt, Ethan. Watch those wicked jumps.”

“Thanks,” he said eagerly, now free from his powdered prison.

Zee smiled as he watched the young boy zip down the hill. Then, thoughts of what might have been yanked him back into the harsh reality of having lost that one-sided battle.

 

Zee placed his skis upright in the designated ski rack at the entrance to the lodge. The low light was welcoming to his sun-strained eyes. Was his developing headache a result of his day in the wintry sun, or due to the high altitude? He removed his heavy ski jacket, placing it on the back of a hand-carved wooden chair. The open room resembled a European hunting tavern from the early 1800s, with crisscross timbers reaching up several stories, a central stone fireplace, and iron sconces hanging off the walls. No expense was spared here.

The common area entertained a dichotomy of tired skiers and energetic, non-skiing, supportive spouses, and travel buddies—who deferred the exercise to pampered indulgence at the world-renowned spas and restaurants.

As he relaxed back into the wooden chair, Zee could hear bells tinkling. It was a few weeks after Christmas—too late in the season for a Polar Express reenactment.

A black dot scurried across the floor just before a tiny creature jumped up onto Zee’s lap, causing him to nearly eject out of his seat. He grasped his armrests with force, and attempted to steady his racing heart with deep breaths. Upon closer examination of this high-jumper, Zee realized that he had just been accosted by a miniature dog. He was a black ball of fluff, with three silver bells hanging off his collar, and weighing no more than two or three pounds.

Zee slowly cupped the little pooch. “Seriously? You’re smaller than my one hand?”

The little guy nuzzled his nose into Zee’s palm, before utilizing Zee’s thumb as a chew toy.

“Ow. Those are some sharp little teeth.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Zee noticed the bright blue ski jacket of the little boy who had been buried in the powder. The boy’s chin remained down as he swept his head side to side, studying the carpet with his eyes.

“Rambo!” The boy called out.

The boy was in open view now, as the crowds cleared. Distressed vacationers became aware of their surroundings, and the possible presence of an aggressive pet.

Zee flipped over the lightweight doggy tag. Rambo was etched into the red paint. “You do have razor-sharp teeth, but something tells me you wouldn’t thrive, let alone survive, in these woods—like your namesake.”

Zee stood and walked up to the boy. “Is this who you’re looking for?”

“Yeah, thanks.” He gave a sigh of relief. “My mom’s going crazy.”

“Let’s find your mom and set her mind at ease.”

“She’s right there,” he said, pointing to the front doors with his elbow.

A tall brunette sauntered into the room like she was out to get the main part in the next blockbuster movie. Had Zee met her before, perhaps at one of the celebrity parties he had attended in LA? She looked familiar.

He sucked in a quick breath as she turned, and he caught sight of her face. “Wow, that’s your mom?”

The boy’s face lit up. “She’s really nice. Do you want to hang out with us?”

Was he asking Zee to possibly date his mom? His body tingled with anticipation. “Absolutely.” Now we get serious. “Can I see Rambo for a minute?” Zee took the fluff ball out of the boy’s hands before he could answer, and snuggled the tiny creature into his chest. Game on.

When his eyes met hers, the confident woman’s placid expression warmed to irrefutable joy. Zee’s chest refused to fill with air for a moment, causing his heart to race. What he wouldn’t give to have someone look at him like that every day.

She began, “You found him! How can I ever thank you?”

The boy pulled at her sweater, “And he’s the guy who dug me out of the snow.”

“I’m twice in your debt, Mr.?

“Zee.”

“Mr. Zee.”

“Zee Terrence,” he corrected.

“Z? Like, the letter Z?”

“Unusual, I know. It means sea in Dutch.”

“Is your family from Holland?”

“No idea. I have a brother named Kai, meaning sea in Hawaiian, and a sister named Meri, mean—”

“Let me guess. Sea in Hungarian?”

“Finnish. Hungarian is Tenger. I barely escaped being named Tenger Terrence.”

“Zee was a better choice,” she said with a smile that made Zee swallow hard to keep focused on her eyes, instead of her mouth.

“You’ve got two great little guys here.” Zee held Rambo into the air, then snuggled him back into his chest. “What kind of dog is he?”

“A teacup maltipoo pom.”

“A pompom?”

She laughed.

It was working.

“He’s a Maltese-Poodle-Pomeranian.”

“Rambo, right? I didn’t get your name.”

“Sorry. I guess I’m a little flustered today.” Her cheeks blushed as she reached for Rambo. “It’s Victoria, but my friends call me Tori. Call me Tori,” she stuttered.

Zee brushed hands with Tori as he placed the small ball of fur in her hands. After the initial euphoria from her touch, he felt a cool piece of metal. He looked down at her fingers. Wedding band. Why hadn’t he looked down at her finger ten seconds into their conversation? Idiot!

She blinked her eyelashes. “Can I buy you a hot chocolate to thank you for your help today?”

He stepped back, growing serious. Was her affectation all pretense and manipulation? Did she know he was an executive producer? “Thanks, but I have a commitment this evening. It was nice to have met you, Tori. And you too, Ethan. Watch those jumps.”

Zee turned, ripped his jacket from off the back of the chair, and cursed his stupidity all the way back to his lonely room.

Get it