“I can’t believe how lucky you are,” Cami said as she finished tying off the bandage, inspecting it this way and that and testing its tautness.

Ashley stared down at her. “You think?” She didn’t feel lucky. In fact, she felt like death itself, only warmed up—even if her spot here by the fire, in the comfiest armchair, was going some way towards bringing some life back into her. She could feel her fingers and toes again, at least.

“Yes, lucky.” Cami helped prop Ashley’s foot up onto a cushion on the coffee table, then settled into the chair opposite, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees. “Lost out there for all that time, and you didn’t even get the sniffles, let alone hypothermia. And that ankle’s only a sprain.”

Ashley snorted. “Don’t sound too disappointed.”

“Oh stop,” Cami grumbled, rolling her eyes. “You know what I mean.” There was a flash of pain across her expression, just briefly—enough to remind Ashley that she wasn’t the only one who had suffered. Her friends had been here, terrified, thinking the worst. She couldn’t imagine how she would’ve felt had she been the one waiting around to hear if one of her best friends had made it back alive.

“Hmm.” Ashley tried to get into a less awkward position in the armchair, but everything ached too much, like she’d…well, like she’d laid out in the freezing snow for too long.

She was lucky. Lucky to be alive.

Thanks to Preston.

They’d told her what had happened—that he’d found her, taken her to a lookout cabin, used his own body heat to warm her up. Carried her uphill against frozen winds and his own rapidly waning strength because he hadn’t been willing to let her freeze to death. To even risk it. That he’d somehow brought the search-and-rescue chopper to them, had her flown back to the resort. Like some kind of hero.

That there’d been a twenty-strong search party out looking for her, and he’d been the only one to stay long after everyone else had stopped for the night, pushed himself through plummeting temperatures, refusing to stop until he’d saved her.

She’d be dead right now if he’d given up. She was sure of it, and it made her stomach twist sickeningly.

And if he hadn’t found her, he’d still be out there now, looking for her, risking his own life to save hers—she knew that as certainly as she knew her own name.

It did funny things to her chest. Made her heart swell.

“Is he okay?” She didn’t say his name, but Cami would know what she meant.

Ashley didn’t remember waking up, didn’t remember seeing him. All she knew was this chair, Cami tending to her ankle, the explanation of what had happened—how she’d apparently woken up and argued with everyone against going to the hospital, that she was fine, just a bit sore, before passing out again in front of the fire, safe and warm.

But she didn’t remember him. She wanted to.

She wanted to see him. Thank him. Maybe warm him up a bit in return, if he was feeling a little cold right now.

Cami smiled. “He’s fine,” she said. “He only went up to put on some dry clothes. He threw his wet stuff back on when he went out of the cabin to flag down the chopper.”

“God,” Ashley said, groaning. She covered her face with the sleeve of the robe someone had dressed her in, her cheeks burning red. “I can’t believe they had a helicopter out looking for me.”

“You could’ve ended up on the news.”

“No, shut up.”

“Ashley Woodsen, the stupid nurse who decided to ski off on her own to prove a point, found frozen to death—”

“Stop, god, I’m actually gonna die.”

“You’re an idiot,” Cami said bluntly, with no small amount of fondness in her voice.

Ashley sighed and uncovered her face. “Yep.”

“Lucky for you,” Cami added, a wicked glint in her eye, “someone out there loves you enough to traipse through literal hell frozen over to come rescue you.”

In an attempt to pretend those words didn’t send her heart soaring, Ashley mock-glared at her friend. “Which apparently you don’t.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t have lasted five minutes. And then we’d both be dead.” She tutted, eyes still sparkling, the both of them knowing she would’ve been the first one out there had she been allowed. Then she added, “And don’t act like you didn’t hear the rest of what I said.”

“I heard you,” Ashley said, looking down, away, picking at a thread on the robe. “I just think it’s a load of crap.”

“What’s a load of crap?” Maggie said, appearing out of nowhere and saving Ashley from having to respond to Cami’s statement. “This was all they had in their medical closet, Ash. It’ll have to do for now.” She had a single crutch in hand, one that had seen better days, the metal rusting around the base and the rubber handle peeling away.

Ashley smiled at her, said, “Thank you,” and reached out to prop the crutch against her seat.

Maggie sat beside Cami, brushing herself down as she got comfortable, as if the closet had been full of dust. “I heard something about one of the boys bringing us all some hot chocolate.”

“Ooh, awesome,” Cami said.

Maggie nodded. “Yeah,” she said, and then, without missing a beat, “What’s a load of crap?”

Cami grinned. “That Preston cares about her.”

“What? Of course he does,” Maggie said, turning puzzled eyes on Ashley. As if there was even any question of Preston’s concern. “Are you crazy?”

“Can we not do this now?” Ashley said. She pressed a hand to her chest. “I’ve been through a very traumatic experience.”

Both Cami and Maggie coughed out a laugh. “Whatever, princess,” Cami said. “Stay in denial.”

Denial or not, she really didn’t want to think about this right now, not while she ached so much. Not when Preston still hadn’t shown his face.

She couldn’t shake the thought that he didn’t want to see her, that maybe she’d turned out to be too much trouble for him. He was a busy man, hugely important in the world of business, and no doubt he had little time to run after a problematic woman who couldn’t get her head straight, make up her mind. She was such a frustrating contradiction, and she knew it—she wanted him, but pushed him away when he expressed how much he wanted her, too. She let him possess her in the most intimate ways two people could join together, and yet when he tried to appeal to her emotions, she ran scared. She had been the very definition of hot and cold with him and she couldn’t really explain why, not out loud, not to his face. She couldn’t look at him and tell him her ex-husband was preventing her from letting go, because no man wanted to hear that another man had any control in his love life.

And it wasn’t as if her ex actually did have any say in her relationships, but the echoes of him did—the memories of his ruthless attack on her heart. The way he’d reached into her chest and tore it out through her ribs, crushed it until it splintered into a thousand jagged pieces. She’d taped it all back together now, but she hadn’t yet worked out how to block the sound of his voice in her head. He was the devil on her shoulder, whispering in her ear, always reminding her she was never good enough, so why even bother?

Added to that, she kept putting Preston in very real danger—first by running after a killer, obsessed with cracking a case like she thought she’d wandered onto the set of Veronica Mars—and then, worse still, her stubbornness on the slopes putting both their lives at very real risk. When she put it all together, all the trouble she’d caused him these past few days, it was no wonder he’d decided against seeing her again.

She didn’t want to think about it, because she knew she’d crush under the weight of her disappointment.

But her friends apparently didn’t know when to take a hint, because Maggie let the pause extend for another moment, and then asked, “But you’ll be coming to dinner tomorrow, won’t you?”

Ashley blinked at her, entirely nonplussed by the anxious look on Maggie’s face. “Of course I’ll be having dinner. What’s the problem?”

Cami leaned forward. “We’re having a couples’ night. You know—a last night of romance before heading back to the real world. Me and Drew, Maggie and Declan…”

“You and Preston…” Maggie supplied, wincing slightly, as if expecting Ashley to blow up.

But Ashley didn’t feel inclined to blow up. What she wished for, right now, was the floor to open and swallow her down. Because of course she wanted to go to dinner with the gang, and yes, she would like Preston to be there. There was no point even attempting to deny that to herself. But together, as a couple? She didn’t even know where to begin with that thought.

And it wasn’t in her hands, anyway. The ball was currently in Preston’s court, and she was pretty sure he’d called a halt to the game.

But then Cami looked over Ashley’s shoulder, smiled, and said, “Preston!” and Ashley found herself wishing she had in fact died on that mountain. As much as she’d been secretly desperate to see him, facing the prospect of it now had her shriveling up with humiliation for what she’d put him through out on the slopes. “Ooh, is that for us?”

Preston came into view carrying a tray, upon which sat three oversized mugs filled with steamy hot chocolate. “Ladies,” he said, oozing his usual charm, smiling at each in turn as they took a mug. When he got to Ashley, he paused and looked her right in the face, as if trying to see past whatever front she was currently showing. “How are you feeling?” he asked, taking one hand off the tray for a brief moment. She got the absurd notion that he wanted to reach out and press that hand to her forehead, test her temperature.

She tried a smile, finding it difficult to look him in the eye. Mostly, she was embarrassed, after all the fuss she’d caused today, and this was the first time she’d seen him since. She had no idea what was going on in his head right now, and it left an ache in her chest like a vice around her heart.

“I’m fine. Just a bit sore.”

Then he actually did reach out—fingers to her cheek, thumb swiping the soft area below her eye. “You look much better,” he said, his tone heavy with relief. She stared at him, wordless.

“We were just telling her about dinner tomorrow, Preston,” Maggie said. “The three couples, last night of romance…”

“Oh, yeah.” He pulled his hand back, took a step away, tapping the tray against his thigh.

Her heart sank down to her knees at his obvious discomfort. Maggie had put him in an awkward position, and now he was clearly trying to figure out a way to escape. Just as she’d suspected, he didn’t want anything else to do with Ashley.

Even the girls’ bright smiles were starting to wobble as the silence stretched on.

And then Preston looked at Ashley, and she saw it—not discomfort, but vulnerability. This was the first time their thing—whatever it was—had attention shone down upon it in public. This wasn’t a fumble behind closed doors. When he said, “You’re going to join us, right?” he was giving her an out, if she needed it.

She cleared her throat, her heart soaring with elation. “I am.”

The girls’ beaming grins came back full force.

It was an hour later before she had a chance to speak to Preston properly. The girls had kept her chatting, pulling more and more intimate details from her and making her blush all the way up to her hairline as she recounted her experiences with Preston behind closed doors. There was something about the hot chocolate and the roaring fire that soothed her, lulled her into a sense of relaxation that loosened her tongue and made delicious memories drift to the forefront of her mind. The girls didn’t need to push much to get her to talk.

After confessing how she’d freaked out on him and locked herself in the bathroom just before her friends and their husbands arrived at the resort by helicopter, Maggie gave her a sympathetic look and said, “It’s to be expected, though. After everything. You can’t beat yourself up about it.”

“I’m not,” Ashley said. “I just…don’t know how to not think like that.”

How to trust someone with her heart, and not just anyone—but Preston. She felt as if she was standing at the bottom of a mountain just like this one, with Preston and her happiness and her future waiting at the top—that she was wearing full climbing gear and had all the best equipment, but no one had shown her how to use it. Nothing but an unclimbable mountain between her and the man who’d had such a massive impact on her life.

And that unclimbable mountain was her past, going by the name of her ex-husband.

“We all know Preston is a playboy,” Cami remarked, making Ashley’s stomach dip slightly. “But the way he looks at you, Ash…” She sighed, as if completely wistful—like she didn’t have her own fairytale romance, a happily-ever-after Ashley was a little jealous of, in her quieter moments. “Drew told me he’s never seen him like this.”

Like what? She had no idea what that even meant, if she was supposed to take comfort in him not acting his usual playboy self with her. But that didn’t change the fact that he was a player, that he had a reputation for dating women and discarding them, getting bored and moving onto the next, like women were little more than suits in a closet, a whole rack of them he could pick and choose from at will.

He hadn’t been like that with her; he hadn’t given any signs that he would be like that with her. But she couldn’t hide from it, no more than she could hide from her own past.

Yet she was sick of being defined by her history. Did she have any right to judge him on his?

He caught up with her after the girls had gone off to join their husbands and prepare for dinner, right when she was awkwardly limping her way over to the elevator. He rushed to her side, took her arm, and said, “Let me help you,” and she didn’t stop him, not even when he got in the elevator with her as if fully intending on taking her all the way up to her room.

They stood beside each other in the elevator, silent and weirdly tense, and Ashley couldn’t handle the discomfort of being in his company, not when she knew how amazing his company usually was for her. This wasn’t right, this tension, and someone had to break it.

She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “About the—the skiing thing.”

He glanced at her, and she looked away, stared at the doors, feeling his eyes continue to bore into her as if he couldn’t lose sight of her, even now that he knew she was safe. “Don’t apologize.”

“It caused such a drama…”

He paused, then said stiffly, “We’re all just glad you’re okay.” Then the elevator opened, and he offered up his arm again.

Once at her room door, she stopped and found herself caught in a moment of indecision. Say thank you and watch him go, or invite him in. The second option appealed to her far more than she cared to admit, but the tension between them had her leaning towards ending the awkwardness now, at least until they’d both had some space.

In the end, after a second or two of quiet that felt like hours, he took the decision out of her hands. “Look,” he said. “I know we’re back in public now, and you don’t want that, but I don’t know how to pretend I don’t want you…”

Oh.

He wasn’t embarrassed by her, or annoyed at the drama she’d caused. He wasn’t even frustrated with how hot and cold she’d been with him. He was respecting her, giving her time and space, thinking she didn’t want to be obvious with whatever they had between them. That this was something she wanted to keep secret—as if she was ashamed.

God. “No,” she interrupted. His mouth snapped shut as if she’d slapped him. “No, that’s not true at all. I don’t care that we’re not alone anymore.”

He blinked at her, looking entirely perplexed. “Then what is it?”

“Nothing, I just…” She didn’t know how to put it into words—that she’d spent the time thinking he was done with her, when really he’d thought she was too ashamed to be with him, and all the while she couldn’t show that she wasn’t ashamed, because she freaked out every time she thought about openly bringing him into her heart. She felt caught between a rock and a hard place, desperate to keep him close, but too terrified to let him stay. “I just need to sort my head out a little,” she admitted. “But I don’t want—” She took a breath, fluttered her eyes closed for a moment before looking at him. “I don’t want you to stay away.”

He considered her for a long few seconds, before his mouth curved into a soft smile, his eyes brightening. “Well that’s more than I was hoping for,” he said, bringing a hand up to brush against her jaw. “I want to kiss you now.”

“Okay,” she said without hesitation, and whimpered into his mouth when he closed his lips over hers, kissed her softly and with such sweetness that she felt as if she was floating up into the air with him.

“I’ll see you at dinner?” he asked, brushing his lips against hers once more before pulling back. “I could pick you up. About eight?”

She returned his smile, feeling lighter than air. “I’d like that,” she said, and then kissed him one more time before sending him on his way.

She had a date to prepare for.

She’d been nervous on the evening of the investors’ event, waiting in her room for Preston to pick her up as his date. But this was different. Back then, it was almost a joke—two semi-friends flirting a little, indulging in the sexual tension between them, going on a random date, because why not? He’d asked, and she’d said yes, and maybe he would’ve kissed her that night, and maybe she would’ve let him, and then she’d spend the rest of the vacation skiing with her friends and relaxing by the fire and that would be it.

Except that wasn’t what happened. The night had taken its turn, and she’d found herself sharing a room with him, sharing his space, his bed… Giving into her desires, giving into him, and what was once a harmless date between two flirtatious friends had become a relationship so exquisitely physical that she didn’t know how any other man could ever compare. And it wasn’t just the sex—she felt an emotional connection to him, a pull from deep in her gut, something within her telling her to hold him close and never let him go.

He’d risked his life to save hers.

This date, this dinner, wasn’t like the other. There was an undercurrent of significance to this date—knowing they would likely have sex after, that she’d sleep in his arms, awaken to the sight of his beautiful face and his deliciously torturous touches exploring her body and god, god, she didn’t know if she could do this. Not when she knew everything would be different when they got back home. Proximity had bred intimacy, but he wouldn’t be forced into close quarters with her once they made it back to the city. He’d go back to his life, and she’d continue with hers, and maybe she’d never hear from him again.

She didn’t know if she could bear that.

But what she did know was that she wanted to enjoy every moment with him while she had him. If their relationship was only meant to exist up the top of a mountain while a killer made his mark, then so be it—but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t get her kicks while she could, especially when he was so good at making her feel as if she could do anything.

She had him, at least for now, and she was going to enjoy him.

He picked her up right on time, because of course he did—chivalry had been taught to him along with the ABCs thirty years ago. He said, “You look beautiful,” and she knew he meant it, could see it sparkle in his eyes. She was wearing a lace-trimmed red dress and only one shoe, a bandage around her other foot and a crutch propping her up. Her hair hadn’t cooperated and she hadn’t been able to find her lipstick, and yet the look on his face made her feel like the most desirable woman in the world, right there in that moment, trapped in his gaze.

He helped her downstairs and found their table, eased her into her seat and sat beside her, then took her hand beneath the table, and it was like they were a couple, a real couple, out on date night, nothing else to it.

The rest of their party had yet to arrive, and Preston was busy perusing the wine menu, his thumb brushing over her knuckles and his face lighting up as he glanced at her and smiled.

“I never thanked you,” she said, “for what you did.” She hadn’t meant to speak—had no idea the words had been sitting on the tip of her tongue like that, waiting until she could no longer stand the silence. Of course she’d wanted to thank him, but not like this. Not in a room full of strangers, when the only way they could touch was with innocence.

He squeezed her hand. “No need.”

“Of course there’s need.” It wasn’t as if she was angry, but there was a spike of heat in her gut, firing her up. “You saved my life.”

He looked up at her, stared into her eyes. For a while it was as if he planned to say nothing, just leave her gratitude hanging awkwardly in the air. But then he licked his lip, and he said, “I was ready to die trying,” and the breath caught in her throat.

She knew that. She’d known that all along. But hearing it come from his mouth left her reeling.

“That’s crazy,” she said, yanking her hand out from beneath his. “Why would you do that? For me?”

“It’s not obvious?” he said swiftly, eyes burning, and Cami chose that moment to trill her hellos from behind and plant kisses on their cheeks.

“Hope we’re not too late—couldn’t get Drew out of the shower—”

The tension between Ashley and Preston simmered through the first course, one bottle of wine down and the two of them sitting stiffly beside each other. Maggie had them all recounting tales of how they’d met, as if they hadn’t heard the stories a thousand times in the past, and Preston said, “I saw her at the hospital few months ago,” and Ashley’s breath lodged in her throat.

She didn’t remember the night he was referring to; she didn’t remember seeing him months ago. But he remembered her, his eyes flashing with memory, and she stared at the side of his face as he went on. “She was busy and completely ignored me at the time, but I knew my moment would come.” He raised a few laughs for that. “The next time I saw her was at your wedding,” he said, nodding at Drew. “And she threw herself at me in a closet.”

“I did not throw myself at you,” Ashley lied, going a bit hot around the ears as everyone grinned and smirked at her. She’d totally thrown herself at him, and there was not one person at this table who couldn’t see through her lie. She huffed, rolled her eyes, and tried to style it out. “I was very drunk.”

“And I guess I was very available,” Preston added. His hand found her thigh beneath the table again, and suddenly the tension between them broke. She shifted a little closer to him. “I knew right then that I had to find a way to get to know her.”

“And we all know what happened at my wedding,” Maggie drawled, her expression radiating wickedness as she cocked a smirk at Ashley.

Declan blinked around at them all. “What? I don’t.”

“Let’s just say,” Cami murmured delicately, “that he found his way to get to know her.”

Ashley was burning with embarrassment, but in a way that didn’t make her want to shrivel up and die. She found she didn’t mind everyone talking about her connection with Preston, that she wasn’t ashamed of how they’d met, or what they’d become since. She didn’t have the happily-ever-after stories of Maggie and Cami’s relationships—not yet, anyway—but she had the here and now, the man beside her currently rubbing affection into her thigh, talking warmly of her, making her feel special. And that was more than she’d had in years.

It felt like an early chapter of her own fairytale, even if she was pretty sure half of her feelings right now were spurred on by the numerous bottles of wine littering the table after their main courses.

She didn’t let that get in the way of a good time, though, and when the girls dragged her into the bathroom before dessert, she found herself giggling along with them, unable to stop herself from gushing over how handsome Preston looked, how badly she wanted to strip him out of that sinful suit.

“You’ve got it bad,” Cami said, words slurring slightly with her inebriation. Ashley didn’t even have it in her to deny it.

Maggie, the only sober one of the three, emerged from the bathroom stall to wash her hands and caught Ashley’s eye in the mirror. “Honestly, though, Ash,” she said warmly. “I know you’re a bit drunk and Preston’s being one charming bastard tonight, but even you have got to admit—when was the last time you felt this happy, the way you’re feeling right now in this moment?”

Too long ago. It was true—she was a little tipsy, and the good humor of the night had lifted her right up, but most of her current mood was thanks to Preston—just him, and the sight of him, and the way he made her feel.

For the first time in so many months, she felt herself again, free and easy, able to let go and have fun, without worrying about her husband’s comments when they got home, how he would reprimand her for making a show of herself in public. How she’d eaten too much, he used to say, made herself look gluttonous. How she didn’t need that dessert, so why hadn’t she just said no?

Preston couldn’t give less of a damn about what she ate, and he seemed wholly fond of her tipsy antics, and that alone made this one of the best nights out she’d had in…well, years.

Back at the table, the dessert menus were laid out and another bottle of wine sat opened and ready, and Preston’s eyes glittered for her as she took her seat beside him once more and flipped open her own menu.

“What’s everyone having?” she asked, because she was herself again, and she didn’t need to hear her ex-husband’s judging tone in her head anymore, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be the only one at the table to have dessert.

“Well I don’t know about you,” Preston drawled, “but this ‘Death by Chocolate’ sounds like a challenge I can’t refuse.”

She grinned at him. “Think you’re man enough for that, do you?”

“Pretty sure I could eat more of it than you,” he said, a tease in his voice.

She leaned closer, narrowed her eyes at him. “What do I get if I win?”

Looking at her mouth before dragging his eyes back up to meet hers, he murmured, “Anything you want.”

Her response of a heavy swallow was drowned out by Cami groaning and throwing her napkin at them.