“Thanks for the lift … Umm, I’ll be off then … to get my board and things,” I tell him, shuffling my feet, head hung low, oozing awkwardness from every pore in my body. I chance a look up at him through my dark, reflective sunglasses. At least I had the forethought to put those on when I was in the car.
Jarrod stares down at me, his dark brows drawn down. Damn, he does have a really good resting broody face. Or maybe he’s annoyed. Hah! Like he has any right to be annoyed with me.
With a gruff, “Let’s go then,” he turns and strides off. I follow along, my rapid two steps to his slower one until we exit the parking garage into the blinding bright light again.
Jarrod clears his throat, then says in his ridiculously sexy deep voice, “Do you need a hand finding the rental shop? I know where most of them are.”
I wave my phone tightly clasped in my gloved hand at him. “No, no. I’m all good. I got my maps.”
He frowns at me again, this time like I’m some odd, never-before-seen creature. “Fine. And see that bar over there”—he points across the road—“that’s where we’ll meet at four this afternoon. Don’t be late,” he replies sternly, like I’m a naughty child. Then he turns abruptly and strides off in his long loping style with his snowboard tucked under this arm.
“Goodbye and good riddance,” I mumble to myself as he quickly disappears into the crowd of skiers and boarders. Dammit, that man with his grumpy demeanor really rubs me up the wrong way.
A deep breath of crisp, cold mountain air restores my mood as I look left and right to get my bearings. A sea of vibrantly colored ski jackets, jutting boards, skis, and stocks all move as one toward the gondola to take them up the mountain. Hopefully that will be me soon; once I master the basics.
Right! I straighten my shoulders and swipe my phone to pull up the map showing the location of the sports store. First thing I need to sort out is my snowboard and boots rental. I follow the directions, walking along the sidewalk, stepping over the icy patches. It’s not too far at all.
The ski pro at the rental store welcomes me with a cheery greeting and has me fitted out with boots, board, and helmet in no time. And once he’s finished adjusting the bindings on the board, he then sends me over to a friend at the nearby snowboard lesson desk. In a whirlwind of efficiency, I’ve got my pass for the two full-day snowboarding lessons I’d pre-ordered online, and I’m on my way to meet my group for my first snowboarding lesson at the base village plaza. I’m excited to get started.
I trudge across the fresh, blindingly white snow in boots that will take a bit of getting used to. It’s a beautiful sunny day, and the majestic white peaks of the mountains soar above against a cloudless blue sky, dwarfing the village.
I approach an official-looking guide who, with a cheery “good morning,” asks my name and promptly points me in the direction of a twentysomething blond-haired instructor. My smile comes naturally for the first time today as I walk up to him and introduce myself. He greets me with a vigorous handshake that nearly knocks my arm from its socket before he tells me in an instantly recognizable Australian drawl that his name is Mark. His broad grin shows a set of perfect white teeth that are even more dazzling against his tanned skin. He’s kind of cute, but too young for my tastes.
He checks my name off on his iPad, and as we wait for the last person to arrive, he provides a soundtrack of friendly chatter. I like his casual, laid-back Australian kind of way, rattling off fun mountain facts that may or may not be meant to impress me. It’s hard to tell. With his fast talking and strong accent, I’m only catching every couple of words. He isn’t acclimatized like Scott.
Nevertheless, I smile back at him, hoping I won’t be quizzed later about what he just said. As long as Mark is not only nice to look at but able to teach me all the basics I need to know to explore a little of this snowy playground, then I don’t have to understand his accent.
Finally the last person arrives, a guy in his mid to late forties who looks, based on his outfit, like he’s going through a midlife crisis. His gear is more suited to a trendy teenager, and I wonder why. Actually, it is the same jacket that one of the young guys has on, just in a fluorescent lime green instead of the easier on the eye blue. I guess if that’s his vibe, then he deserves respect for bravery if not style. We won’t miss him in the crowd. And the slopes on this perfect day are crowded.
Questioning my own choices, my eyes drop down to my white jacket with a yellow and gray chevron running around the waistline and farther down to my coordinating charcoal gray bib pants. No, I’m good. Nothing that stands out and sayslook at me. This is how I prefer to be—flying under the radar.
I smile at the new arrival as he introduces himself to the group. We’re a small group of five with a couple of college guys and a pretty girl in her early twenties—who the college guys are already preening and prancing around for, like a couple of those malemoonwalkingbirds, manakins. I saw a documentary the other week about the funny little birds with their bright red plumage. One of the guys, I think he said his name was Todd, even has a red jacket on. I duck my head down, holding in a building giggle with my fingers to my mouth.
My people watching does tend to get me into trouble at times like this, as generally, people think it’s a bit weird when someone bursts out laughing for no apparent reason. I really should stop this obsessive habit I have, but I can’t. Human behavior has always interested me. If I had to analyze myself, it probably comes from my own screwed-up childhood. I was constantly wondering why my parents didn’t seem to be like everyone else’s moms and dads.
I’ve even planned to take some online courses in psychology in the new year. I love teaching kids, but being a school psychologist, able to help the troubled ones, would be even better.
Mark calls to us to gather around and begins to explain some of the basic principles involved in riding a snowboard. I listen intently even though I did my homework before coming, watching multiple beginner videos on YouTube and Googling snowboarding tips.
It’s the end of the first hour, and already I have a bruise forming on my right butt cheek, and probably my left one too. My hands are freezing in my totally inadequate, extremely wet gloves while the rest of my body is a sweaty mess from overexertion. Why the hell did I decide to dress like I’m heading out on an Arctic expedition rather than doing a workout in a personal sauna? I think I’ve overdone it with the thermals.
Mark waits at the bottom of the gentle slope, shouting up to us to go down one at a time. I look around the faces of the group. Rodney, the middle-aged man, looks like a deer caught in headlights as he stares down the hill, and I suspect he’s regretting signing up for snowboarding lessons. The two young guys, Todd and Chad, are lying back in the snow, jabbing at each other like a couple of playful puppies, and Penny, the girl they are trying to impress, is looking on, encouraging their antics with her giggles.
I push up with two hands to standing, happy to have mastered my balance on the board enough to be able to do so, and announce to no one in particular, “Okay, I’ll go first.” My hips twist as Mark taught us to do, and with my board pointing down, I move slowly across the slope. The speed picks up as I make a wide turn, leaning forward, and with another twist of my hips, I want to shout for joy as I complete the turn. Then another and another until I’m sliding to a halt beside Mark and falling back onto my butt again.Oomph!
This time I don’t even care that my butt hurts as it connects with the hard packed snow. I did it. My first complete run of the bunny slopes. Woo hoo!
Mark leans down to high-five me, and our gloved hands connect. “Well done. You’re really getting the hang of it,” he says, and my smile stretches wider. That was fun, and I can’t wait to do it again.
By three in the afternoon, when my lesson is finished and my body is feeling a little sore, I’m tempted to take a break. But when Mark offers to take us all up the chairlift one more time, I jump at the chance. I look around at my classmates, realizing I’m the only one that does while the rest of the group deliver their excuses and depart, probably to the nearest bar, where I should be going too.
We join the line waiting for the lift behind a noisy group of teens, and we are soon soaring above the slopes. As this lift goes higher than the one we’ve been riding all day, it’s a lot colder. I shiver, tucking my chin down into my neck warmer, glad for the first time today to have those extra layers of warmth.
Mark chats animatedly, hands flying in all directions, reminding me of a conductor without an orchestra. He’s amusing, fun, and cute. But for some reason, the face of a certain broody, dark-haired man keeps popping into my mind, and I can’t help making the comparison.
No one in their right mind would ever accuse Jarrod of being amusing, fun, or cute. He’s the opposite of that in every way possible. And it seems like that may be my preference, much as I hate to admit it. I like the depth of character I see in Jarrod’s dark eyes. It draws me in even when I don’t want to be. I like the way his eyes sparked with a fire last night when I dismissed his attempts to talk to me. Yes, it’s official. Jarrod’s broody gaze is dangerous to my well-being.
Mark raises the bar on the lift as we edge closer to the top and prepare to dismount. “Are you okay to get off? Here, give me your hand, and I’ll help you balance.”
