“I’m not decent, so I’m going to unlock the door, but you have to promise to wait ten seconds before you come in.”
“I mean, it’s not really anything I haven’t seen,” he teased.
“Ten seconds!” I shouted back. “Promise!”
I pictured that crooked smirk he made when he found me difficult. “Fine. I promise.”
Tentatively, I unlocked the deadbolt, then sprinted to my bedroom and slammed the door shut. I didn’t wait to hear the front door open before I got in the shower to wash my hair and then out to brush my teeth and get dressed. After I’d blow-dried my hair, part of me hoped he might’ve gotten bored and left, but no. When I walked out of my bedroom, in a cute sweatshirt and my most flattering pair of jeans, he was still sitting on my couch, dressed in only a casual pair of house sweats, like he’d just woken up himself.
“So,” he said, totally undeterred. “Got any plans today?”
Only if sulking counted as plans. “Not really.”
“Great.” He jumped to his feet. “Then we’re hitting the slopes. I’ve got a whole day planned. It’s time to introduce you to what we call fun around here.”
“A whole day, huh? That seems like a big step.”
“What’s wrong? Don’t think I can hold your interest?”
I shrugged.
Charles flashed a crooked smile. “Is that a dare?”
“Yeah, sorry, I’m going to have to pass.”
His face creased with concern. “What’s wrong? You’re giving me less shit than usual.”
I debated how honest I wanted to be with him. In the end, I suppose I felt we had built a certain level of trust. I mean, if he’d wanted to rat me out to his mom, he would’ve done so by now.
“Your mom’s not too impressed with me,” I said, crossing the room to sink into the couch beside him. “I kind of botched brunch the other day, and I guess she wasn’t thrilled with dinner last night, either.”
“Seriously? I thought dinner was fantastic. That ravioli was unreal.”
“Yeah?” My little culinary heart went pitter-patter at the compliment. “Well, your mom definitely didn’t think so.”
“She’s just enjoying torturing you. Plus, she has impossible standards. Don’t take it personally,” he said, turning on the couch to face me.
“Kind of hard not to.”
My food was an extension of myself. Every plate I sent out was like a chunk of me I passed around for praise or ridicule. Which more than once made me wonder why I chose this life for myself. And the answer was always that I just wouldn’t be happy doing anything else.
“I think it was growing up a pro athlete,” Charles said, leaning his head on the hand he had propped up on the couch cushion. “My grandparents had her on ski teams from the time she was five years old. They were relentless. Always training and pushing her to be better. Nothing was ever good enough.”
“Sounds rough,” I agreed.
Pressure could really mess with a person, turn them into something ugly. It was a defense mechanism. I’d seen plenty of it in kitchens. Maybe even succumbed myself once or twice. Where we didn’t bend, we broke.
“Don’t get me wrong. My grandparents are great people. But as parents, I think they did a number on her. Got wrapped up in it, you know? My mom, she really doesn’t mean it, I think, but she tends to take it out on everyone else. Like, she never pushed Amelia and me into sports or whatever when we were kids, but it’s always been next to impossible to get a compliment out of her. Trust me, I know how tough it is feeling like nothing you can ever do is good enough.”
Much as he smiled through the words, the pain in them was evident. I sensed he’d spent a life searching for her approval, and always falling just short. Still, I knew how much she cared for him. Mrs. Hawthorne wouldn’t be so adamant about these upcoming events being perfect if it didn’t mean a lot to her to honor her son.
“So . . .” I said, my resistance faltering. I guess I just wanted to make Charles smile. “Hitting the slopes, huh?”
It worked.
Chapter 15
The mountain was slammed with skiers and snowboarders zipping around like bees over wildflowers. Long lines to the lift snaked the distance of a football field, past the pro shop and snack stand. The bunny slope stretched out in front of me, ostensibly gentle, but to my untrained eyes, it looked more like the end of the world. I tugged at the mismatched ski jacket and snow pants that I’d rented. Every time a kid whizzed past me on tiny skis, my confidence took another hit.
