We sip, then I lean in for a wine-flavored kiss.
Delicious.
Next, I stand up and mess with the stereo. The sound of Michael Buble singing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" fills the room, low enough not to wake James. I take her glass and set it on the table.
Then I hold out my hand to my amazing wife. "May I have this dance, Mrs. Evans?"
Her warm hand slides into mine. "There's nothing I'd rather do, Mr. Evans." Then--because Kate is the perfect woman--she adds, "Well, maybe there's one thing--but I'm sure we'll get to that later."
I chuckle deeply. My arms wrap around her, holding her against me, her head resting against my chest. And in the light of the Christmas tree, we sway in time to the music.
Was it all just a dream?
Honestly? I don't fucking know. But I'm grateful it happened. Because even someone as brilliant as me needs a refresher once in a while about what's really important. The moments that matter. And the people we can't and don't want to imagine living without.
As I dance with the love of my life on Christmas Eve, I swear I hear the soft ring of a bell. And if you believe what that legend says, then somewhere, an angel has gotten her wings.
chapter 1
Grace
You have to come with us," Cara Donovan exclaims over her third glass of Moscato. "Seriously, Gracie, it's going to be so fun."
"I'm not a skier," I remind her dryly.
"There will be a lodge and hot ski instructors and a spa," Jill Sullivan reminds me.
"I plan to take advantage of that spa," Lauren Cunningham agrees.
"To spas and hot ski instructors!" Jenna Hull raises her wineglass in a toast.
I sit back in my seat and stare at my four friends assembled in Jill's living room. They're all beautiful, fun, wonderful women.
"Seriously, a bachelorette weekend in Aspen?" I ask with a frown. "Couldn't you choose somewhere tropical? I probably won't drown from a chaise longue by the pool."
Jill tips her head back, her dark hair falling down her back in waves. "Cara likes the snow."
"This is Montana. We live in the snow," I reply stubbornly. "Didn't you have a say?" I ask Lauren.
Both Cara and Lauren were recently engaged, and to celebrate, the five of us are going to take a weekend trip away. I was all in when I had visions of palm trees and cabana boys, but now . . .
"I think it sounds fun," Lauren replies with a grin. "We chartered a plane and everything."
My jaw drops and my gaze travels from Lo to Cara in disbelief.
"You chartered a freaking plane?" Jenna replies with a squeak. Jenna is stunning. Classically beautiful, reminding me of Grace Kelly with her perfectly coifed blond hair and startling blue eyes. Not to mention her perfect figure.
If she wasn't so incredibly sweet, we might all hate her.
"Hey, this is a celebration," Lo reminds us and sips her wine, tucking a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. The ring on her finger winks in the candlelight.
"Guys, you know I'm totally on board for celebrating your engagements. I couldn't be happier for you." I swallow the last sip of wine in my glass and bite my lip. "But we all know what a colossal klutz I am. I won't survive the trip."
Jill refills my glass as Cara shakes her head.
"We have a surprise for you," she says.
"A sumo wrestler suit I can wear while skiing so I don't break every bone in my body?"
"No," Lo replies with a laugh. "A night on Whitetail Mountain."
I frown, not understanding. "The ski resort, Whitetail Mountain?"
"The same," Jenna replies smugly. "Grace, it's time you learned to ski."
"I've lived at the base of this mountain for six years," I remind them as my stomach sinks. "I've never been on a pair of skis for a reason."
"Don't be silly." Jill waves me off and pushes an envelope at me. "We've booked you for Friday night. It's a half day at school for you, so you can make your two o'clock lesson time."
"You'll stay the night at Snow Ghost Lodge, have another two-hour lesson Saturday morning, and then a massage at the lodge's spa, just in case."
"I don't think it's safe to massage broken legs," I mutter.
"Grace, Aspen won't be the same without you." Cara bats those big hazel eyes at me and I know I'll cave. She's one of my closest friends. How can I say no?
"Okay," I agree softly and swig my wine. "I'll go learn to ski."
"You're going to love it," Jenna assures me. "And my place is nearby, so if you need me, just call."
"Why don't I just stay at your bed-and-breakfast?" I ask. "We could have a sleepover."
"I'm booked for the season," she replies with a wide grin. "Business is good."
"Good for you!" Lo exclaims and holds her fist out for a bump.
"So you get a minivacation twenty minutes from home." Cara grins and clinks her glass with mine. "May you find many hot ski instructors."
"They're probably all college kids, Cara. I'm a bit too old for them."
"You look like a college kid yourself," Jill says with a wink. "You have the cutest pixie cut I've ever seen, by the way. Is it easy to take care of?"
"I love it," I reply and push my fingers through my short blond hair. "It's super easy, but don't you dare even think about cutting off your hair."
The conversation segues to hairstylists and shampoo and I listen with half an ear, dreading this coming weekend. I am the world's biggest klutz. I fall every day. I'm lucky I'm small because if I were a bigger girl, I'd be in constant pain.
As it is, I keep a bottle of Advil on me at all times.
Ah well, what's a few broken bones when your friend's happiness is on the line, right?
"Right, Grace?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Kyle at work has been acting really weird," Cara repeats.
"I think his wife is sick," I reply softly, my heart immediately hurting for our boss and friend.
"Kyle Reardon?" Jill confirms.
"Yeah, I heard that Lily has cancer."
"That's so sad," Lo whispers and sips her wine.
"They have four children," Jenna adds with a shake of her head. "That's horrible."
"I'll have to go see him tomorrow, see if they need anything." Cara pulls out her phone to make a note.
"So, back to your mini ski-cation," Jill says with a glint in her eye. "You're going to have so much fun."
"I heard the lodge sold recently," Lo adds. "I wonder who bought it?"
"Some billionaire," Jill answers.
"Did you sell it to him?" I ask her. Jill is a real estate agent, and a damn good one.
"No, my boss got that deal." She sighs and sticks her lower lip out in a pout. "But I hear Mr. Billionaire is hot."
"I've seen him," Jenna replies with a shrug. "He's pretty hot. Seems nice."
"When did you see him?" Cara asks. "You've been holding out!"
"I went up there for dinner one night and he was having dinner at the same time. His staff seems to like him. Especially the women." She wiggles her eyebrows with a laugh.
"I'm sure I won't run into him." I take one last swallow of wine and decide to call it a night while I can still walk down the block to the house I share with my roommate, Hannah.
I hope I can walk that far.
"Well, if you do run into him, maybe you can have a nice weekend affair with him," Jill says nonchalantly.
"Right, 'cause I just have weekend affairs on a regular basis." I roll my eyes and then giggle at the ludicrous thought.
"If you can't bang the billionaire, bang a hot ski instructor," Lo says.
"I'm not banging anyone!"
"Why not?" Jenna asks. "You're hot. You should bang someone."
Dear God, the girls are all drunk.
"Maybe you'll find a hot ski instructor to bang in Aspen," I say to Jenna who cracks a wide, drunk smile and raises her glass.
"From your lips to God's ears, my friend."
This is a mistake.
r /> The road up Whitetail Mountain is well paved and sanded, but still treacherous. It's narrow, and the switchbacks are tight, making me nervous with the fresh snow and cold weather.
I should have taken the commuter bus that runs up and down the mountain during ski season.
I pass Jenna's B&B, The Hideout, grinning as I think of my pretty friend. I'm so proud of her for making a success of her business. I honk and wave, just in case she can see me, then turn around one more switchback and climb another quarter of a mile before driving into a quaint, beautiful snow village. Ski lifts climb up to the summit of the mountain, forging a path in the evergreens, moving slowly with people sitting in the seats, their skis dangling from their feet.
A condo complex sits on the left, the balconies full of bicycles and hanging plants that died months ago.
Up ahead is a wide parking lot before a grand, beautiful, rustic lodge. The Snow Ghost Lodge, to be exact. It sits right at the base of the ski lifts, convenient for those who want to step outside, fasten their skis, and set off for a day in the powder.
People of all shapes, sizes, and ages are milling about, in ski pants and coats, hats, and gloves, carrying skis on their shoulders. Kids throw snowballs at each other and their parents yell at them to keep it to the hill.
It's absolutely stunning.
The tall evergreen trees are covered in white powder, and I'm reminded how blessed I am to live in such an amazing place.
So far away from the desert of Arizona.
I park in the valet area of the lodge and climb out of my SUV just as a parking attendant comes to help me with my bags.
I slam my door shut and move to walk away, but am pulled up short.
I've slammed my coat in the door.
I sigh and close my eyes, then tilt my head back and look up at the sky.
"Really? Already? You couldn't wait until I've at least put skis on my feet?"
I open the door and rescue my coat, then turn to find the valet and several others watching me curiously.
Great.
I simply smile and nod and take my bag from the young valet, tip him, and walk into the beautiful lodge.
Immediately to my left is a large river-rock fireplace, complete with a roaring fire. There are clusters of soft couches and chairs arranged to sit in and warm up, or just wait for your loved ones to ski while you read a book and sip a hot toddy.
I think I'll need a few of those hot toddies.
I approach the desk and am greeted by a smiling, gray-haired woman.
"Hello, I'm Grace Douglas. I have a reservation for this evening."
"Welcome to the Snow Ghost Lodge. Where are you visiting from?" She slides a paper across the desk for me to fill out as she checks me in.
"Cunningham Falls," I reply with a grin. "I'm just up for some ski lessons."
"Oh, great! I'm Jeanette. Feel free to call down for anything you might need." She consults her computer and makes me a key for my room. "Looks like your first lesson is in about thirty minutes. That should give you time to settle in. We have cookies and warm cider over there." She gestures to her left, opposite of the monster fireplace. "Take a look around. Your instructor will have all the equipment you need."
"Thank you," I reply, eyeing the oatmeal raisin cookies.
"You're welcome."
I snag a cookie and nibble on it on my way up to my room. The girls went all out. This place isn't cheap. My room is on the fifth floor, and the window looks out onto the ski hill. It'll be beautiful at night.
After a quick glance about the room, I grab my new ski pants and coat, my scarf and gloves, and set out to get this first lesson over with. It should be two hours of pure hell followed by either an ambulance ride or a few hours sitting by the fire.
I'll pray for the latter.
I approach Jeanette at the desk again with a smile.
"I'm sorry, I forgot to ask for my instructor's name, and where am I supposed to meet him?"
"Oh, I should have said," she replies and flicks her fingers over the keys. "It looks like he's right over there." She points to two men standing by the front entrance. I thank her with a nod and approach both men. One is young; he has to still be in high school. Maybe college. He's all gangly arms and long legs and doesn't look like he's ever shaved a day in his life.
He must be the student before me.
The other man is tall, much taller than my five foot four. He has golden blond hair that is long, just touching his collar, and begs for a woman's fingers to dive into it.
Jesus, down girl.
He's wearing black ski pants, but he's taken off his jacket, revealing a dark blue North Face fleece that molds around strong arms crossed over his impressive chest.
Hello, hot ski instructor.
"Hi." I stop next to Mr. Hottie and hold my hand out to him. "I'm Grace, your next victim."
Bold, green eyes turn down to mine and he grins slowly, closing his large hand around mine.
"I'm just going to apologize now," I continue, my mouth rambling. I'm completely unable to control it.
He's so damn hot. Why can't I be one of those women who loses her words when confronted with a delicious man?
"This could very well be the worst two days of your life."
The kid next to him starts to speak, but Mr. Hottie holds up a hand, stopping him. He nods and the kid leaves us alone.
"Why do you say that, darling?"
Holy Jesus on a stick, the man has a British accent.
And cue the wet panties.
"I'm a bit of a klutz." I cringe and pull my hand out of his grasp. "But my friends are making me learn to ski. I'm your two o'clock."
"It's nice to meet you, Grace. I'm Bax."
"Bax?" I ask with a frown. "Did your mother not like you or something?"
Bax laughs, showing off a gorgeous smile, with one tooth just barely crooked in the front. His chin is covered in stubble, and I have to ball my hands into fists to keep from reaching up and plunging my fingers in that thick blond hair that I can now see has flecks of gold and copper running through it.
"It's short for Baxter, which is my last name."
"Well, that's nice, but we're not sixteen. What's your first name?"
He cocks a brow and tilts his head, watching me closely and then says softly, "Jacob."
"Much better," I reply with a smile. "I hope you don't mind if I call you Jacob while we work together?"
"No, darling, I don't mind."
If he keeps calling me "darling" in that accent, I might jump him in the snow.
"Okay, well, I'm ready when you are."
"You look like you're walking out before the firing squad," he laughs as he shrugs into his coat.
"I feel like it."
"Don't worry, love, I won't let you get hurt."
He opens the door and ushers me out ahead of him.
"First, we need to walk over to the rental shop to get you some boots, skis, and poles."
"I'm glad I get poles," I say with a laugh. "Balance isn't my strong suit."
He chuckles, and as I look up at him, my foot slips on a patch of ice and down I go, whoomp, flat on my ass.
chapter 2
And so it begins.
Jacob squats next to me and takes my hand in his, helping me to my feet.
"I warned you." I laugh. "You might want to just go ahead and put the paramedics on standby. My ass likes the ground more than my feet."
He whispers something under his breath about my ass, but before I can ask him to repeat it, he says, "I've never met someone yet whom I couldn't teach to ski." He winks and keeps my hand tightly in his as he guides me into the rental shop. "Once you get the hang of it, you'll love it."
"I'll take your word for it," I reply with a smile. Jacob motions to the clerk behind the counter.
"Hey, Bax! What can I getcha?"
"What size shoe do you wear, love?"
"Eight," I reply.
"She needs boots, skis, and poles, Evan," Jacob tell
s him. "I'll be her instructor today and tomorrow."
Evan grins.
"Is that right?"
"Should I ask for a different instructor?" I ask and nudge Jacob's arm with mine, teasing him.
"Nah, Bax's as good as it gets." Evan slides boots over and Jacob lifts them easily.
"Can you grab my stuff for me from the back?" Jacob asks Evan.
"Sure thing."
When Evan leaves to fetch Jacob's gear, Jacob leads me to a bench where he helps me wriggle my way into the boots and fastens them.
"They're going to feel tight, but that's okay. We don't want you slipping around in there. That's how ankles get broken."
"Thank God for protecting my ankles."
Jacob chuckles and supports my calf in his hand as he guides the other foot into the boot. His grasp is firm, warm, and sends electricity through me.
I wonder what it would feel like if he touched my bare skin?
Hmm . . . a naked Jacob. It's not a bad thought in the least.
I lick my bottom lip, watching his mouth move as he tells me about bindings and wax and things that I just don't understand or, frankly, give two shits about.
"Understand?"
"Sure."
"Did you even hear what I was saying?"
"Sure," I say again.
"What did I say?"
I frown and watch his deep green eyes as they smile down at me.
"You said something about bondage and hot wax." I bite my lips to keep from grinning as he tosses his head back and lets out a full belly laugh.
"Not exactly."
"My apologies." My voice doesn't sound apologetic in the least. I haven't flirted this openly in a long, long time, and it's damn fun. Jacob is a hottie, and there's no ring on his finger, so why not?
Maybe a fling with a ski instructor isn't such a bad idea after all.
"Come on, Grace, let's get you on the snow."
"This is the part that scares me." Suddenly, the flirty is gone and is replaced by gargantuan butterflies and dread.
"Hey," he says and cups my chin in his hand, making me meet his gaze. The zing from his touch travels down my breasts, my spine, and directly to my core, and I suck in a breath and feel my eyes go wide. "I promise. I'll take care of you, darling."
"Okay," I whisper and discreetly fan myself as he stands and turns his back to me, slipping his feet into his own boots, but I notice they aren't ski boots.
"Why do I feel like I have a storm trooper's boots on?" I ask as I follow him out of the rental shop and into the snow. Jacob has my skis balanced on his shoulder. I have a pole in each hand, stabbing the snow and ice as I walk beside him. "These poles are great. I should walk with them everywhere."