Slippery Slopes (18 page)

Wordlessly, Dove and Melissa ride the empty chair lift.

At the top of the mountain, Melissa and Dove look at the twinkling lights below and step onto the frozen ground.

“You can hear the music all the way up here.”

“You sound sad.” Dove wrinkles her mouth at Melissa.

“Well, you’re leaving. Of course I’m sad. Who will I talk to? Who’ll make me fresh rolls and sort out my dramas?” Melissa sighs, thinking about Gabe and James. “Not that I’m likely to have any dramas with the ski boys vacating. You realize you’re leaving me here to wither with Charlie….”

“Well, when you say it like that, I have no choice.” Dove pokes Melissa in the shoulder so she’ll look at her instead of the party below.

“No choice but to feel guilty?”

“No. No choice but to ask you to come with me.” Dove’s eyes shine with excitement. “Before you say forget it, just think: you, me, the beach. Or the other way—you, Charlie, the cold.”

“But I don’t …”

“Have a ticket? We’ll get you one at the airport.”

Melissa’s heart thumps so loud she feels as though she’s competing with the music’s bass line below. “But I don’t have …”

“Clothes? We’ll get some there. And money? You’ve made great tips, right?”

Melissa clenches her fists, thinking. “Presumably Harley’s been working down there, so maybe she’d have a job or two she could hook us up with….”

“Now you’re thinking.” Dove cracks a big smile, crouches down into the snow, and comes up bearing a big snowball. “Just think, this time tomorrow we could be making sand castles instead.”

“And Max?” Melissa asks.

“Well, Claire’s booked until nearly the end of the month. He can stay here and ski with her all he likes. Term at Oxford doesn’t start until the end of January …” She pauses, realizing that if she wanted to try to go back to school, there might just be enough time for her to enroll. “And if Shakespeare and English texts call to me louder than the waves, then maybe I’ll look into it. But for now—despite the fact that he’s been incommunicado—I’m heading to William.” A brief look of concern washes over Dove’s face, but then she pulls herself together, thinking of seeing him at the airport.

“And I’m …?” Melissa looks out at the expansive resort, the lost kisses, the dreams of romance, the hours of work put into cooking, hosting, and making the wonderland a reality. “If I’m so good at putting together this major event, then I think I can allow myself a detour.”

“A sidetrack?” Dove brings her knees to her chest, excited by the potential of what’s to come, the warmth that will soon cover her.

“A fork in the road,” Melissa says. “We have to pack, leave a note for Matron, say our good-byes, and go. Hey—wouldn’t it be fun to meet up with Harley again? Assuming she hasn’t been kicked off the island?”

“So you’re coming?” Dove grabs her hands and they race toward the chairlifts. “This is amazing!” She pauses. “And yeah, who knows what Harley’s been up to.”

“This is incredible,” Melissa agrees. “A drinkless toast—to moving onward and upward.”

“To a New Year.”

“To us, on a plane in eight hours, heading to paradise.”

They raise their imaginary glasses and get ready to head …

Turn the page to continue reading from the Chalet Girls series

E
VERY PLANE FLIGHT IS
different. Sure, the tray tables, stiff seats, plastic interiors, and tasteless fabrics designed to cover stains—those details are the same. But the feelings—where you’re going, who you’ll see, what the trip has in store—these are always unique.

“Do you think it’ll look familiar?” Melissa asks Dove. Out the small window, Melissa can just about see the island. “I mean, aren’t all islands pretty similar?”

“Nevis was once called the Queen of the Caribbees,” Dove says, not looking up from her book. She’s been on the same page for the past hour, spacing out, staring at words but not reading them, her mind too busy racing to concentrate. “But to answer your question … no. Even though it’s an island, it’s not like any others.” Dove pauses, her dark blue eyes flashing with memories. “There’s a feeling as soon as you land …” She shakes her head. “I can’t explain it.”

Melissa nods. Any feeling would be better than the feeling she has now—the
what if I’ve made a colossal mistake leaving job security behind on a snowy mountain
feeling. This mixed with a feeling of love lost. Melissa tugs her shirt down over her pale, bare hips and puts the feeling out of her mind, focusing instead on Dove.

“What’re you reading, anyway?” Melissa asks, peering over to examine the front cover of her friend’s book.

Dove glances at the front of the heavy tome in her hands. In a lush garden two lovers embrace, entwined beneath the words
Romantic Theory: Love throughout Literature by A. J. Samuels.
“A book I’d be assigned to read if I actually were in school.”

Melissa wrinkles her forehead. “So, this is for pleasure? What’s the point, exactly, of dropping out of university and then doing all the work anyway?”

“For starters, I never dropped out. You have to enroll and go and then quit to be a dropout. I never went in the first place.”

“Even though you got a place at one of the top schools in the world. Yeah, okay …” Melissa pokes Dove in the ribs and rolls her eyes.

Dove shrugs. “I just like to keep up with this stuff. I know it sounds silly.” Dove stares at the cover again, imagining she and William are the subjects, kissing.
Soon we will be,
Dove thinks.
Reunited after way too long apart. Who ever said that long-distance love was the way to go?
She imagines the sign he’ll have made for her at the airport—something sweet, not too cheesy, just welcoming enough to appease her for leaving her job in the French Alps.
I’m a sucker for grand romantic gestures like that
—
balloons or flowers, signs saying
WELCOME, DOVE
, or silly bands that serenade you in a restaurant.
Dove’s brain queues up a bunch of scenes and songs, making her eyes sheen with dreaminess.

He’ll wave, his eyes gleaming, looking every inch the hot surfer-slash-sailor, and he’ll pull me into his arms.
Dove lets a small smile flash over her face.

“Ugh.” Melissa groans. “I know that face. That’s the William Face.” She sighs good-naturedly and looks out the window at the nearing island. Rings of blue water, tiny whitecaps, and sand so white in the distance that it looks illuminated make her heart begin to race. Maybe Nevis isn’t like other islands. Maybe it will turn out to be a life-changing locale.

Suddenly, the plane angles to the right, dipping down quickly enough that Melissa grips her armrest, causing her heart to officially pound.
My pulse hasn’t gone this crazy since I was with Gabe at the New Year’s Ball.
Melissa’s mouth reveals her feelings, and she frowns.
Clearly, Gabe didn’t experience the same rush I did, or he’d have stayed at Les Trois Alpes.
She shrugs off feelings of rejection, the disappointment of admitting she liked Gabe, finally, and then having him like her, too, but not enough to change his plans.
That’s the proof of love, isn’t it? Wanting to be with someone so much that you’d go out of your way to
—The plane dips again.

“Okay, okay. I’m ready to be on the ground now.” Melissa breathes fast, rambling to cover her flying fears. “Talk about a long travel day—I don’t even know what day it is.” She slides a rubber band from her wrist into her hair, capturing the tight dark ringlets, and wishes she’d brought something to snack on. “Who knew the small planes had no service? What I wouldn’t give for a sandwich, a croissant, a piece of stale bread.”

“You can get something when we land.” Dove sighs and closes her book, but doesn’t put it away. “I can’t believe we’re really here.” Would he gasp at her newly cropped hair? Would he look the same, tanned and rough around the edges from boating but with all the charm? Would all the months and weeks she spent pining for her long-distance love pay off? She rubs her eyes and wipes her face with her hand as though she can wipe away any worries about what might be.

Melissa points to the window, elbowing Dove so she’ll look out, too. “Check it out. We are
here.
Nevis. Warmth. Finally.” Melissa grins. She’s read descriptions about the island—its lush foliage, the former plantations and sugar refineries converted into romantic resorts, the endless beach life—but she can’t wait to experience it herself.

Dove finally brings herself to look out the window to the view of the island. Surrounded by bright turquoise water, ringed with brilliant white sand, and dotted with houses so massive they can be seen from the air, the place looks at once tranquil, tropical, and inviting. A far cry from the ski resort, Les Trois, where she and Melissa have been slaving away for the past few weeks.

Melissa grabs Dove’s hand. “This is so exciting! We’re landing!”

Dove nods. “I know. It’s just that—” Her voice gets cut off by the pilot making an announcement in French, then following it in English, informing the passengers of their impending arrival.

“You think we’ll find Harley somewhere?” Melissa asks. “She’s probably talked her way into some cushy job.” A snapshot memory appears in her mind—Harley in her black boots and slim jeans, her black down jacket snug against her frame. Harley always had a way of getting what she wanted, even in situations where she was clearly over her head.
I guess some people are just like that,
Melissa thinks. She’s not jealous of that aspect of Harley, but always a little nervous about what havoc it could impose. “Maybe the island life has chilled her out a little,” Melissa suggests. “Maybe she’s found that the secret to happiness is a cushy work environment.”

“With an even cushier romantic life,” Dove adds, thinking about Harley’s streetwise exterior, her brooding but beautiful features, the proximity that she’s had to William. Dove shudders.

Melissa peers out again at the beaches. She wishes she had one of those bikini-ready bodies, but then remembers that she doesn’t even have a bathing suit. Nor does she have a job, money to last her more than a couple of days, or a place to stay. A frown threatens to overtake her face.

Dove intercepts the facial expression. “No, no, no. Don’t you go getting worried on me. I’m the one in charge of pessimism. You stick to enthusiasm.”

“But what if I can’t get—”

“You will. We will.”

Both winter-pale girls look once more at the island, thinking how from a distance any place can look calm and easy, and as the reality of where they are about to be sinks in, they brace themselves for landing.

S
CANNING THE FACES FOR
which boy could be the infamous William, Melissa nearly crashes into the person in front of her.

“Watch it!” Tanned to perfection though she’s only just arriving, and dressed in Indian-print fabric that’s wound into a halter-style dress, the girl huffs as she removes a bit of trailing fabric from under Melissa’s shoe. “Ever heard of walking properly?”

Melissa’s gut instinct is to come back with some sarcastic comment but instead, she’s too busy wondering which boy beauty is William, and how Dove will react when she’s finally in his arms.
Hell, if I can’t find love myself, I may as well live vicariously through others.

When she realizes the girl is waiting for her to bow or fawn all over the minor tactical error in coordination, Melissa volunteers this: “Oh, madam, I’m so terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you.” Inside, she sticks her tongue out, but her exterior remains fixed.

“Are you just going to stand there and not apologize?” Impatient for a reply, the bronzed and annoyed girl pouts her perfectly glossed lips, lifts her oversized pouchy blue leather bag onto her shoulder, and rolls her eyes. “Guess you don’t have much to offer in the way of decency or class.”

“I did apologize.” Melissa’s mouth flies open. She’s determined to at least respond more, but the girl beats her to the punch and walks away. Watching her join the throngs of people collecting at the baggage and arrival areas, Melissa hopes this particular girl isn’t a fair representation of the other people she’ll meet on the island. The girl’s blue leather bag bounces as she walks away, leaving Melissa with a bad taste in her mouth.

Melissa rummages through her pockets, flustered from the interaction, and searches for gum.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Dove, breathless from hauling her bags across the sandy linoleum floor, stands before Melissa expectantly.

“Nothing—just a brief encounter with one of those mythical characters, the Beach Bitch. You know the type—all glamour, no reality. Giant bag to hold all her evils.” Melissa rolls her eyes, eager to forget the run-in. “But enough about that—what about you? Where is he? I can’t wait to meet William!”

“You
can’t wait?” Dove grins. “What about me?” She begins to search the crowd for William’s face. The same face that caught her eye so many months back, the same one that appeared in her dreams over the time they’d been apart, making her sure that flying here was the right thing to do. “I’ll find him—you find your bags. That way we can just go right away to William’s house.”