“A raven,” she says, setting down the pointy metal tool she’s using for her artwork. “I plan to draw animals on all my projects, so they won’t notice that I’m not a very good potter. Oh, hey—” She reaches out and touches his wrist.

The warmth of her hand is unexpected, and he lifts his chin to meet her gaze.

Her cheeks flush, and she withdraws her hand. “I think you should brace your piece inside with some balled-up newspaper, and then use a sponge on that rough spot. If you keep going like that, you’re going to put your thumb through it.”

“Ah,” he says. “Good idea.”

“Now I have to go to work.” She starts cleaning up her station, and disappointment crashes over him. But now he remembers where else he’s seen her before. “Don’t you work at the Bowl?” Middlebury has its own ski hill. That’s partly why he came all the way to Vermont for college.

“That’s right. Two days a week. I race cross country, but I thought learning to ski downhill would be fun. I haven’t even tried it yet, because I’m freezing by the time my shift is over.”

“Ah,” he says. “Hands, feet, and face.”

She stops cleaning. “Sorry?”

“That’s how you stay warm as a lift operator. Do you have Sorel boots?”

She shakes her head.

“Then you need toe warmers. Those little packets that heat up when you expose them to the air? And wool socks. Those are just a given. Bring an extra pair of gloves to swap for the second half of your shift, because they get wet.”

Her smile is bright and unexpected. “You know a lot about this.”

“It’s the family business.”

“Operating a chairlift is the family business?”

“We own a ski mountain in Colorado.”

“Ohhh. I see. That’s glamorous.”

“Sometimes. But I put in a lot of hours working the chairlift. Somebody would call in sick, and my parents sent me right out there to cover a shift. Not so glamorous then.”

“Got it.”

Another moment passes, as both Reed and Ava just stand there, trapped inside their lingering gazes. Reed has lost the thread of the conversation, and he doesn’t mind all that much. He could stand here all day talking to her. This is the most alive he’s felt in months.

But Ava reluctantly drops his gaze, checking the time. “I’ve got to run, Reed. See you Monday? I’ll need an update on that vase.” Her smile is bashful.

“Monday,” he agrees softly. And when she finally walks away, he stares after her like a lonely hound dog.

That afternoon he buys a whole box of those toe warmers at the pro shop, and then starts counting down the hours until he can give them to her.

FOUR

Not Exactly Scandalous

Reed

When Ava stands up from her desk to hand over the key, our hands brush, and I experience a powerful zap of déjà vu. Ava Aichers, with whom I had the only truly passionate and absorbing love affair of my life, is right here in front of me.