“Here,” I said, grabbing her waist and pulling her lightly to stand up. “Grip my arms and push.”

As soon as she stood and pushed down, her foot went in easily.

“How’s it feel?” I tapped the tip of her boot.

“Uncomfortable,” she said.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not a tennis shoe. Are your toes cramped?”

“No,” she admitted. “I can wiggle them.”

“Perfect.” I gave her a thumbs-up.

Once she got the other boot on and laced up, I grabbed both of our boards and headed toward the bunny hill. Frankie followed me, and when I glanced back, I could see her eyeing the small hill with apprehension. Typically, they didn’t open it early like they did the main chairlift, but I’d convinced one of the guys I knew to operate it for us.

“This is a terrible idea,” she said under her breath.

I chuckled and knocked on her helmet. “Relax. You’re with a professional.”

She narrowed her eyes and jerked away from my hand. “Somehow, not comforting.”

My lower lip jutted out and I blinked down at her a few times, doing my best hurt-puppy-dog impression. That finally got her to smile and playfully shove my shoulder. It was obvious that through her tough exterior, she was all nerves. I was determined to make this fun for her.

The past couple of weeks had been a little dull, if I was being honest. Not in terms of activity, but in the sense of being alone all the time. I’d gone from living with my best friend and having a close-knit community in Denver, to being completely on my own. I could talk to anyone, strike up a conversation without effort. Casual friendships had always come easily to me, but I’d never realized how hollow they could start to feel.

Frankie was different. She felt real. It was like there was this magnetic tug that continuously pulled me into her orbit. It was why, despite not having explored many of the bars and restaurants on Main Street, I continued to go to Marie’s night after night.

Without further build up, I tossed her board to the ground. “Which foot do you kick with?” I asked.

“What? Why?” Frankie looked from the board to me with pinched brows.

“Just answer the question,” I said.

She pretended to step up to an invisible ball and mimed a small kick. “My right,” she said.

“Perfect, that’ll be your back foot then. Here—” I kneeled down and patted the front binding. “Stick your boot in.”

It only took a few minutes to get Frankie strapped in and convince her to step onto the moving conveyor belt that would take us to the top of the very small, very flat bunny hill. She’d tried to convince me it might be better to practice on flat ground, but I wouldn’t hear of it.

Now we were at the top, staring about 200 yards to the bottom. She looked panicked.

“Is there a way to make that belt thingy go in reverse?” she asked, her voice cracking.