“Oh,” I say. “No, I’m fine with water.” I fill a glass from the jug on the table.

“Aren’t you going to ask me?” Saskia says.

Brent takes another swig as though he didn’t hear her.

That was interesting. He just blanked her. Blatantly. Why? Do he and Saskia have history?

There’s surprise in her eyes. She’s clearly not used to being ignored. She stands sharply, chair legs screeching against the floorboards. “Fine, I’ll get my own.”

I hide my smile as she stomps off to the bar. Brent’s smiling, too.

I wouldn’t normally be this relaxed around such a good-looking guy, but he’s so much like Barnsey. Same mannerisms, same accent even. I feel comfortable with him, as though I’ve known him for years.

The exact opposite of how I feel with Curtis.

“Hey, Sass.” Curtis taps my shoulder.

I jerk my head around. “What did you just call me?”

Curtis grins, shamefaced. “Sorry. It’s the hair.” He offers red wine. “Want some?”

“No, thanks, I’ll stick with water. And tomorrow I’m going to dye my hair pink. I’m not joking.”

Brent chuckles. “You’re in trouble, bro.”

Saskia returns with an empty wineglass. Without saying a word, she whips the bottle from Curtis’s hand, pours herself a glass, and sits back down.

The aproned woman comes over with plates of tartiflette. Gooey, tangy cheese and soft, buttery potato. Now that my stomach has finally settled, I’m starving. I hold my fingers to the flames while I chew.

“How old were you when you started snowboarding, Milla?” Curtis asks.

“Eleven,” I say. “On the Sheffield dry slope. I didn’t ride snow till I was sixteen. What about you?”

“Five.”

“I was three,” Saskia says, even though I didn’t ask her.

Lucky cow. No wonder she’s good.

“Our parents took us all over the world,” Curtis says. “The world’s mountains anyway. Mum’s from California and we still have family there, so we spent some winters in Mammoth.”

I know this, but I don’t want him to know I’ve read up on him. “I remember watching your mum and dad in ancient Burton videos, flying down steep Alaskan slopes.”

Curtis smiles. “Did you?”

“You had such a cool childhood.”

“Sometimes I got sick of moving around so much.”

Saskia yawns.

I turn to Brent. “How about you?”

“Ten,” Brent says. “But I skateboarded since I was about six. Dad’s a builder and he built this skate ramp in our backyard for me and my brother.”

His London accent cracks me up.

“We got some sponsors,” he adds. “My brother was really good.”

“But you prefer snowboarding?” I say.

He grins. “You can go bigger.”

“Was last year your first time at the Brits, Milla?” Curtis says.

“Yeah. I entered the year before but I blew my knee before the comp.”

Saskia leans forward. “What did you do?”