Melody Anne - Baby, It’s Cold Outside

“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.

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.

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 tells 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.