JAKE

I woke up to pain.

Not the dramatic, life-flashing-before-your-eyes kind. More like the you tried to ski for twenty minutes and now your calves are filing for divorce kind. Every muscle in my legs screamed, and my spine felt like I had wrestled a pine tree in my sleep and lost.

I groaned into the pillow.

"You're a genius" I muttered to myself, rolling over and blinking at the pale morning light pouring in through the chalet's massive windows. "A billionaire genius. Who can't even stand up on a pair of skis."

I stared at the ceiling for a minute, debating the pros and cons of just hiding in this overpriced cabin for the rest of the week with cocoa, books, and the world's fastest Wi-Fi.

But then I thought about her.

Lily.

The way she'd laughed when I crashed into that snowbank like a human-shaped disaster. The gentle sarcasm. The braid falling over her shoulder as she turned back to make sure I wasn't dead.

I groaned again but this time for a very different reason.

I wasn't here to meet someone. I was here to lay low. Hide. Disappear for a while after the whole investor leak situation back in San Francisco. No press. No corporate nonsense. No pretending to be a shark.

And yet... my fingers were already reaching for my phone, thumbing over the message I swore I'd only read once:

"If you survive till tomorrow, I'll be at the lodge. 10 a.m. Ask for Lily ."

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

So I got up. Sore legs and all.

The ski lodge was already bustling when I arrived. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the air smelled like cinnamon and pinewood and something sweet I couldn't name.

It felt... warm. Not in the temperature sense, but in that quiet, small-town way that made me feel like I was intruding on something close-knit and well-loved. People waved to each other. Called each other by name. A man in flannel was teaching his daughter how to put on her boots near the fireplace, her giggles echoing off the walls.

I kept my head low and my beanie lower.

The front desk had a small line, mostly tourists like me. Or rather, tourists I was pretending to be. When it was finally my turn, the woman behind the counter gave me a once-over and smiled wide.

"Well, hello there! Name?"

"Jake Ryan" I said quickly.

She squinted. "Jake Ryan... like the guy from Sixteen Candles?"

I blinked. "Uh. Yeah. Sure."

She chuckled, clicking her nails against the keyboard. "My teenage self is screaming. You're here for a ski lesson, sweetheart?"

"Yeah. Private, if possible."

"Mm-hmm." She typed something, then tilted her head. "Any instructor in mind?"

I tried to sound casual. "There was someone I talked to yesterday... Lily?"

Her eyes twinkled. "Ah. Our Lily. One of the best on the mountain. You got lucky, Jake Ryan."

I coughed. "Right. Luck."

With a few more taps, she handed me a clipboard and gestured toward the couches by the fire. "Go ahead and wait there. She'll find you."

I took the clipboard, muttered a thanks, and headed to the fireplace, where I sat down beside a table offering complimentary hot cocoa.

This place was... different. People here didn't check their watches every five minutes or glance at their phones between conversations. They weren't faking smiles. It was all just... real.

And quiet.

I hadn't realized how badly I needed quiet until now.

I don't know how long I sat there. Ten minutes? Fifteen? The cocoa was halfway gone and I was halfway through convincing myself I should not be looking forward to this lesson so much until when I saw her.

Lily.

She was walking through the lodge like she belonged there. Because she did. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and her braid was falling out slightly, a little wind-tossed and perfect in the messiest way. She was tugging off her gloves, scanning the room until her eyes landed on me.

"Jake?"

I stood so fast I spilled cocoa down the front of my coat. "Hey."

She blinked. "You came back."

"You gave me homework" I said, trying to act casual. "And I really hate failing assignments."

Her laugh was warm and unguarded. "Well, I hope you studied. Today we're tackling the bunny hill."

"Perfect. I like bunnies."

She walked over, looping her gloves through her belt. "Come on. Let's get you suited up."

We made our way to the rental counter, where Lily insisted on checking my skis herself. I stood there like a mannequin while she crouched, tightening the bindings and muttering things about heel pressure and toe alignment.

"I don't remember instructors doing this much hands-on work in the brochure" I said, watching her closely.

"You looked like you were trying to decapitate yourself yesterday. I'm not taking chances."

"You wound me."

"Not if I can help it" she said, flashing me a grin over her shoulder.

God. I was doomed.

Once she stood, she handed me a pair of goggles. "These'll help with the glare. Also, style points."

"I'll take anything that makes me look less like a disaster."

"Well" she said, adjusting the strap on my helmet "you do have an air of reckless chaos. But I'm starting to think it's part of the charm."

I could barely breathe. "You think I'm charming?"

She smirked. "Don't let it go to your head, Sixteen Candles."

We stepped out onto the snow, heading toward the beginner's slope. I was trying to keep my steps even, to walk like a man who belonged in ski boots, not like I was wearing medieval torture devices on my feet.

She chatted as we walked , pointing out the lodge's new renovations, the best cocoa stand on the mountain, the crazy raccoon that once broke into the ski patrol shed.

I liked listening to her. She had that kind of voice that made you feel like you'd known her for years, even if she'd only saved your life twenty-four hours ago.

Then, it happened.

A couple passed us ,young, maybe early twenties, decked out in overpriced designer gear. They looked at me once. Then again. Then whispered.

My stomach dropped.

They didn't say my name, but I recognized the look. I'd seen it at galas. On planes. In boardrooms. The double-take. The Is that...?

Lily didn't notice.

I turned quickly, trying to joke it off. "I think I just got recognized."

She raised an eyebrow. "For what? That spectacular wipeout yesterday?"

"Exactly" I said, forcing a grin. "Infamous now."

She laughed, bumping her shoulder into mine as we reached the slope. "Well, infamous or not, I'm glad you came back."

I looked at her,sunlight on her cheeks, snowflakes caught in her lashes, that same open, effortless smile and my stomach did something it hadn't done in a long, long time.

Something warm.

Dangerous.

And sweet.

I was starting to think maybe hiding out here wasn't such a terrible idea after all.

But as I followed her onto the slope, her ponytail swaying in front of me, one quiet thought whispered at the back of my mind.

If I'm not careful, someone's going to recognize me. And the last thing I want... is for Lily to find out who I really am before I figure out who I am around her.

JAKE

They call it the bunny hill.

Which is ironic, considering I've never felt more like a helpless.I was all limbs and fear and a deep, unshakable certainty that I would soon be airborne and not in the majestic Olympic way.

Lily stood beside me, radiating calm like she belonged here. Which, of course, she did. She looked at home in the snow, the sky, the breeze. Like someone who was part of the mountain, not just passing through.

I, on the other hand, looked like an off-brand action figure in a rental helmet.

"Okay, Jake." Her voice was bright, patient. "We're going to take it slow. I'm going to walk you through a glide and we'll practice stopping."

"Stopping" I repeated. "Yes. Vital skill."

She grinned, holding out her poles like a flight attendant about to demonstrate an emergency landing. "Think of it like a pizza. You angle your skis inward like this " She moved her feet into a perfect wedge. "and the friction helps you stop."

I stared. "Pizza?"

"Yup. You'll never look at pepperoni the same way again."

"I didn't look at it that deeply to begin with."

"Then you're doing skiing wrong."

She stepped back, watching me expectantly.

I attempted the wedge. Sort of. My skis wobbled and one shot forward like a rogue missile and suddenly I was sliding just a few feet but enough to send my heart into full panic mode.

"Whoa"

Lily was already beside me, grabbing my arms to steady me. "There you go! That's okay. Try again."

I looked down. She hadn't let go.

She noticed, and quickly released me. "Sorry. Reflex."

"Not complaining."

She flushed. I swore I saw her eyes flicker toward my face for half a second before she turned away.

"Let's try that again, Mr. Ryan. Slower this time. Glide. Then pizza."

I took a breath, pushed gently forward and actually managed to glide a few feet before stopping in a semi-controlled wedge. I looked at her like I'd just solved cold fusion.

"Was that... did I just...?"

"You stopped!" she laughed. "You pizza'd!"

"I pizza'd" I repeated, proud in the dumbest way.

"Let's build a statue in your honor" she teased. "Savior of bunny slopes. Lord of mozzarella."

I couldn't help it,I laughed. A real, full laugh that cracked through the weird layer of tension I'd been wearing for months.

God, it felt good.

We kept at it, again and again. She adjusted my stance, told me when to lean forward, when to keep my knees soft. I slipped. A lot. Once, I fell sideways into the snow like a sandbag and just lay there, blinking up at the sky.

"You alive?" she asked, peering over me.

"No" I groaned. "Tell my shareholders I died bravely."

"You don't have shareholders, Jake."

"Don't I?"

She extended a mittened hand, and I took it, letting her help me up. Our gloves pressed together, warm and soft, and for a second I didn't want to let go.

She didn't seem to, either.

Then she cleared her throat and stepped back. "Okay. Let's try linking a few glides."

"I just stood upright for more than ten seconds. Isn't that enough progress for today?"

"Nope. This is where the real fun begins."

"Lily, I say this with total respect,you are a tyrant in a puffer jacket."

She cackled.

I obeyed.

We practiced for another hour. Somehow, between the falling and the laughing and the occasional moments of shared breath, the fear started to fade. Not just the skiing part. The being-here part. The being-me part.

By the end of it, I could make it ten yards down the slope without falling.

We finally came to a stop near the bottom of the hill. Lily brushed a snowflake from her cheek and looked at me, smiling.

"You did good."

"You're just saying that because I didn't take out a small child this time."

"Well" she said thoughtfully, "you came close to hitting that snowman, but I don't think he's pressing charges."

I chuckled, breath clouding in the cold. "You're good at this."

"Teaching?"

"Yeah. You make it... easy to try."

She glanced at me, then down at her boots. "Thanks. That's nice to hear."

There was something soft in her expression now. Not flirtation exactly. Something quieter. Warmer.

I had the sudden, overwhelming urge to tell her the truth.

That I wasn't just Jake Ryan, the guy from the ski lodge with two left skis and a borrowed identity.

I was Jackson Ryland.

The face on too many magazine covers. The CEO hiding from the fallout of a very public scandal. The billionaire who hadn't been called by his real name in days.

But Lily didn't know any of that.

To her, I was just... me.

And for once, that felt like enough.

"Hot chocolate?" she asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

I blinked. "What?"

"There's a stand right outside the lodge. Best cocoa on the mountain. Come on. It's basically a tradition after your first real run."

I followed her back up the slope, my legs sore and heart buzzing, thinking.

I didn't come here to fall in love.

But I was already slipping.

The cocoa stand was just as she promised tiny, rustic, and magical. Fairy lights twinkled overhead, and the air smelled like sugar and cinnamon. We stood in line, helmets off, steam rising from the cups of the people ahead of us.

I glanced at her while she wasn't looking.

Lily Carter.

Snow instructor. Small-town sunshine. Possibly made of stardust and pine.

"What?" she asked, catching me.

"Nothing."

She gave me a look.

"Okay" I admitted. "I was just wondering what your hot cocoa topping says about you."

"Ah." She smirked. "A cocoa psychoanalyst."

"Exactly. Marshmallows mean you're whimsical. Whipped cream means you're traditional. Sprinkles mean you're hiding a chaotic soul."

She laughed. "And what does double chocolate syrup say?"

"That you're dangerous and I should run."

"Too late" She grinned. "You already signed up for three more lessons."

"Did I?"

"Mm-hmm. And I take my students very seriously, Mr. Ryan."

"Good" I said, meeting her gaze. "Because I'm already looking forward to tomorrow."

She blinked, surprised.

But then she smiled.

Me too, it seemed to say.

And just like that, it wasn't just the cocoa that made my chest feel warm.

It was her.

It was this place.

It was the quiet, simple joy of a moment that didn't demand anything from me except to be there. With her.

And for the first time in a very long time, that felt like everything I needed.

Lily

I always loved the quiet just before the afternoon lessons. The air crisp and clean, kids tumbling around on their tiny skis and the hum of the lift in the background like a lullaby of winter. The snow today was soft and powdery.

I was sipping the last of my peppermint tea from a dented thermos when I saw him.

Jake.

Punctual this time, which was a small miracle in itself. He looked well, better geared, for starters. His jacket was sleek black, fitted, and clearly new. Not in a flashy way, but in the "I-don't-shop-sales-rack" kind of way. His boots actually matched and his helmet didn't look like it had survived three wars.

Still, he carried himself like a man preparing to face his doom.

"Hey, disaster" I called out with a grin, sliding my goggles up.

He gave me a sheepish smile as he trudged over, skis balanced awkwardly on his shoulder. "I'll have you know I'm now a seasoned skier. I watched three YouTube videos last night."

"Did they cover falling with flair? Because that's your specialty."

"Oh, absolutely. I'm practically an Olympic-level tumbler."

He was joking, relaxed. His shoulders less tense than they were last time. Something about it made me feel lighter too.

We clicked into our skis and shuffled toward the bunny slope. The late-day sun cast long shadows across the snow, turning everything soft and golden. A few locals waved at me as we passed. One of the kids I taught on weekends shouted "Hi Miss Lily!" from the lift.

Jake glanced sideways at me. "Celebrity status, huh?"

I shrugged. "Small town. People wave."

"I think someone just handed you a muffin from their pocket."

"That happens more than you'd think."

He laughed and it caught me off guard. There was something magnetic about Jake's laugh, like it came from deep inside him and didn't get out very often.

"All right" I said, stopping near the top of the bunny hill. "Let's see what those YouTube videos taught you."

Jake inhaled like he was about to jump out of a plane. "If I break anything, you're driving me to the hospital."

"I'll sled you down personally" I promised.

He pushed off cautiously and to my surprise, he didn't immediately fall.

Sure, his arms flailed a little, and his knees wobbled like spaghetti, but he managed to make it about twenty feet without eating snow. I let out a celebratory cheer.

Jake reached the bottom, slightly out of breath but grinning like a kid who'd just pulled off a magic trick. "Did you see that?"

"I'm not sure whether to clap or call the Guinness World Records" I teased, skiing up beside him. "That was actually decent."

He raised his hands in victory. "Decent! You hear that, Aspenridge? Your girl just called me decent!"

A few people turned at the noise, and I blushed, laughing as I shoved his arm gently. "Come on, hotshot. Let's go again."

We spent the next hour running drills slow descents, pizza stops, the occasional dramatic fall. He got better. Smoother. And even when he messed up, he didn't get frustrated the way most beginners did. He laughed at himself, shook it off, tried again.

And I couldn't help but notice how he listened to my instructions. Took them to heart. Looked at me when I spoke like my words mattered.

Most tourists treated the bunny hill like a temporary annoyance on their way to bigger slopes. Jake treated it like a destination.

After our fifth run, I called for a break. We unclipped from our skis and collapsed onto the wooden bench near the edge of the slope, under a pair of pine trees dusted in white. He was flushed, sweaty, and panting.

"You're not bad" I said, tossing him a half-squished granola bar from my pocket.

He looked at it like it was a precious artifact. "This is gourmet compared to my last protein bar. That one exploded."

"I don't want to know."

He peeled it open, took a bite, and groaned. "Oh my god. Actual food. You're an angel."

I leaned back on the bench, letting the cold wood press through my jacket, and watched the slope for a moment. The sun was dipping lower now, painting the sky in soft pastels. There was something peaceful about it all. Just us, and the snow, and the world quietly spinning on.

Then, without planning it, I asked, "So... what brought you here?"

Jake froze mid-bite.

"To Aspenridge, I mean," I clarified, trying to keep my voice light. "We don't exactly get a ton of guys like you."

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Guys like me?"

"You know. Mysterious loners with nice gear and zero skiing ability."

He chuckled softly, brushing a crumb off his gloves. "Fair enough."

I waited, not pushing, just sipping the silence.

Finally, he said "I guess I needed to... disappear for a while."

I tilted my head, curious.

"Not in a dramatic way" he added quickly. "Just... my life got loud. Complicated. I needed somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could breathe and not be expected to perform."

"Perform?"

He shrugged, eyes on the slope now. "Be who people think I am."

I studied him, the set of his jaw, the way his fingers fiddled with his gloves like he was keeping something in. A secret. A wound. Maybe both.

"Well" I said gently, "you picked a good town for disappearing. We don't ask a lot of questions here."

Jake looked at me and something passed between us,quiet and fragile.

"What about you?" he asked. "Why stay?"

That question. People always asked it like it was strange, like staying meant something was missing. But I smiled.

"Because I like it here" I said simply. "I like the way the snow smells in the morning. The way people leave casseroles on your porch when you're sick. I like teaching kids how to ski and falling asleep knowing I did something real that day."

He watched me like I was saying something he hadn't heard before.

"That sounds... nice" he murmured.

"It is."

We sat like that for a moment, wrapped in the kind of quiet that didn't need to be filled. The slope buzzed with laughter and shouts and skis carving turns in the snow. But here, under the pine trees, it felt like our own little bubble.

Eventually, I stood, brushing the snow off my pants. "Lesson's not over, mystery man."

Jake groaned theatrically but stood too. "Do I at least get a sticker or something?"

I grinned. "If you don't fall on this next run, I'll buy you a hot chocolate."

"High stakes."

We clipped into our skis again and slid toward the slope, side by side. His elbow bumped mine, and he didn't move away. I didn't either.

As he started down the hill, a little wobbly but determined, I let myself watch him and realized I liked teaching him. Not just because he listened, or because he was funny and weird and surprisingly unpretentious, but because something about him made me feel seen.

Jake wasn't like the tourists who came and went with their designer jackets and ego bruises. He was different.

And that made me nervous.

Because people like him? They didn't usually stay.

But for now, I followed him down the slope, laughing when he stumbled, cheering when he stayed upright.

For now, I let myself just enjoy it.