Chapter 8
Alyssa
It's not what's under the Christmas tree
that matters, but who's around it.
~ A Charlie Brown Christmas
C arson is a trooper. We spent most of the day together, him falling left and right, over and over. And he never threw in the towel.
Sure, I’d love to ride down a bigger hill, feeling the wind in my hair, the board under my control as I lose myself in the rush of flying down the slope. But being with Carson felt right. I couldn’t imagine leaving him there to learn alone. Besides, we shared a lot of laughs, and he did improve. No one starts snowboarding without their share of wipeouts.
We approach the lift together. The attendant sees us coming and signals for the worker in the booth to slow the chairs. I let Carson shuffle-hop over to the spot where he can wait. Then I slide over and stand next to him. The chair rounds the control booth and hits the back of our thighs, gently knocking us into the seat and we’re off, headed up the hill to the top of a green run—one designated for beginners, but far more challenging than the bunny hill.
Our thighs touch, and when I look over, Carson has his goggles perched on his forehead. He’s staring at me with a soft smile. His cheeks are rosy from the winter wind, and his warm brown eyes sparkle. There’s something comforting in his gaze.
I’m not sure what we’re doing. I’ve been on the sidelines for a while. Is this what it feels like to want more with a man?
“Thanks,” he says.
“For?”
“Hanging out with me instead of going with the rest of our defecting group.”
“It was fun.”
He looks down at his lap. “Watching me soak my jeans through to my boxers is your idea of fun?”
I laugh. “Definitely.”
The treetops pass underneath us, and before long we’re at the top of the lift.
“Ready?” I ask Carson.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Put your foot down—the one with the board, like you’re skiing. Then you just set your other foot on the board and slide over to a clear spot.”
“Got it.”
He’s all focus.
Our chair reaches the end of the lift. I board away to an open spot, mostly concentrating on getting out of Carson’s way. When I turn, he’s sliding straight for me, but he’s got this.
“You did it!”
“Are you always this easily impressed?” he asks with an adorable smile on his face .
He drops his goggles over his eyes.
“I’m usually really hard to impress. Be forewarned.”
“Okay. Well, I figure I can only go up from junk food spills, total uncoordination on the slopes and unfavorable choices in s’more preparation.”
I don’t know what to say. I’m already impressed with him. More so the more time we spend together.
“Let’s do this,” he says, pushing away from me.
“Okay,” I say, heading to the top of the hill and boarding down. I pass Carson, realizing too late that I should have waited and followed behind him so I could see if he needed any help. I drag my board to slow so he can catch up. Now we’re sliding down the hill, me in front, him right behind me.
“Great view!” he shouts.
I smile since he can’t see my face. That’s flirting, right? He is flirting. The view includes me—or it is me. Or maybe he actually meant the scenery.
The next words I hear are “Whoa! Whoa … whoa … whoooooaaah. Watch ouuuut!”
Carson slams into my calves, throwing me backward. I plop down—right into his lap.
“Sorry!” he shouts. “Can you … uh … make it stop?”
“No!” I yell over my shoulder as we continue to slide down the slope, me riding Carson like a human sled.
“Ahhhhhhhgh!” he yells as we go over a small mogul.
I barely hear him over my own screaming.
We’re like two kids on a toboggan careening downward toward whatever awaits us at the bottom of the run.
Carson’s arms wrap around me from behind. Strong and sure despite the fact that we are completely out of control. I loop my arms around his thighs and hang on for dear life.
We’re crossing from the green run onto a moderate slope with more incline, aiming toward the edge of the hill. It’s not a cliff, more like a ravine with pine trees and bramble.
“Help!” I shout to no one in particular. “Someone, help us!”
Carson’s grip tightens around me. He moves his head so it’s over my shoulder.
“I’ve got you. I’ll take the worst of it.”
I relax into him even though our momentum is still faster than we can manage and the edge of the slope is approaching quickly.
A skier turns right in front of us and uses his boots to interrupt our downward momentum. We slam into the man, coming to a dead stop.
“Everyone okay?” the stranger asks us.
“Yeah. Thanks,” I tell him.
“Thanks, man,” Carson says.
The stranger nods and skis off, leaving me sitting on Carson’s lap in the middle of the slope.
I turn around and as soon as my eyes catch Carson’s, we burst into laughter.
“I think this is my last run of the day,” Carson says. “Nearly taking you out has to be the capstone of my snowboarding career. It’s official. I’m a skier.”
His arms are still wrapped around me. Maybe he doesn’t realize it. I definitely do. I have to resist the urge to lean into his embrace.
I hear our names being shouted from behind us. Then Mitch and Gage snowboard up to us.
“What have we here?” Mitch asks Gage.
“Looks like Carson’s giving Alyssa a ride down the slope,” Gage tells Mitch.
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Mitch asks.
The two of them burst into laughter .
Carson drops his arms, and I stand up and brush myself off.
“I fell and smashed into Alyssa on my way down the hill,” Carson explains.
He tries to get up, but plops back down and shakes his head.
“Oh, man!” Mitch says. He and Gage laugh harder.
“That’s classic!” Gage says through peals of laughter. “Alyssa, you should have gone with us when we abandoned the bunny slopes. We haven’t fallen once today.”
“I’ve had a good day,” I tell Gage. But I’m really telling Carson—in case he wonders.
Mitch helps Carson to his feet and the three of us follow him as he cautiously navigates his way down the hill.
That night Carson and I are curled up on the couch in front of the fire, eating the chili and cornbread Noelle and Liam made. We’re not curled up together, of course. I’m on one cushion, and Carson is on another. We keep exchanging glances.
Our friends talk about their day on the slopes. We’re all wiped out. It’s a certain type of exhaustion that comes from spending a day skiing or snowboarding. I’m sedate, bone-tired, and content all at once. The fire only adds to my drowsiness.
One by one, our friends start to turn in for the night. As sleepy as I am, I’m forcing myself to stay awake until it’s just the two of us. I’m not questioning myself. Nothing seems to exist outside this little bubble of time and place.
Carson stretches and then flinches with a sharp intake of breath.
“Are you okay?” I ask, stretching and yawning.
“Yeah. Yeah. Just a little sore.”
“I bet,” I smile over at him. “You fell a lot.”
“Thanks for that reminder.” He winks at me.
“It’s not a criticism. ”
“No?”
His eyes are drowsy and soft. His face has a little stubble on it. I know what it’s like to have his lips on my hand and his arms around me. He makes me laugh. But most of all, he makes me feel safe, and that’s something I didn’t even know I was missing until these past few days.
There are certain people in the world who just put you at ease. Maybe they don’t put everyone at ease. They probably don’t. But there’s some sort of chemical reaction between their personality and yours. You can do or say anything around them. They’ll sweep up the mess, sort through what you said or did, keep what makes sense and let go of the rest. Carson does that for me. And we can be still together or talk for hours.
I could imagine more with him. As crazy as it sounds, I could. I wasn’t looking for him, but here he is. I don’t know how he feels. He definitely likes me. Does he want more? I guess time will tell.
“Did you solve them?” he asks me.
“Huh? Solve what?”
“All the world’s problems? You looked so deep in thought.”
His eyes are locked on mine, amused, soft, inviting.
“No. I was just thinking about how comfortable you make me.”
There. That’s honest.
“I’m glad.” He shifts his weight and groans for the briefest moment. “I wish someone could make me comfortable right now. I’m paying the price for sure.”
“I can give you a back rub.”
Whaaaaa?
I am good at massage. Offering to rub his back is crossing a line, right? Or is it?
“You could? Would you?”
He looks so hopeful, and not in a romantic way. He just wants to relieve his pain.
“I don’t want to impose,” he adds.
“I offered. Here, lie on the couch. I’ll just kneel to the side.”
“You sure?”
I shoot him a look with my brows raised.
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay. Okay. Thank you.”
He grabs the edges of his T-shirt and before I know what’s happening, it’s over his head and he’s sitting next to me, shirtless. Yes. He has a six-pack. And I’m staring.
He wags his eyebrows at me. I’m so busted.
“I’m a single guy with a lot of spare time on my hands. I work out.”
“Uh. Yeah. That’s good. It shows. Um … so. Lie down.”
Carson chuckles.
Then he stands and moves so he’s lying face-down on the couch.
I kneel next to him and reach up to his shoulders. I start to knead the muscles. He’s tight.
“Like rocks,” I murmur.
“You’re good for a guy’s ego,” he says in a sedate voice.
“Not your muscles. I mean that they’re tight. They need to be loosened up. Then you’ll feel better.”
He doesn’t say anything except, “Mmmmm.”
I keep kneading, moving my hands down his back, spending extra time wherever he’s tightest, working the areas around his contracted muscles until I feel them relent and soften.
I don’t know how long we sit like that, me on the floor, rubbing Carson’s back, him softly moaning at times, or gasping when I push too hard, but then breathing through the tension. It’s nearly as soothing to me to give a massage as it is for most people to receive one. I let my mind wander while I focus on working out each tense spot.
“Everything okay?” I check in with Carson.
He doesn’t answer.
“Carson?” I say softly.
No answer.
“Carson?” I jiggle him lightly.
“Hmmm?” he rouses.
“Did you fall asleep?”
“Ummm … yes?” His voice is sleep-saturated and deep.
“You should go to bed.”
“I’ll just sleep here,” he says in a groggy mumble of words.
“No, sir. It’s too cold out here when the fire goes out. You need to get into bed. Come on.” I tug on his arm.
“Okay. Okay.” He says that, but he doesn’t budge.
“I’m going to bed, Carson.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Did he say what I think he just said? He’s half asleep.
“Wake up, Carson.”
“Yeah. Yeah. I am.”
This time, he pushes up with both arms and sits up. I move up to the couch too.
“Wow.” He stretches his arms overhead and then he grabs for his T-shirt and pulls it over his head. “That was great. Is that what you do for a living?”
“No. Just for fun.”
He studies me. “Thank you. That’s just what the doctor ordered.”
“You’re welcome. I … um …”
“Are you sleepy?”
I’m exhausted. Between the day on the slopes, the heavy food we ate for dinner, and the way massaging him relaxed me, I could fall asleep like a bear for winter.
“I’m not too sleepy,” I lie.
“Me neither.” He yawns.
We both laugh.
“I don’t know why, I just feel like savoring this for a little while longer.” I look around the cabin so he doesn’t think I’m talking about the connection I’m feeling with him.
“Yeah. I could stay up for a little while longer,” he says.
I shiver just the slightest. Without a word, Carson stands, walks over to the stack of blankets by the fire and grabs one for me. He drapes it over my lap and takes his seat on the couch again.
“That was sweet.”
“No trouble. You looked cold.”
“So, four sisters?” I ask, not only to shift the conversation, but because I want to get to know him better.
“Yeah.” He smiles over at me. “I was the annoying baby brother for a long while.”
“Annoying?”
“Oh yeah. I really was.” Carson shakes his head and chuckles. “Until my next youngest sister, Hannah, came along. Then, according to our mom, I went from little shadow to my oldest two sisters to miniature bodyguard over Hannah. That instinct only doubled when Rosie came along.”
Carson launches into a few amusing stories about ways he bugged his older sisters. I watch him, unable to tear myself away. I yawn into the back of my hand a few times, but I try to hide it. I don’t want this night to end. As soon as we go to bed, we’ll wake with our group of friends. Who knows when we’ll get time alone again after this. The snow isn’t falling. We’ll probably go out again tomorrow.
“So, what about you?” Carson asks.
“Me? ”
“Yeah. Brothers? Sisters? Cousins? Are you close with your family?”
“I have an older brother. We get along pretty well. He doesn’t live near here. He’s in North Carolina. We basically see one another on holidays and special visits nowadays.” I look over at Carson. “You’d like him. He loves watching football on the weekends.”
“The bigger question is whether he’d like me.”
I smile at the idea that Carson would even care what Brock thought of him.
“I think he would. As far as my family, I’m closest with my grandma. She’s a lot of fun, but also very easy to talk to. She was a model when she was younger. And a stewardess. Then she met my grandpa and they got married. She traded all that in for motherhood and family life. She always says, ‘No regrets. We all choose our paths, and we can’t choose them all. So embrace the ones you choose and make them ones you’ll never regret because you made the most of them.’”
“Is she the one you baked with?”
“Yes. Bonus points for remembering that.”
“I tend to remember facts about people who interest me.”
“And, I interest you?”
“You’re an interesting person.”
He studies me. I don’t look away. We just stare at one another in the dim light of the dwindling fire.
“So, why don’t you have a boyfriend?” he asks me.
His voice is low and intimate.
“Mmm. Long story. Mostly I can’t seem to meet the right kind of guy at the right time.”
“So you met the right kind of guy at the wrong time?”
“More than once. But mostly I just meet the wrong kind of guy.”
“What are the red flags?” he asks.
“Unemployed. Uncommitted. Unwilling to put in the effort.”
Carson’s leaning back into the corner of the couch, his legs stretched out long in front of him, his hands looped behind his neck. I hold his gaze.
“All the uns?” he asks.
“Yeah. All the uns. How about you? Why don’t you have a girlfriend? You’re all …” I wave a hand in his direction.
“All? What all am I?”
“You already know.” I stare into the fireplace.
“All uncoordinated and messy?” He chuckles. It’s low and drowsy.
“No one is coordinated their first day on a snowboard.”
“You’re avoiding the question,” he says, nudging my foot with his.
“What was the question?”
“What all am I?”
“You know. Attractive, funny, in good shape … employed.”
He smiles over at me. He does know.
“You think I’m employed?” He winks.
“I actually do.”
“Well, to answer your question,” he says. “I decided a while ago to stop looking for a relationship. I have the guys, my work, my hobbies. I'm not lonely. So I declared myself the perpetual bachelor.”
“Oh.”
I don’t know why I feel so disappointed by this piece of information. It’s not like we were about to start dating. Though this … us staying up together … the way we always seem to pair off and find our spot … the ease between us … feels like something that could stretch past this week.
And it definitely feels like something more than friendship at times. We flirt a lot. He watches me. I’ve caught him a few times. And I watch him. I’m attracted to him, and not just physically.
But the fact remains that Carson’s got the biggest red flag. His best friend is engaged to my best friend. It would be way too easy to slide right into the ease between us and see where it leads. But if we tried letting something romantic develop and it didn’t work out, it could mess up our friend groups irrevocably. Noelle is dreaming of future trips like this one—hopefully in less drafty cabins and slightly better weather, but still.
“My bachelor status isn’t written in blood or carved in stone,” Carson says with another timely nudge to my foot.
“Oh. Well, that’s good. I mean, in case you meet someone and want to pursue something.”
We stare at one another again. His pinky finger brushes against mine.
Maybe it was accidental.
Maybe not.
“Crazier things have happened,” Carson says with a soft smile.
Then he shifts his weight, stands and stretches. His shirt rides up, exposing a six-pack. That six pack will be the death of me.
Here lies Alyssa Buchanan, killed by the most beautiful set of abs she’s seen in years.
Of course, I stare for the teensiest of moments. Why did I remember Carson as having a beer-gut or food-baby? He’s in great shape. The Dorito dust really blinded me to this man.
“You ready to head to bed?” Carson asks me.
“I am.”
Carson extends me his hand and pulls me up. I land right in front of him.
“Thanks for the back rub,” he says.
And then he surprises me by pulling me into a hug. I hold on to him, allowing myself to sink into the comfort of being held by him while I attempt to subtly breathe in a deep breath of his musky, spicy scent. It’s mixed with the smoke from the fire. I’d like to bottle that smell and keep it so I could just sniff it whenever I want.
Carson releases me, and I step back, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear while he puts out the fire and I watch him. Then the two of us walk down the hallway side by side. At my door, he whispers goodnight. And then I step into my room while he heads off to his.
I hear his footfalls continue down the hallway after I’ve shut my door.
I’m standing on a precipice. One soft breeze could send me falling over the edge.