Snowed Under (Aspen Peaks #2)

10. Cooper

F inn and I sat at our usual table, same as we had for the last several years—a two-person table near the entrance of the café—a breakfast burrito on his plate and my usual bacon cheddar scone.

I caught him up on the latest news of the upcoming ski competitions. We had about two more weeks to register our sponsored kids. I usually picked a random name, but after watching Mini Coop the other day, I had a feeling I already had a strong contender. It kind of felt like playing fantasy football, minus the fantasy…and the football.

Each year we hosted new judges. Some cared more about speed, others skill. Meaning, if one saw speed as a higher level of importance, we needed to focus on that further. So, each year I called my uncle for the scoop. And each year he ignored me.

After I told Ma I hadn’t gotten a reply from her brother, she made an attempt as well, leaving him a voicemail that he never returned. So, then I texted him, saying Don’t ignore me and my mother, you coward. And he responded with When did you become old enough to give me shit? Essentially, we would find out when everyone else did because my uncle had done this weird thing since he took over, saying that “Graves’s don’t get special treatment.” To which I said, “Pops didn’t die for me to be picked last for stuff like this.”

I bit into my sandwich, speaking to Finn around it. “I need you to go out with me tonight.”

“Married, but flattered.”

I swallowed and groaned simultaneously. The interview was a couple weeks away, and I had yet to find a serious prospect. Madeline was out of the question, no matter how badly I wanted her not to be. And when I found one kind-eyed girl to ask, she laughed in my face. Didn’t even say no. Just laughed. The whole kind eyes thing was BS, apparently.

“Seriously, I gotta find a girl to do this column with me, and I need my main wingman.” More like someone to back up that I was, in fact, not a pervert looking for an excuse to ask a woman out.

“I would, but Olive and I have plans tonight.”

I took another bite. “Let me third wheel. It’s lame if I go out by myself, and maybe the waitress or something will take pity on me.”

Finn squinted. “It would be more like a fifth wheel kind of thing.”

“What?” I tilted my head. “Who’s going out with y’all? When did you get new friends?”

Making new friends in our thirties, when we’d worked at the same place since we were teenagers, was a miracle in itself.

Finn snorted around his food. “It’s a guy that Olive’s brother knows. He seemed cool when we met him a few weeks ago at his house. And then—” He cut himself off abruptly, and I stuck my chin out.

“And then…”

“Madeline.”

“What?” I asked so loud that the woman next to us reading a copy of Jane Eyre stood, grabbed her book and croissant, and scooted two tables over.

But she said she was swamped. Even the other day, when I left her my number, she acted like she was too busy for even a phone call. What did she call this? Was it just a me thing?

“That was a mistake,” Finn mumbled to himself

I lowered my voice enough to not offend any more historical romance readers near us. “You mean to tell me—”

“I really shouldn’t have told you.”

“That my fiancée—”

“She is definitely not your fiancée.”

“—is going out with another man tonight?”

“Didn’t she reject you? Twice?”

Yes. For the sake of her schedule, not for lack of wanting. If she could go on a date with this random guy, why couldn’t she do a single pretend date with me? I wasn’t terrible to look at. She laughed at my humor. We both took joy in early 2000s movie soundtracks. What else was needed? Nicholas Sparks practically had the rights to our movie already.

I took an enormous bite, chewing feverishly. “This is absurd, I mean.” I swallowed. “This is…this sucks. Where is he taking her?”

Finn finished off his burrito and wiped his hands on a napkin. “Well, he isn’t really taking her. Olive and I are driving her to Zane’s, to be safe.”

Zane’s was our restaurant. Where I regularly third wheeled—or I should probably say where Olive third wheeled Finn and me. Forgetting the rest of my food, I bent to the side where my backpack was.

“When were you planning on telling me about this?”

“I wasn’t aware I needed to keep you updated on all things.”

“Well, you should be. I want every update from now on. About everything.”

Finn cut me a sideways glance. “I told you she was probably going to say no to you.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I found out she was going out with some random guy. Why would she even say yes? Has she met him before? Does she know his favorite scent or what he wanted to be when he grew up?”

“No, they haven’t met, and I’m not sure why that’s relevant, but maybe she just wanted to get out.”

“But I asked to take her out.”

“Coop.” He sighed and slipped his duffel bag on one shoulder before standing up. “You can come across a little…pushy.”

I stood a little too quickly and got a head rush, but that wasn’t stopping me. “No, I don’t.”

“You really do. And it’s great, but sometimes…”

“You’re one to talk, showing up at your fake girlfriend’s family dinner uninvited—”

“Wait a second. That was different.”

I scoffed. “Was it?”

“Yes.” He was hissing now. “Olive needed saving from her wretched family members.”

“Maybe Madeline needs saving too.”

“She doesn’t.”

“M’kay.”

“I mean it, Coop.” He pointed at me with his spare hand. “She doesn’t need saving. She’s got enough on her plate.”

“I’m not adding to her plate.”

“Don’t take from her plate, either. Leave her plate alone.”

“I can’t even lick it?”

“No licking.”

My head dropped back as I groaned, my hands tightening on the shoulder strap of my backpack. “But she’s perfect for what I need.”

“Just don’t do the magazine, or, I mean, you could tell them the truth.”

I couldn’t. I needed this column to work out. How was I supposed to let something my grandfather worked his entire life to keep successful just fail? New lodge be damned, I was going to find a way to bring our numbers back to normal. And Madeline Sage was still my best bet.

I had high hopes that Madeline would drop Mini Coop off today. I made plans of striking up a witty yet tasteful conversation, showing that I was excellent first date material, and whatever plans she had with this anonymous man could fly out the window.

Instead, I was met with the scary lady from last week. She eyed my badge again, squished the boy’s cheeks, and patted him on the back toward me.

“What’s up, Mini Coop?” I stuck a gloved hand out for him to slap, and he did it back with a smile.

“Hi, Mr. Cooper.”

“Ready to have some fun?”

He nodded and ran off to the bench to put on his skis and helmet.

Since it was a Saturday, most of my regular students weren’t here. Tuesday and Thursday afternoons were the fullest, and weekend mornings were the slowest, with an average of five to six kids. That meant my weekend lessons were a little more personal, giving me time to answer specific questions they have.

I lined the five kids up for the hill climber. We called it the magic carpet ride because it sounded cooler and usually made the kids slightly less terrified of it. Essentially, it did the job that a ski lift would, but on a much smaller scale. Kind of like an escalator up the snowy hill so the kids could take turns going down without the risk of a lift.

Mini Coop rushed onto it first, followed by two other boys, then the youngest girl. They’d all ridden it before, so there was nothing new there. The fun part was always on the way down.

The cool thing about teaching was that more often than not, the students were the ones showing me something new. Case in point, when Mini Coop jumped off the lift and immediately started racing downhill at full speed, letting his skis glide him in and out of these “french fry” waves that Finn and I had taught the week before. He didn’t have a single doubt he couldn’t do it, or if he did, he never showed it. It was something I noticed during my years here. The more I tried to help them, the bigger of a burden I was. Once you let them go, let them feel the icy earth beneath their skis, let them sense the rise and curves of the mountain, the way the wind blew against them…that’s when they learned best. When they fell and got up faster and screamed again, again until they were begging to stay.

As an instructor, I honestly had very little to do with the whole ordeal. The skis themselves taught far more than I ever could. I was here for the push start, safety, and maybe a bit of guidance. But mostly they learned on their own. That was why it felt like more of a hobby than a job. I never felt the dread of a Monday or the groaning for the weekend. It was my escape as much as the kids’.

After they each warmed up enough, which usually meant me sitting at the bottom, watching them go up and down a couple of times and a whole lot of me screaming pizza!, I let them go wild. One by one, they raced down the hill and practiced the skills we’d gone over that week. Mostly just some tail drags and a couple one-eighties, but still, watching some of these kids go from barely being able to stand on their own to this? I felt like a proud mama bird who had just sent her kids to fly out of the nest.

By the time we were ready for breaks, Mini Coop had already made friends with the other class regulars. I turned to sit on the bench where we kept all of our essentials. This spot gave me a good view of our smaller hill and the bathroom entrances and exits, since the kids were in and out of there often. On several occasions, I’d had nightmares of my kids being taken from the bathroom, and because I was more than a little paranoid, I tracked each one of them like a hawk.

“May likes those too.” Mini Coop pointed at the white chocolate Clif Bar in my hand, forcing my eyes to leave the bathroom signs.

My head tilted to the side. May? I tried to think of a kid in the program who went by that name, but I was drawing a blank until it hit me.

“Madeline?”

He nodded. “She says they taste like she’s getting away with eating a cupcake for breakfast.”

I took another bite with that in mind and nodded, totally getting it. “She’s your aunt, right?”

He dipped his chin and took his own bite of an extra granola bar I packed. I wanted to ask more, to ask about his parents and just how he and his sister had fallen into Madeline’s lap. But I imagined that would feel a lot like when people asked me about my dad. It was a story told hundreds of times, and it got a little older each time I shared it. A little staler and a whole lot more what’s up with that guy?

“Is…Madeline going to pick you up today?” I went for nonchalant.

“Nah, Gram is. She’s coming to our house with my sister.”

“Your aunt’s busy tonight?” I really, really hoped it sounded more casual out loud than in my head.

“She said she was going somewhere with Mrs. Olive. But I checked her Google calendar, and it said double date on there with a cake emoji.”

I backed up. Cake emoji? “You checked her calendar?”

“Yeah, I always do.” He shrugged and took another bite of the granola bar.

“Why?”

“So I know she’s safe.”

I stared at him for a second. This nine-year-old kid who looked out for his aunt, his only guardian, as if he was her tiny protector. I remembered going with my mom to get groceries and hearing a stranger hit on her from time to time. Usually, I shot them a middle finger behind her back while she politely said no. This kid really was a Mini Coop.

“Huh.” I nodded with an impressed pout. We both ate a few more bites in silence.

Mini Coop finished his bar and looked at mine like he was still starving, so I reached in my bag for another. I handed him the bar and asked, “Does…she go on a lot of double dates?”

“Never.” He opened the wrapper, discovering this one was chocolate, and his eyes lit up. “It’s weird. Hope he’s nice to her.”

I nodded with a grit to my teeth. “Me too, bud.”

We stayed like that a little longer, sharing a bench and both thinking of his aunt. The other two boys in our group asked for my permission before going back on the magic carpet ride.

“I don’t want a random guy living in our house,” Mini Coop said when they left, and I snorted.

“I doubt he would move in after one date.”

“Whatever. May is too busy for that stuff, anyway.”

“She is?”

“Yeah, she’s gonna be a doctor.”

My neck pulled back, and I looked from the kids going downhill to him a few feet over from me. “A doctor?” She mentioned nursing school, but a doctor? Out of your league, my mind sang.

He shrugged again. “Or a nurse. Something like that.”

“Oh.” That made more sense. Still out of your league.

He drank the last of his water, and I reached a hand out, gesturing for it. “I’ll fill ’em up. Make sure those two don’t kill themselves.” I dipped my head to the two boys that kept slamming into each other. He laughed, and I took it as an okay.

Coming back with his water bottle and mine, I sat at the same spot on the bench.

“Hey, Mr. Cooper?” he asked, eyes still on his black water bottle with a blue ski logo.

“You don’t have to call me mister all the time.” I laughed. Especially since after so long, the kids usually found a nickname for me too.

“What do I call you, then?”

“My friends call me Coop.”

“Are we friends?”

I leaned back, looking up at the snowy mountains and thought about it. “Yeah, Mini Coop. We’re friends.”