Snowed Under (Aspen Peaks #2)

18. Cooper

W hen my Saturday morning lessons were finished up, I slumped against the bench behind me. Sweat dripped from my forehead onto my goggles as I lifted them up. It was barely over twenty degrees today, but my morning class usually kept me on my toes and required a good bit of moving around. Plus, I hadn’t gone down any slopes solo in almost a week, so I made a couple of trips before the class began.

Today’s lessons were supposed to be on grabbing the skis in the air, focusing more on consistency than perfection. Nailing each step of the process before moving to the next was imperative. Lifting a ski even a fraction too far one way or the other may not have seemed like a huge deal, but it could throw off the entire move and land you on your face in an instant. That being said, it was a lot of me repeating the same skill over and over again, using one muscle group in my legs until they were sore and tired, a dull and hot ache forming in my thighs.

“Water?”

I turned to see Mini Coop, not a drop of sweat on him, bouncing on his skis and holding out a black refillable water bottle to me.

I snorted and lifted my own, a bigger version of his. “Nah. Thanks, man.” He smiled at that and sat next to me, watching the others practicing while they waited on their parents.

Something I noted early into these lessons was that these kids were just tiny versions of us. Tiny, uncorrupted humans who wanted to feel like they were bigger than they were. So I never talked down to them or treated them like they were babies—except for a couple of actual babies in a toddler class I held once. There was a lot of cheek pinching and baby talk from Finn and me both. They ended up hiring a woman for that position the following season. Apparently we didn’t focus enough to actually get anything done. My grandfather told us we needed to zero in on work, to which I replied, have you ever seen a two-year-old try to ski?

Point being, I treated every kid like they were the same as me or any other respected adult in this place. And I thought it made them love me even more.

“Is your—” I almost said mom and had to catch myself. “Is Madeline coming to get you today?”

I kept my eyes on the rest of the kids while Mini Coop answered. “Nah, she’s working this morning, so I’ll probably just meet her in the lobby or something.”

Instantly, a light bulb screwed itself into my brain, and I started talking before I could think. “Want me to walk you there?”

He was silent for a minute, and I looked down to see that his vision was glued to the hills in front of us. Specifically, it was glued to Faith, a sweet nine-year-old girl who’d been in my classes since the minute she turned four. Right now, she was struggling to nail control of the skis in her pink zip-up ski outfit. She was mostly quiet and kept to herself, but according to her parents, she was wild at home.

I looked back to Mini Coop. His lips were pulling at the edges, eyes never lifting. “You hear me?” I asked, but still, his eyes stayed glued.

Faith looked to the nine-year-old next to me and waved a gloved hand to us. I waved back. Mini Coop sat there. My elbow bumped into his side, and he looked up at me, confused.

Wave, I mouthed and lifted his hand up discreetly.

“Oh.” He moved his hand and gave her a smile.

I watched as the two of them sat there, just waving for an absurd amount of time before I turned to him. “You can stop now.”

Mini Coop dropped his hands but still watched as Faith staggered down the second half of the slope by herself. She was hesitant at first, looking down the hill and then to the people beside her. But she eventually tucked her blond braided pigtails into her ski mask and took it on her own.

“You like her?” I asked the nine-year-old beside me.

He practically jumped off the bunch. “What? No. Gross. We’re just friends.”

I snorted. “Do you stare at all of your friends?”

“No.” He groaned in defense. “Stop. She’s not even pretty. And I like girls with brown hair, anyway.”

“Yeah, me too, bud.” A picture of his aunt immediately came to mind. All wide hips and soft skin, freckles and the tiniest half dimple when she fully smiled. “But you know it’s okay if you did like her.”

The tips of his ears turned red as he squinted out at the snow. “I know that.”

Faith approached the bottom of the hill, then she looked my way—or maybe at the short kid next to me—for approval. I clapped and attempted a thumbs-up, but these gloves were thick, so it probably looked like I’d raised a threatening fist her way.

Mini Coop stayed still, pretending like he hadn’t been watching her. I elbowed him. “You should go say something.”

He scoffed. “Like what?”

“I dunno. Tell her she did a good job, or maybe give her some tips.”

I unzipped my bag to dig out another Clif Bar and tried to open it, but the gloves I really didn’t feel like taking off got in the way.

We both stayed quiet for a while, the only sounds the distant talking of other students mixed with Christmas music playing toward the lodge. Occasionally someone would walk by, their boots or skis crunching the packed snow below their feet.

I got halfway through my bar when I heard Mini Coop’s stomach growling beside me. It was reminiscent of a cat dying. Madeline said something last night about how much food the kid could put away. That she felt like her whole paycheck went to groceries because he snacked like it was nobody’s business, despite being a scrawny little thing. I used to be the same way. I could pack away processed food all day long and not gain a pound, no matter how hard I tried. Now, I had one sleeve of Little Debbie’s, and I was looking more like a fluffy dad bod than a tight, toned washboard-abs guy. I guessed age did that to you.

I looked down at the second half of my bar and unwrapped it entirely, handing it over to him.

Mini Coop—maybe I should start thinking of his real name eventually—eyed it before grabbing the bar and taking a large bite.

We were silent as he ate. Only when he got to the very end of the bar did he speak up. “What would you say to her?”

“To who?” I asked.

“A girl.” There went his pink ears again. “If you did like one. What do you say?”

It occurred to me then that this kid probably had no one to ask questions like this. Wasn’t like he was gonna go to his aunt for girl advice, and I doubted his grandfather had much to say on the matter either. If he was anything like me, fatherless and relying on a mom/aunt for everything, his best friend for this stuff was probably Google. Or maybe other nine-year-olds, but I could guarantee they had no clue what they were talking about. Looking on Wikihow for tips on picking up girls didn’t get me too far when I was a kid. It took way too much trial and error and a whole lot of rejections. Only advice Mom gave me was to have a big heart and be kind.

I hummed, trying to think of my best route here. “I would start small. Don’t just go telling her you like her—”

“I don’t like her.”

“Just start complimenting her here and there. Maybe say you like her hair one day or her skiing or something.”

“But then what?”

I sucked in a breath through my teeth, the cold air harsh against my gums. “Then, maybe when she’s struggling, you could offer to help. Hold her hand or something. Just take it slow.”

I was one to talk. The irony was not lost on me that I was telling my tiny friend to go slow when I had been hitting on his aunt just about every moment since she picked him up that day.

Mini Coop nodded. “Okay, then what?”

I understood curiosity, but he was still a kid, and I wasn’t about to tell him to kiss the girl or anything. “Uh, just start there. See how you both do and go from there. You’re young. You’ll figure it out. You’ve got all the time in the world.”

Jake’s parents walked by us, grabbing his bags and waving. Mini Coop and I waved as Jake took off with them. Then another parent grabbed their kids, and another one. Leaving only us and Faith. She was at the bottom of the hill, a bit of a distance from us but close enough for us to see. She adjusted her skis so they popped off and walked over here. “Have you seen my mom yet, Mr. Cooper?”

“Nope.” I popped the P and looked down at Mini Coop. He was staring toward the ski lift, the pink in his ears now turning bright red. “But let me go check around the exit. Sometimes parents don’t see the signs. Faith, you can sit here.”

She smiled at me, all crooked teeth and innocence. I didn’t think of myself as a matchmaker, but they fit together pretty well. I grabbed my bag and began to walk away for a moment. But as I turned, a deep voice said, “Faith, you ready?”

Pig-tailed, pink-colored Faith stood and faced her dad in the distance. “Coming!” she shouted before turning to Mini Coop and me. “I’ll see you guys next week.”

We both said goodbye, or I did. Mini Coop just lazily lifted a hand and shrugged.

When she walked off, he turned to me, grabbing his things too. “That wasn’t obvious.”

I shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

I checked the time and realized I had over an hour before my next class, so I packed all the things I didn’t want to leave outside for that long, which was pretty much everything except the flags and cones. When we were ready, Mini Coop and I took off to the resort, our feet pushing against the snow. The walk was one I took every day, but still, I never got sick of it. The sounds of laughter and skis cutting through packed snow. The tourists talking at the lift. The closer you got to the lodge, the more you felt the warmth radiating off the heaters outside by the patios.

We got to the lobby doors and dusted our boots off on the wire mat before stepping into the large room warmed by the thirty-foot gas-log fireplace to the left of the entrance. Immediately, a nostalgic wave hit me. I never got used to this place. It felt so comfortable, and yet new every single day. The scent of spiced apple cider brewing, the fresh baked goods from the café, and the slight hint of pine from outside wafting its way through. Bing Crosby’s low, smooth voice crooned “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” through the surround sound, and families, couples, and employees all spoke low and soft, conversations humming. It didn’t matter to the workers here that it was only a week into November. To them, Christmas started at 11:59:59 on October thirty-first.

When I was a kid, it kind of felt like Disneyland. How we would come here to trick-or-treat on Halloween night, the place covered in jack-o’-lanterns, with skeletons in ski gear hanging from the ceiling and all of the employees decked out in their costumes. Then, the very next morning, Mom would bring me up here for the sunrise opening. It felt like magic, coming in to see all hints of the previous holiday replaced by giant nutcrackers lining the walls, tiny villages with fake snow in every crevice, lights strung about, and a giant Christmas tree covered in colored lights and coordinated ornaments. Where love light poured out around us, and the skiing season truly began.

It still felt like that. Like pure magic. Maybe with a little less wonder. That and my imagination no longer pictured tiny elves jumping around the place, decorating it at midnight, but still, it was magical.

Mini Coop took a big breath through his nose, like he was trying to savor it too. “It always smells so good in here.”

I copied him and savored the scent of clove, cinnamon, and pine. “Mmm, it does.” I looked around us for a tall brunette or a sage-green cleaning cart but came up empty. “You know where Madeline is working this morning?”

He shrugged. “She’s probably done in here by now. She usually goes to the sitting room last so she can stare out the windows.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she likes watching people ski, I think. Or the mountains or something. She always sits there for like an hour.”

I smiled at that. I’d always loved that room too. The lobby view was mostly of the mountains to the side, but as gorgeous as it was, the sitting room showed all the people. People on lifts, families gliding down the hill, young couples on first dates, holding hands and walking along the snowy trails. It was where I felt most at home. Plus there was always a candy bowl with butterscotch in there, and I always had a longing for old lady candy.

“Let’s check there,” I said, putting a hand on Mini Coop’s shoulder and guiding him through the tourists. I was relieved that today seemed a little busier. The competition was coming in only a couple of months, and it was probably mostly due to people gathering to practice on the slopes. Still, it gave me some comfort.

We turned down the hall, passing the office, where there were rows of desks and computers for anyone who needed them. It was on the far left, along with a few of the employees-only rooms and the sitting room that faced the mountains. Before we turned the corner to the room, I heard faint humming and the distant noise of a movie being played.

The kid beside me walked right in as I took in the view of the room.

Cleaning supply cart pushed to the side, the dark hardwoods sparkling, and the cobblestone fireplace blazing. Madeline sat on the floor, facing the windows. With a blond toddler in her lap, chewing on a snack, Madeline hummed along to the song playing on the TV mounted above the fireplace. Some kind of vintage Disney movie that I didn’t recognize.

She hadn’t noticed we were here yet. She remained rocking Half-Pint from side to side while she sang softly to her and watched the view of snow trickling down and people laughing. Even as Mini Coop threw his bag on the brown leather couch against the far wall, she didn’t flinch. Just kept her eyes on the view outside. Madeline was entirely unaware of how captivating she was.

“Hey, May,” the kid said.

She jumped a little and looked back, relieved when she saw him and then curious when she saw me. That was when I noticed I was leaning my entire weight onto the doorframe, mouth slightly ajar, as if I didn’t have enough willpower to force myself to stand correctly.

“Hi, bud. How was practice?”

He moved to sit beside her. “Good, got some snowplows nailed.”

Madeline nodded at him and held out a hand that he smacked in a high five. “No idea what that is, but it sounds cool.”

He nodded back, looking to the crisp mountains outside. “It was.”

Madeline turned from him to face me then, smiling with that half grin and that hint of a dimple coming out to play. My heart raced. I watched as she lifted a hand from the tiny girl’s back and patted the ground next to her twice in invitation. I bit my lip and grinned right back. The mountain view was worth a pretty penny in Aspen. But what I was watching—those freckles on Madeline’s cheeks as she smiled with her eyebrows raised—felt priceless. How could you stick a price tag on something like that?

I took the invitation and set my backpack on the couch next to Mini Coop’s before settling down on the floor beside them.

“Seems busy today,” Madeline noted.

I took the silence from the tiny two as my cue to answer. “Everyone’s practicing for the competition coming up.”

“Oh, makes sense. It was pretty big last year.”

Thank God. It, plus this magazine deal, was what I was riding on, hoping it would bring in enough people during the off seasons.

“Yeah, it always does well, thankfully.” I leaned forward and looked past Madeline to the boy on her other side. “Speaking of, when are you gonna start private lessons?”

His eyes widened and he shook his head ever so slightly. His lips curled in, like he was making the universal sign of shut up, shut up, shut up. I lifted a brow at him in question.

Madeline looked to him, and his facial expression relaxed into a casual one. “Private lessons?”

Mini Coop shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Are…you not signing up anymore?” I asked him, not sure what would be considered stepping on toes here. But when his aunt turned to me in confusion and he glared at me behind her, I knew I’d screwed up.

Madeline leaned back. “You’re doing the ski competition?” Her voice was full of surprise and a touch of enthusiasm.

“I…no…” He trailed off.

I leaned in at that, Madeline and I both staring. “What?”

His cheeks turning pink. It was the first time I’d ever seen the kid look nervous. He was scared for no reason. “Bud, I told you I’d give you private lessons. You’re really good. I promise you could get at least top five in your division.”

He shook his head. “I…not that.” He eyed Madeline warily. “There’s a hundred dollar sign-up fee.”

Madeline’s back straightened. It felt like all of the nice, calming energy in the room was sucked out by a vacuum. She shook her head at him. “Charlie, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Gram said—”

“Never mind Gram.” She cleared her throat and took a lighter tone. “She’s still in the olden days, bud. She thinks housekeepers like me work for like half a cranberry an hour.”

Charlie and I both snorted at that, and she continued. “Don’t you ever worry about money. We’re doing just fine, okay? Please sign up. I want to come watch,” she begged him.

Mini Coop looked at me, raising a brow, and I nodded. “Lessons are still on, all right?”

He looked back and forth at our encouraging faces and nodded at us. “Okay. If you say so, May.”

Madeline pulled the toddler from her lap and set her down before standing up. “Go grab your bags, all right? I have two more rooms, and then we can go home.”

I started to lean forward. “Have you taken a break yet?”

Madeline shook her head. “No, I’ll just leave an hour early instead.”

“Do you guys have somewhere to be?”

All three, Half-Pint included, shook their heads.

I leaned back onto both hands, looking up at Madeline towering over me. “Saturdays are free hot chocolate day at the café. Want to go? We can watch people ski, and there’s a basket of coloring books for Half-Pint.”

There were no free hot chocolate days, but if I texted the lady working up front today and told her I’d come back to pay after my shift, she would probably keep quiet.

The tiny one muttered up at me. “You Half-Pi.” It sounded like a threat. I smiled at that.

If I had to handpick a family to pretend was mine for just one day, I was extremely glad it was this one.