Love on the Lifts
Chapter 1
"A totally hot ski instructor," Leah suddenly announced excitedly. "That's what you need to take
your mind completely off Brad Connor."
"How can a ski instructor be hot?" I asked. "His classroom is a snow-covered hill. He's gotta be cold."
Allie rolled her eyes and Leah gave me a sharp look that said she was seriously contemplating throwing
the snow she'd just scooped up at me.
"That is so lame, Kate."
Okay, so it was lame, but I was also extremely cold, with visions of curling up in front of a roaring fire
dancing through my head. And obviously, the chill seeping through the knitted cap I'd pulled down over
my ears was causing periodic brain freezes. Even stuffing my shoulder-length, obnoxiously naturally
curly red hair under the cap didn't seem to provide any extra insulation against the frigid air that
surrounded us.
And it was unbelievably cold. After all, we were in a ski resort town with white peaked mountains all
around us.
Leah, Allie, and I had flown in earlier that afternoon. My aunt had met us at the airport and driven us to
Snow Angel Valley where she'd made arrangements for us to stay in a condo by ourselves. It was totally
awesome. Three bedrooms, a sunken living room, a redwood deck. But more importantly, it was ours for
the duration of our visit. Just ours. No parents, no chaperones. We were totally on our own, with the
freedom to do exactly what we wanted.
Once we'd settled into our respective bedrooms, Allie had announced that she wanted to build a
snowman. But now that we were actually doing it, the activity seemed as lame as my joke. I mean,
really, we were seniors, and a snowman is something you care about if you're, like, two years old-or if
you've never been around snow.
Leah and Allie had never been around snow.
I saw it at least once a year, usually over winter break when I came to visit Aunt Sue while my parents
took their annual gotta-getaway-from-it-all cruise down to the Bahamas. Aunt Sue lived in Snow Angel
Valley, owned a bookstore-slash-hot chocolate café, and rented condos to the tourists more than she did
to the locals. This winter break, remarkably, one of her condos wasn't being rented.
So she'd offered to let me stay in it instead of staying with her in her apartment over the bookstore. She
owns all these nice condos, but she lives in an apartment. Go figure. She calls herself a minimalist,
preferring a simple life to one "cluttered with materialistic objects that serve no purpose other than to
provide a place for dust to gather." Her words, not mine.
But you gotta love someone who sees dusting and scrubbing as a poor use of one's time.
"I've never seen a headstone inscribed 'May she rest in peace. She kept a clean house.'"
Again, her words, not mine. Not that Aunt Sue is a slob or anything. She's not. She simply doesn't
