BUNNY HILL

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.