Falling, Freestyle

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The bright yellow safety marker passed behind them as Dara leaned back on the solid wood boards of the chairlift, easing her skis onto the rests. She relaxed and drew in a deep breath of icy air, turning her face toward the sun to soak in its warmth. Heat radiated off the bodies on either side of her. Jack and Kane—her best friends in their ski-crazy town.

“Which run do you two want to hit next?” Kane elbowed Dara in the ribs, his bright blue eyes flashing with amusement. Dark curls stuck out from the edges of his helmet to frame his boyish good looks. “You warmed up enough yet for something other than the bunny hills?”

The man was merciless. “Screw you. Just because I don’t like starting the day with double black doesn’t mean it’s a bunny hill. And I kick your butt when we ski trees, so chill.”

“She’s got you there,” Jack taunted. His blond hair was hidden under a woolen toque with long braided ties hanging down on either side of his face. Combined with the rest of his features, the image reminded her of ancient Viking barbarians—beautiful, strong.

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