The next day greets me bitterly cold and white. Or that’s how it looks from the window of the bedroom. I realise I’ve slept in much too late, a casualty of my troubled night. When I stumble out into the living area in T-shirt and sweats, I’m surprised to see Aaron still here, busy at the breakfast bar.
“Don’t you have a ski session this morning?” My tone is too blunt, but he ignores it. He’s cooking eggs—my favourite—and he makes sure they’re off the heat before he looks over at me. Those brilliant blue eyes are as clear as if nothing ever happened last night. I don’t know how he does that—how he appears to recover so well—but he always does.
“Bailey called us early this morning on the site radio. There was another heavy snowfall overnight and all activities have been cancelled. Looks l
