Downhills From Here

Part 9: I'm not scared of heights

I thought I had pegged Jonathan as the helpful one, but he wouldn't help by taking the photo for me, oh no. He was the sort of helpful that would get you to the top of the piste, with wonderful views, and beautiful backdrops for your selfie. He'd even offer to take a picture of you. And then he'd help you get down again. Hopefully without anyone breaking their neck.

It was the getting down I didn't want help with. If I could, I'd skip the whole going down bit. They should install ski lifts that would take you down too, instead of only up.

I couldn't believe I had given in this easily. Between Kenny and Jonathan, I could not say no to putting new skis on and venture up in the piste escorted by Jonathan. Nothing like a little more one-to-one time with the handsome skiing instructor I had almost killed. How on earth had I let them convince me to go to the tallest piste. I was going to die. Or break my legs. But I'd had amazing pictures, and that had to count for something, right?

Jonathan was sitting next to me, a wide grin across his face, his eyes obscured behind the skiing goggles. How on earth had I managed to get myself in this position? Emma would know what to do, how to behave. She'd flirt with Jonathan like there was no tomorrow. I glanced over at Jonathan in his orange skiing overall and black hat.

"You okay?" He asked me again when he noticed me looking at him. I wished he would stop asking.

"Yeah," I breathed out and looked away. We were dangling high above the ground, our skis way above the snow underneath us. We weren't that high up in the lift, but it felt like 30,000 feet.

"You scared of heights?"

And now he thought to ask me. I turned back towards him, narrowing my eyes.

"No, I'm scared of falling down." I pulled at the handlebar keeping us seated in the lift to make a point. It made the lift rattle and creak. "Not exactly comforting."

He put a hand over my hands and shook his head. "Don't do that."

"What, you're afraid too?"

"They're supposed to be easy to open so you can get off the lift quickly at the top. Not in the middle of the ride up."

Why was I feeling like I was being told off again?

"They're still too rickety for my liking," I told him and pulled my hands out from under his. We spent the rest of the short ride up in silence. It was so cold my breath stood like a cloud around my face, my nose and cheeks were stinging and I could almost hear the snow freezing around us.

It was almost a given that I'd stumble off the lift and take Jonathan with me in the fall. The lift attendant had to stop the lift so that we wouldn't get squashed by the other skiers getting off. Jonathan pulled me up and away from the lift area before they could start the lift again.

"Great start, it can only get better from here." The sarcasm was probably just dripping from my words. Jonathan gave me an undecipherable look, damn those skiing goggles, and held out his hand towards me. I stared at his hand.

"Your phone?"

"Right," I said, pulled off my glove, and dug out my phone from my inside pocket. Jonathan had pulled off his gloves and stuck them in his back pocket. His hand was warm when he grabbed my phone from me. He paused as he saw the background picture on my phone, then he lifted his goggles. Probably to get a better look.

Emma had convinced me to join her and her parents on a cruise on their yacht and we had spent almost the whole weekend just basking in the sun. The picture was staged, and we had to redo it three times because Emma wasn't happy with the way her hair flew. We had fallen backward into the water from the boat, but on the picture it looked like we were standing on the side of the boat, sun-tanned, bikini-clad, smiling at the camera, with the ocean a blue-green wall behind us.