I shrugged. “Yeah, it is, but it’s also true. I never want to leave here. It’s my happy place,” I said, reaching out for his hand, and tugging him up the steep slope to the perfect point.
His gloved hand tightened on mine as he followed me upwards.
My breath was blowing out hard into white clouds when we reached the perfect launching point and turned to look down at the town. Below, the lights of Briar Vale lit up the valley, and steam rose in places over the quaint town, making it look like a snowy postcard.
“Why would I ever want to live anywhere else?” I mused as I smiled down at the sight.
“Why indeed?” Lars muttered quietly. I turned to look at him, but he was staring at me, not the town. The look in his eyes made my whole body warm, despite the freezing temperatures.
“So, are you ready?” I asked, clearing my throat. Yikes, this man had a kind of magnetism that I really didn’t know how to handle. He was sexy, smart, and talented. I was afraid at this point of ever seeing him perform, I’d probably never recover.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said, tearing his eyes from me to look down. He frowned sceptically. “It doesn’t look very steep.”
“It’s plenty steep. You’ll see. But, if you’re that confident, why don’t you go first?” I offered sweetly, stepping back and indicating for him to go.
He grinned. “Sweetheart, I’ve crowd surfed from stages with only people’s hands to catch me, I think I can manage sledding down a little hill.”
“Yet all I hear is talk, talk, talk,” I teased him, putting my hands on my hips. “Are you all-talk Mr Big Shot, or are you going to show me?”
Lars’ eyes flashed with a molten heat and humor that warmed me all over again, as he set up his sled and stepped over it, settling easily in the shallow seat. Using his feet to brace himself, he looked up at me. “Get ready to see some world-class sledding action,” he warned.
“I’m ready, come on, let’s go,” I goaded him.
He turned forward, lifting his heels out of the snow, and I leaned forward and gave his back a push. The sled started out slow, and Lars shifted, finding his balance before it started to pick up speed. He shot down the slope, and let out a surprised whoop halfway down. I set my own plastic sled up and quickly sat in it. Lars had almost reached the bottom of the slope now, so I pushed off. A giddy squeal of adrenaline left me as I barrelled down the hill, picking up speed, and bumping over all the small rocks and branches under the snow. Cold air rushed past me, and I felt the exhilaration of being outside, and free in the cold, cleansing air. This was what I loved. The reminder of the present, here and now, and the feeling of being outside, somewhere beautiful.
At the bottom, my sled started to slow, and I angled toward Lars. He’d just risen, and stood with his hands on his hips, a breathless smile on his lips.
“Holy shit, that was nothing like I thought it was going to be,” he mused when I came to a stop. Standing over me, he helped me up, pulling me close to him as I gained my feet. My chest hit his as my foot slipped, and my breath puffed out. Steadying myself on his chest, I looked up and enjoyed the look of happiness on this man’s face. I realized suddenly that Lars Nilsen didn’t smile nearly enough. His face was transformed by the expression.
“Well? Just a kid's game, or fun?”
“Can’t it be both?” he replied.
I nodded solemnly. “Yes, yes it can. Do you want to go again?”
He laughed, his hands tightening on me. “Hell, yes.”
CHAPTER8
Lars
We stayed up on the hill until the light began to fade from the sky, and the cozy glow of Briar Vale in the valley below lit our way down the hill. I was exhausted and weary in a way I hadn’t been in years. It wasn’t the physically and emotionally exhausted feeling after a concert, where only alcohol and caffeine fueled me through the end, and the interviews and fan meetings before I inevitably crashed hard. It wasn’t the strange, tireless exhaustion of those dark months where I didn’t tour, but visited the studio and wrote and recorded new music, and wandered my expansive, empty LA penthouse at night, looking at the city lights, and feeling like the only man left awake in the world.
This tiredness was bone-deep and satisfying in a way I couldn't name but already felt addicted to. It was a new feeling, and one I already treasured, and it was all because of Charlie. I followed her little car through the town roads to a small family house on a residential street just off Main. Pulling to a stop behind her, I got out and watched as she fussed in the car with something, before getting out too.
“So, are you really making me dinner at home?” I raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s usually fifth-date territory. Are you bumping up the timeline, Charlie?”
She shot me a withering look. “I’m not making you dinner, and there is no ‘fifth date’. Three dates, remember,” she quipped, leading me up a path toward a house that was already decked out with white sparkling Christmas lights all over.
"We’ll see, sweetheart,” I muttered after her. How could she already be thinking about the end of our dates? How could she really think that three would be enough when the last few hours had been some of the happiest of my life? Didn’t she feel it?
“Anyway, what do you mean that you’re not making me dinner? We’re going to eat, right? I’m starving,” I grumbled. I’d never been so famished, not even after a grueling gym session. There was something about the combination of the exercise of running up the hill in the snow, and the fresh air that had hollowed my stomach out.
She opened the unlocked door, knocking her boots on the wall outside first, and then kicked them off onto a mat. “I’m not personally making you dinner,” she expanded. I followed her example and shrugged off my coat when she held her hands out. She was so close, and now, finally free of the huge parka she’d been wearing all day, her grabbable body was all too close to my needy hands. I wanted to grab her and push her against the door and kiss her until we were both as breathless as we’d been up the hill. I wanted more than that. I wanted to push her little sweater dress up and get down on my knees, press my face between her legs, and breathe in the sweet scent of her, before tugging her leggings off and tasting her.
A throat clearing behind me sent a jolt of surprise through me, as I realized that we weren’t alone.
Charlie smiled at me, and then looked over my shoulder, as I slowly turned around. “I’m not cooking, my mother is. Lars, this is Martha. Mum, this is Lars.”