by James Easton
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
They hadn’t spoken much after the gunfight. The moment hadn’t presented itself. What they’d shared in those frantic, deadly moments hung between them now, in a good way.
“How’s the place?” she asked.
“It will be nicer than before when they finish fixing it. And I’m booked solid for the next month. Business contacts of Ignacio. Two corporate retreats. Eva’s idea. She can make things happen.”
Carolina looked over at Miguel. “Yes. She can.”
They both watched him. Then she said: “This will get you through? The business?” She saw Eva about two hundred metres away, skiing down to them the way Anders had come.
“Yeah. It will. How’s the English going?”
Carolina sighed. “The instructor is hardcore. Six to twelve every day. I’ve got a week left. She says I’ll get there.”
“Afternoons off?
“Afternoons teaching Miguel.”
Eva drew up on her skis. “Not anymore,” she said. “It’s our job. Go, you two. I’ll see you at dinner.” She slipped down to her husband and her son.
Berg took in the long slope. “Nice run to the bottom there. Fancy a race?”
Carolina lined her board up. London tugged at her for as second, something she couldn’t put her finger on before it went somewhere else. She smiled at him.
“Then what?”
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