Today, though, I can leave the pain behind. Even with James’ threat of forcing Christmas down my throat, I know that it’s over for another year. The Boxing Day celebrations they keep will be just as lavish, I’m sure, but I feel a million times better.
Until I see a piece of paper being pushed under my door. I blink in the darkness, wondering if I imagined it, but when I get up to investigate, it’s very much real. I unfold the paper and find that it’s thick and waxy, the sort of paper that artist’s use. Before I see what’s on the paper, I know it’s from James.
It’s a drawing of two turtle doves. The artwork is beautiful and intricate. It must have taken him some time. But it’s the details that I can’t help falling in love with. He’s drawn the two birds sitting on a sofa in front of a fireplace, wearing Christmas sweaters and cozying up with one another. They both have the ends of their wings wrapped around a glass of mulled wine. It’s completely ludicrous, and yet absolutely beautiful.
But how the hell did he get it here? I open the door and catch one of the chalet girls, Melissa, about to walk away from my door. She jumps as I appear, covering her heart with her hand.
“You scared me,” she says. “Sorry to just shove it under your door. James asked me to deliver it to you since he’s not allowed in the staff quarters. He gave me ten dollars to do it every day.”
I sigh, though warmth has filled my chest. “Of course he did. Don’t worry, Melissa. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
She smiles shyly and scurries away, leaving me to return to my chilly room with the paper in my hand. I have to admit, he’s made a solid effort so far to win his little bet with himself. But in all honesty, the picture hasn’t made me feel better about Christmas.
It’s simply given me another reason to like him.
One more day and I’ll be back on the slopes. One more day, and I won’t even have to let James have the opportunity to convince me that Christmas is good.
I’m back in the dining room, waiting for the guests to arrive so I can dish up breakfast. I feel strangely nervous about seeing James again, knowing that he sent me an oddly intimate gift this morning. It was something he clearly put time and effort into. I guess guys like him have a lot of time on their hands, especially up here in the mountains with nothing but ski slopes and regular meals to look forward to. Still, it seems as though he really thought about the picture, all for my benefit. I don’t want to put too much time into thinking about what that might mean, but it’s given me butterflies in my stomach for sure.
And typically, he’s the first to arrive at breakfast. He enters the room at half-past eight with his parents in tow and a huge smile on his face. He tries to catch my eye, but I keep my face stoic, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
“Good morning,” I say to his parents, still ignoring his gaze.
“Good morning,” James cuts in. “Did you enjoy the gift I sent you this morning?”
James’ mother sighs, rolling her eyes and smiling sympathetically at me. “What has he done now? Not pestering you, I hope?”
I smile a little smugly. “I get the feeling your son pesters everyone.”
James’ father laughs. “Oh, it’s the curse of being British in America, dear. We seem to think we’re so utterly charming to you all. James especially.”
“Well, it’s true. Charming is my middle name,” James says with a smile. He turns to his mother. “I simply sent Hazel a drawing I worked on last night. I thought it was a nice gesture.”
His mother reaches out to me and pats my arm. “Ignore my son. He’s always like this around pretty women.”
I blush, and James winks in my direction, making my cheeks heat up even more. It’s been a while since I’ve had any sort of male attention, let alone from someone as handsome and charismatic as James. I don’t know what to do with this information. I clear my throat, hoping no one has noticed my flushed cheeks.
“Can I get you some coffee? Something to eat?”
James’ father pats the empty seat beside him loudly. “Nonsense! It’s Boxing Day. We don’t want you running around after us. Sit down, join us for some breakfast. You’re part of the furniture in this place, Hazel. You should be with us today.”
“He’s right,” James says, a new-found gentleness in his normally teasing tone. “Put your feet up for a second. You do all the work around here. And after all, it’s the Christmas season.”
I want so badly to sit with them. I want to be a part of all the traditions and fun they have planned today. But firstly, I don’t fancy losing my job, and secondly, I know where I don’t belong. They’re just being polite, and James is just hoping to win me over. I smile at them, hoping they can’t see the sadness inside me, and shake my head.
“I’ve got so much to do. Maybe some other time.”
“Hazel…” James says gently.
I smile again and shake my head. “Not today. I’ll grab you a pot of coffee.”
Before they can protest further, I leave the room in a hurry and head to the kitchen. Only once I’m there do I allow myself to breathe. I know I’m being over-the-top. I know I’m getting worked up over something that shouldn’t matter. But the part of me that wanted to be in there with James is the part of me I’ve buried deep. The part of me who is desperate to give my love to someone. And I can’t allow that to happen again.
It hurts too much.
3
Three French Hens
There’s another picture waiting for me today when I wake up. Clearly, the joke hasn’t gotten old with James yet. I thought he would have noticed by now that I’m not willing to play in his little game, but it’s still nice to think that he’s made the effort. I imagine him in his cozy bedroom, sitting in an armchair by the window with his drawing pad on his lap. I imagine he spends hours on each piece, like it’s the most important thing in the world to him. I know that I’m being ridiculous. He probably whips up the picture, just for something to do, and then forgets about me completely for the rest of his day. But still…he’s not sending drawings to any of the other chalet girls…
It’s three French hens today. The picture is even better than the last, depicting each hen with a beret and a baguette in hand—or should I say foot. I smirk to myself and then cover my mouth. There’s no one around, but I don’t even want to admit to myself that his method is starting to work. I can’t help it. Everything he does makes me want to smile, even when I’m trying to deny that he has an effect on me.
I have to get over myself. He’s doing this because he’s in competition with himself to ward off his impending boredom. He’s already been here a fortnight; he must be going crazy with so little to do. This has nothing to do with him liking me. In fact, he probably thinks I’m a boring killjoy who ruins things for everyone else.
I wish he could see me as I used to be four years ago. I was the life of the party, the comedian of my small circle of friends, and I always had a smile on my face. I was an optimist, seeing the bright side of life in every circumstance.
Now, I’m so different than that girl. It seems so sad to be hung up on a person who I haven’t seen since my early twenties. I’ve deliberately made sure not to see any photos of him. All evidence that he ever existed has been deleted from my devices, and I don’t know anyone now that knew the pair of us together. I left my friends behind when I cut him out. I don’t smile much anymore. I’m cynical and dry-humored. I close off whenever someone tries to reach out.
He’ll soon realize that. And then he’ll leave like everyone else.
I let the other girls handle breakfast, knowing that if I serve, I’ll have to deal with James. Instead, I opt to dust the chalet, taking on the job everyone else hates just for something to do. This place is practically pristine—it should be, we clean it every day—so it soon becomes boring. By the time I’ve circled back to the living room, I’m practically finished.
I hear someone enter the room and suppress a sigh. I put up a “cleaning in process” sign, but whoever has co
me in clearly ignored it.
“Could you come back later?” I ask without turning around. “I’m just finishing cleaning in here.”
“Let me help you,” a familiar voice says, plucking the duster from my hand.
I turn and see James holding it like it’s something from outer space.
“Do you even know how to use that?” I ask with a smile.
He glances at it before waving it in my face, dust flying into my hair.
“Did I get it right?” he asks cheekily.
“You’re the worst. Give it back and go somewhere else. Somewhere where I’m not.”
“But who else is there for me to annoy? It’s just so easy…”
“James.”
“Relax, Hazel. Here. Sit down for five minutes. Seeing you buzzing around like a bee all morning makes me tired. I’ll take over.”
I hesitate, but something about James’ smile forces me to give in. It seems like he genuinely wants to help me out, so who am I to refuse? I sit down on the sofa and realize that it’s the first time I have ever done so. This whole chalet has always seemed off-limits to me, though the rules here are pretty relaxed. Here, in front of the fire, it’s pretty damn comfortable. I can see why James and his family like coming here now.
He smiles at me as he begins to sweep the room with the duster, going over places I’ve already dusted, but I decline to mention that to him. I pat my pocket where I’ve kept his drawing. I don’t want to admit it to him, but I’m starting to like this little tradition he’s creating.
“Your drawings are amazing,” I tell him eventually. “Though I wasn’t expecting to receive one every morning.”
“Well then, you should count yourself lucky. Plenty of people would love personalized art for free,” James says with a grin. “I’m glad you like them, though. The one this morning was a lot of fun to draw.”
“You seem to spend a lot of time drawing.”
“Oh, I do. I like coming here. There’s plenty of downtime for me to get on with my sketches. When I’m at home, it’s much harder, given all the hours I spend working with my father. But it’s a great hobby to have. It’s extremely rewarding.”
I nod quietly. I know how photography used to make me feel, and I miss the buzz of getting up early to take pictures before heading to work. I can’t even remember the last time I used my camera.
But I can see how inspired James is. I see him dotted around various locations in the chalet, always with his sketchpad for company. He’s friendly with everyone at the resort, but for the most part, he keeps to himself. Yet, I’ve never met anyone so well-liked, so laid-back, so full of fun. I chew my lip. I don’t want our conversation to die out, or for him to think I’m boring. A huge part of me wants to keep him here with me, just the two of us.
“You’ve got an exciting life,” I say. “Running a company, traveling a lot, going to parties…it’s kind of the dream.”
“Well, it’s a good life for sure,” James says modestly. “I think anyone can have an exciting life if they make the most of their time. For example, if I stripped away my career and money, I’d still feel fulfilled if I could create art. I’d work hard to make money to travel. It might not be such an easy life, but an easy life doesn’t always equal a good one.”
“It helps.”
James smiles as he twirls the duster in his hands. “It does. But you and I…we come from different worlds, clearly. You work here, and I come here for leisure. And yet, being a chalet girl gives you a lot, right? It might not be the best-paid job in the world, but hey, you get to ski whenever you want. You have a sociable job, and you learn plenty of skills.”
“You don’t think I’m a bit boring, coming back here every single year?”
“No. You’ve got to remember, my family has been coming here a lot longer than you have,” he says brightly. “Your career choices don’t make up your personality. There’s a lot more to you than being a chalet girl, after all. And of course, I don’t think you’re boring. I wouldn’t be here right now if I thought you were.”
My cheeks heat up. It’s not exactly a compliment, but it feels like one. It’s so easy to make me feel loved these days, that I guess I’ll take anything I can get.
“I think there’s more to you than you ever let on,” he continues, abandoning the duster and sitting down beside me. “You try and hold yourself back so much… I noticed it yesterday. The other girls come here to be a part of something. I think you come here to escape.”
“Interesting theory,” I say lightly, but he’s not wrong. The city suffocates me at this time of year. It’s a constant reminder of how lost I felt that year when I took on New York alone. Out here in the mountains, there’s enough space to breathe. But I’m not about to tell James that.
“Why do you come here, then? What’s your story?” James asks, sinking back into the squishy sofa.
And all of a sudden, I know this conversation needs to come to an end. I know what he’s trying to do. He wants to be the person to figure me out, to break through to the person I’m trying so hard to keep inside. I don’t know if it’s just some strange challenge to him, or whether he cares about getting to know me, but I don’t want to let my guard down. A man like him could melt my heart of ice, but he could also shatter it into a million pieces.
“I don’t have a story,” I insist, taking the duster from him and standing up. “I should get back to work. I’ve stopped for too long already.”
“Then what are you doing this evening? Why don’t we hang out a little more?”
“Hm, what am I doing…probably the same as every night. Going to bed early so that I’m not exhausted when I wake up at six a.m.,” I say.
I was hoping to sound a little sarcastic and light-hearted, but instead, I just sound cold. James’ smile fades a little.
“Fair enough. I guess I’ll see you around, Hazel.”
Watching him leave hurts me. It pains me that I’ve upset him. But I know that this is for the best. The closer I start to feel to him, the more I panic.
It’s better this way. It has to be.
4
Four Calling Birds
This morning has been spent wondering how the hell I’m going to avoid James. After the way we left things yesterday, I wasn’t expecting him to send me another picture. I felt a pang of hurt when I didn’t see one shoved under the door. But as I left my bedroom, one of the girls pressed the paper into my hand on her way to the bathroom. Today’s drawing depicted four birds calling out compliments to a woman walking down an empty street. It didn’t take me long to realize that the woman was meant to be me.
So he’s not given up on me yet, and that means trying harder to keep my distance from him. Actively trying to dislike someone is exhausting, especially someone as perfect as James. With each passing day, he gets a stronger grip on my heart. And it scares the hell out of me. To protect myself, I have to get out of this without developing any feelings.
It’s hard, though, when he seems to be everywhere. Even when he’s not in the room, I still feel his presence. Earlier today, I found one of his drawing pencils on the dining table, next to his abandoned knife and fork. He must have been sketching at breakfast, and I find that far too endearing.
I also found myself cleaning his room earlier. I didn’t realize it was his until I spotted one of his sweaters folded neatly on his chair. The whole room suddenly became beautiful to me. I noticed the smell of his cologne in the air. I picked up on the books on his bedside table—a clearly unread business manual was buried beneath a collection of well-thumbed graphic novels. I lingered for longer than I should in the room, drinking in his presence like it was a drug to me.
Now, it’s free time, and I don’t even have the excuse of work to keep myself away from him. I feel an itch to go outside, but I don’t want to go on the slopes. In many ways, I prefer to watch others skiing. It’s a thrilling sport, but it’s equally peaceful to watch people gliding gracefully through the snow. I make myself a mug of hot
cocoa and sit out on the chalet patio, wrapped up in scarves and hoping no one will come and talk to me.
Half-way through the afternoon, I see James’ familiar face appear. He’s wearing all of his ski gear, puffing and panting as he walks back up to the chalet in his heavy boots, his skis long abandoned. It’s too late to try and hide from him because the second my eyes lock on him, he sees me too, as though he was looking for me this entire time. I could get up and leave, but I don’t really want to cause a scene. Besides, his company doesn’t bother me. It’s more the idea that his company comes with emotional consequences that scares me.
He trudges over to me, leaving snow prints on the decking as he sits down on the bench beside me. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Tiring morning on the slopes?” I ask. “Have you been on the difficult course?”
James shakes his head wordlessly, trying to catch his breath. “Not the difficult course, no. The baby slopes.”
I snort. “You’re serious? How many years have you been coming here?”
James takes the jibe with grace, grinning at me. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But to be honest, as much as I enjoy it, I kind of suck at skiing.”
“Finally, something you’re not good at.”
James laughs heartily. “There are plenty of things I can’t do. Skiing is at the top of the list. Sports in general, actually.”
I find that hard to believe, somehow. Probably because his body is in such good shape. I find myself thinking about his skinny hips beneath his cute sweaters. It’s enough to make my cheeks flush uncomfortably.
“I was hopeless at PE in school,” he says. “My teacher used to scold me for being so terrible. I guess I was a bit of a joker and that reputation preceded me, but I always tried so hard in that class. It’s just not for me. I prefer to watch sports than partake. You play any sports?”
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