Slippery Slopes by Emily Franklin Page A

missed out on the Super G and if maybe they spent the time together. Comfortably. In bed or somewhere like it. If only he’d just come out with all his feelings at once, rather than having me guess at everything. Not that I’m the most expressive person, either.
    “This is chicken satay—a classic dipping food. With a spicy-sweet sauce.”
    “Spicy and sweet,” Max brushes the hair from his eyes and just for a second looks cozy enough that Dove wants to hug him. “Just the way I like it.”
    “What a weird thing to say.” Dove makes a face and turns back to the food, fussing over an asparagus that’s come unwrapped. “Anyway, you’ll have to excuse me—I have to put these out on the sideboard for when the team comes back.”
    “And then?” Max makes room for her to get by, and when Dove takes the first small tray, she squeezes past him, fully aware that her shoulder brushes his chest.
    “And then I suspect I’ll head into town.” She doesn’t look at Max as she brushes past again on her way to get the rest of the trays.
    “What’s in town?” Max begins to help with the trays, ferrying them from the kitchen to the living room and dining room.
    “The Internet café, for starters.” Dove doesn’t add that she’s got an IM scheduled with William—their first in ages—and wonders why she wouldn’t just tell that to Max.
    Max nods. “I can take you, if you like.”
    Dove shrugs. “Could this be a display of gentlemanly help?”
    “You can call it that.” He pauses, his eyes searching her face for a response. “It’s just a ride in—no strings attached.”
    “What does that mean?” Dove’s heart kicks at her insides.
    Max laughs, breaking the tension as Dove carries the last of the trays out and arranges a stack of blue paper napkins each trimmed in gold. “The room looks perfect. Really nice, Dove.” He waits for her to finish. “So? Can I be your chauffeur?”
    “Of all the things you could be, I guess my chauffeur is pretty innocuous.” Hard to believe I actually had a chauffeur not too long ago. All those nights, slinging through London, being the pampered one rather than the one doing the pampering. Dove turns back to the spread of food she’s shopped for, budgeted, and prepared all on her own, and feels good.
    “Is that a yes?” Max rubs his pointer finger over his thumb—an old habit Dove still takes note of. She remembers sitting in the library with him, studying, right before they’d both been accepted to Oxford University, and how she’d grabbed his thumb to make him stop, and they’d wound up tangled on the hardwood floor.
    Dove nods, cracking a smile. “Sure. What’s the big deal about a lift into town, right?”
    After she washes her hands and pats them dry on one of the kitchen cloths, she tugs at the hair on her forehead, smoothing it out. “It’s a yes,” she says softly. But Max has already gone to change and isn’t there to see her very small, slightly devious grin.
    Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. Melissa tries her best to stay out of sight, ducking behind one of the resort vans, but it’s too late. “Dodging Matron should be its own Olympic event,” Melissa mutters as she faces the music and walks directly up to her superior, hoping to at least gain points for being up-front.
    “Miss Forsythe.” Matron, without a jacket and yet seemingly unfazed by the chill, has her hands clasped around her clipboard and her eyes set to penetrate even the slightest weakness.
    “Matron …” Melissa changes her weight to her other foot, easing the ache of her ribs. “Glad I’ve found you. I wanted to let you know that the Winter Wonderland is all arranged. I took the liberty of ordering not only the decorations for inside, but as the theme is inspirational and set largely outside, I also had the factory in town create individual spheres.” Melissa rambles on, spewing everything she’s planned and taken care of all at once, hoping to impress and overwhelm Matron so she