disappear for a night with no good reason? From her pocket she pulls the copy of a master key that works all of the vans, and opens the driver’s-side door. First things first. I’ll deal with the Winter Wonderland Ball as fast as I can, then head back in time for dinner and some sort of hosting tonight. As she turns the key in the ignition, Melissa wonders what’s happening back at the chalet, if Dove is acting as chef and host, or if—and Melissa winces with this—Charlie has stepped into the role of showing the guests a good time. Like a good driver, Melissa adjusts her rearview mirror, checks that her seat belt is fastened, and though she notices it, doesn’t pay much attention to the lumpy mass way in the backseat. Someone’s laundry bags? Sleeping bags? An orange jacket? She shrugs—people were always leaving their belongings in the van—and heads, bruised, into town.
7
“Y OU DID WHAT?” DOVE shouts while trying to balance a tray with eight pints of Stella Artois on one hand while gripping a magnum of champagne in the other.
Charlie grins at her. Dressed in a black unitard that zips up the back, Charlie’s outfit leaves little to the imagination. With cheeks flushed from the fireside heat, she leans over the bar and yells to Dove. “While you were off doing God knows what, I think I might have reached my goal.” Charlie gives a meaningful glance up to the chalet’s balcony, where James rests on his elbows, looking down at the growing party scene.
For Melissa’s sake, I hope she doesn’t mean what I think she means, Dove thinks as she swerves in front of the bar with the tray. After leaving Matron’s room, she’d come back to the chalet to find a party just beginning, with Charlie as the host. Now the soiree has grown to earthquake size, with Charlie at its epicenter, flitting this way and that trying to maintain some sense of order, while Dove slaves away making appetizers, whipping up dips of crème fraîche and chives, creating finger foods, and slinging the alcohol to calm the masses.
“What about you?” Charlie raises her eyebrows to Dove, relieving her of the champagne magnum as she’s about to head upstairs toward James.
“What about me?” Dove asks, handing out the pints of beer and flashing back to Max, his hair slick with cold water, his hands shaking just like they did the first time he’d kissed her. “I’m just doing my job.” It’s not that Charlie’s evil or anything, just entirely focused on one goal: getting James. She’s the kind of girl you can’t ever really get to know, because the minute the object of her affection is around, she’ll drop you.
“Well, keep me posted on the gruesome details!” Charlie heads for the stairs, checking first to see if James is looking at her, which is unclear. He’s still up in the balcony, but unlike in movies, when someone’s far above you, it’s not always easy to tell what they’re looking at. “I’m off to try and interest a certain person in a tour of the guest rooms.” She holds up the magnum like a trophy. “With this as the bait.”
I doubt that’s the only bait, Dove thinks, sizing up Charlie’s body in her slinky catsuit. At least she’s still technically in uniform, at least color-wise. She gestures to her with the last of the beers and then takes a drink herself, wiping the condensation on her slim-fitting black trousers. I deserve it, after all, Dove thinks. Filling in for everyone while Melissa convalesces and Charlie social butterflies herself toward love, or at least … lust. A look of concern washes over Dove’s face when she thinks about Melissa and the fall, but from the way Charlie explained it, Melissa was being more than looked after. In fact, Charlie had been the one to encourage Gabe to ride along with the mountain patrol and stay with Melissa at the Infirmary.
“Hello,” one of the guests slurs to Dove. In a tight orange T-shirt, Dove thinks the guy looks like a traffic cone, and she
7
“Y OU DID WHAT?” DOVE shouts while trying to balance a tray with eight pints of Stella Artois on one hand while gripping a magnum of champagne in the other.
Charlie grins at her. Dressed in a black unitard that zips up the back, Charlie’s outfit leaves little to the imagination. With cheeks flushed from the fireside heat, she leans over the bar and yells to Dove. “While you were off doing God knows what, I think I might have reached my goal.” Charlie gives a meaningful glance up to the chalet’s balcony, where James rests on his elbows, looking down at the growing party scene.
For Melissa’s sake, I hope she doesn’t mean what I think she means, Dove thinks as she swerves in front of the bar with the tray. After leaving Matron’s room, she’d come back to the chalet to find a party just beginning, with Charlie as the host. Now the soiree has grown to earthquake size, with Charlie at its epicenter, flitting this way and that trying to maintain some sense of order, while Dove slaves away making appetizers, whipping up dips of crème fraîche and chives, creating finger foods, and slinging the alcohol to calm the masses.
“What about you?” Charlie raises her eyebrows to Dove, relieving her of the champagne magnum as she’s about to head upstairs toward James.
“What about me?” Dove asks, handing out the pints of beer and flashing back to Max, his hair slick with cold water, his hands shaking just like they did the first time he’d kissed her. “I’m just doing my job.” It’s not that Charlie’s evil or anything, just entirely focused on one goal: getting James. She’s the kind of girl you can’t ever really get to know, because the minute the object of her affection is around, she’ll drop you.
“Well, keep me posted on the gruesome details!” Charlie heads for the stairs, checking first to see if James is looking at her, which is unclear. He’s still up in the balcony, but unlike in movies, when someone’s far above you, it’s not always easy to tell what they’re looking at. “I’m off to try and interest a certain person in a tour of the guest rooms.” She holds up the magnum like a trophy. “With this as the bait.”
I doubt that’s the only bait, Dove thinks, sizing up Charlie’s body in her slinky catsuit. At least she’s still technically in uniform, at least color-wise. She gestures to her with the last of the beers and then takes a drink herself, wiping the condensation on her slim-fitting black trousers. I deserve it, after all, Dove thinks. Filling in for everyone while Melissa convalesces and Charlie social butterflies herself toward love, or at least … lust. A look of concern washes over Dove’s face when she thinks about Melissa and the fall, but from the way Charlie explained it, Melissa was being more than looked after. In fact, Charlie had been the one to encourage Gabe to ride along with the mountain patrol and stay with Melissa at the Infirmary.
“Hello,” one of the guests slurs to Dove. In a tight orange T-shirt, Dove thinks the guy looks like a traffic cone, and she
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