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"Tell me about it. But he means well."

"I know." I reached across the table and took his hand, a gesture that felt both new and somehow familiar. "It's nice, actually. That he cares so much."

Con's thumb traced circles on the back of my hand, sending little shivers up my arm. "He likes you, you know. Even when he was giving you a hard time, he was just looking out for me."

"I get it. If I had a brother who wasn't a complete ass, I'd probably be the same way."

Con's expression turned curious. "You don't talk about your family much."

I shrugged, taking another sip of champagne. "Not much to tell. Mom's in England with my brother. Dad’s in Seabreeze Haven. We're not close."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's fine. It's just how it is."

Con seemed to sense my discomfort and changed the subject. "So, how are your legs feeling after all that skiing?"

"Like jelly," I admitted with a laugh. "I'm going to be so sore tomorrow."

"Worth it though, right?"

I thought about the morning—the crisp air, the rush of speed, the way Con had whooped with joy as he carved down a particularly challenging run. The way he'd waited for me at the bottom, his face lit up with a smile that made my heart skip.

"Definitely worth it," I said softly.

The first course arrived then—a delicate seafood appetizer that wasn't on the regular menu. It was followed by a parade of dishes, each more impressive than the last, all specially prepared by Cam. By the time dessert arrived—a decadent chocolate creation that made me groan with pleasure—I was full and slightly tipsy from the wine that had accompanied each course.

"Your brother is showing off," I said, scraping the last bit of chocolate from my plate.

"He is," Con agreed. "But admit it, you're impressed."

"Thoroughly," I conceded. "I might have to be nice to him from now on."

Con laughed. "Don't do that. He'll think something's wrong."

After dinner, we decided to take a walk despite the cold. The night was clear with stars scattered across the sky like diamonds on black velvet. Con held my hand as we strolled through the quiet streets of Alpine Ridge, our breath forming clouds in the frigid air.

"I keep waiting for this to feel weird," I admitted after a while.

"And does it?"

I thought about it, about the way his hand felt in mine, about the easy conversation over dinner, about the way he looked at me now—like I was something precious.

"No," I said, surprised by the realization. "It feels... right."

Con stopped walking and turned to face me, his expression serious in the moonlight. "It does, doesn't it?"

And then he was kissing me, his lips warm despite the cold air, his hands gentle on my face. I melted into him, all the tension and doubt I'd been carrying dissolving like snow in sunshine.

When we broke apart, I was breathless and giddy, like I'd had too much champagne. But this intoxication had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with the man standing before me, his eyes reflecting the starlight.

"I've wanted to do that all day," Con murmured, his forehead resting against mine.

"What stopped you?" I teased.

"I was trying to be a gentleman. Take things slow."

I laughed softly. "Since when have I ever done anything slow?"