Page 12 of Love Worth Gold

Her phone buzzed again.

So you’re saying lack of sleep doesn’t slow you down? Interesting theory. I should test that.

Isaline’s cheeks flushed a bright pink. She typed back before she could overthink it.You already ran that test. I was not exactly well-rested, and you still ended up under my name on the results sheet.

The dots appeared almost immediately.

Fair, and very cocky comingfrom a rookie. I didn’t realize I was part of your performance plan. I’ll be more thoughtful with my testing variables this week.

Isaline bit her lip and then glanced up to make sure no one was reading over her shoulder. Her thumbs moved.Variables like what? Your control issues or mine?

A pause. Longer this time. She watched the screen as if it held her race results.

Both, probably. You didn’t seem to mind.

Her pulse jumped. The lounge noise faded into static. She typed carefully, testing the edge of too far.I didn’t. But you kicked me out before I could show you I have enough stamina for two rounds. Things felt unfinished.

Another pause. Then came Blaire’s reply.Only two? Unfinished is okay for me; too much can be distracting. I don’t make it a habit of doing distractions during race weeks.

Isaline’s mouth curved. The message was classic Blaire—controlled, boundaried, a door half-open and half-locked. But she was still texting. Still engaging.

Then maybe you shouldn’t have been texting me after curfew last night. I’m young; I bounce back. At your age, you need your rest, Hollis.

Again, the reply came fast.Maybe I shouldn’t have. But you’re the one texting an older woman instead of napping between sessions.

Fine, I’m the rookie and the Olympic virgin here. But I already know how it feels to stand above you on a podium. Imagine what I can do with a little guidance here.

This time the dots took longer. They appeared, vanished, appeared again, as if Blaire were arguing with herself one keystroke at a time.

Finally, her message popped up.Save the imagination for after race week. First training run is tomorrow. I don’t want you blaming me if your legs feel heavy.

Isaline glanced at the screen, her brain doing the math. Blaire had ghosted her after St. Moritz. Shaken her hand on the podium like a stranger. Now, she had been flirting through texts the day before training started. It could be strategy—a way to tangle Isaline in feelings and make her lose focus when no distractions mattered most.

Or it could be something else. Maybe feelings Blaire didn’t know how to admit but couldn’t fully ignore.

Isaline typed one last line.You’re safe, Blaire. I’m quite capable of separating fast legs and dangerous thoughts. For now, anyway.

She flipped the phone face down on the table and took a long pull from her drink. Her heart hammered against her ribs in a way that had nothing to do with the extra B vitamins in her electrolyte drink.

Matthias walked over and tapped Isaline on the shoulder. “Ready to review your schedule?”

She nodded, outwardly calm, inwardly lit. “Absolutely, Coach.”

~~

The next morning’s training run arrived cold and unforgiving. Isaline stood in the start gate at 7:47 a.m., breathing fog into the frozen air while technicians adjusted timing equipment and course radios crackled with weather updates. The wind had been unpredictable during inspection—calm in the trees, violent on the exposed ridges—and officials debated canceling the training session for the third time in an hour.

Matthias stood beside her with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. “If they run it, the light will be flat through the compression. Trust your line there. Don’t chase speed that you can’t hold.”

She nodded, tapping her poles against the snow. The rhythm steadied her pulse.

The first racer finished. Then the second. Split times flashed green and red across the monitor. Isaline watched the clock closely. She felt her legs warm under her suit and told herself what she’d been telling herself since she was twelve: this is just another hill.

Except it wasn’t.

The Olympic rings hung above the finish stadium, daring her to race to them. Cameras lined every angle. Her accreditation badge carried the weight of two denied attempts and a decade of waiting.

When her number was called, she slid into position. The countdown timer beeped. The gate opened.