Blissfully Yours. Diann Walker

his handsome smile.

      Just how much do you enjoy those pearly whites, buster? My thoughts are turning ugly, and I need to rein them in. I merely smile and this time, he helps me up.

      “Now, Gwen, we’re going to try this again. Try to push your shins into the tongue of your boots, keep your knees bent. You forgot the snowplow/wedge position. Any time you feel yourself sliding downward, snowplow your skis. Remember, front tips are almost touching, back of skies bowed outward.” He demonstrates.

      I don’t want to try this again. Ever. I’m cold, hungry and my arms are shaking. Still, I’ve paid for this lesson, and I’ve got to follow through. Besides, if I don’t learn to ski and the ski lift at Windsor Mountain malfunctions, I’ll have to stay in Cool Beanz all night on top of the mountain where bears and moose might decide to drop in for a late-night snack. I have to learn to ski.

      Greg takes me through several more runs down the hill, teaches me a few more tricks of the trade—or tries to, anyway—and then our hour is up.

      “Listen, I know this is your first time, but you did a good job, really.”

      “Thanks,” I say, knowing he’s getting paid to say those things.

      “I would suggest you try to go down the beginner slopes and get a feel for real skiing.” His smile is back in place.

      I nod, say my goodbye and turn to look for the flattest ground to scoot across. Forget the practice business, I want some lunch, and I want it now. A little hot chocolate or a mocha sounds pretty good, too.

      It takes me a good half hour to get myself out of all the skiing paraphernalia, retrieve my handbag from my locker and head to my car—with my dignity barely intact. I could have stopped at their restaurant, but I figure when I’m getting paid room and board, why pay for food somewhere else? Besides, I need a nap.

      “So how did it go?” Mitch asks, as I climb out of my car. Is this guy eager to hear about the competition? Nervous? Worried?

      “Oh fine. I did a little skiing,” I say, confident that I have not told a lie. I did do a little skiing. Very little.

      He looks worried. “I know their slopes are bigger, better and all that.” He looks around. “I think we’ll do fine, though, don’t you?”

      “Absolutely,” I assure him, as though I know what I’m talking about—which I don’t. “Ours will be a cozy establishment,” I say, feeling embarrassed that I said ours instead of his. He looks at me and flashes a grin.

      “Please don’t take this as harassment of any kind, but I’m really glad you’re here, Gwen.” He walks with me up to the B and B.

      If this is harassment, baby, bring it on.

      “Thanks.”

      I slip on a slight incline in the snow, and Mitch reaches out and grabs my arm to steady me. “So do you think you can be happy here?”

      I try to gather my wits about me, but I can’t get past the touch of his hand. I know he has his gloves on, but I still feel the heat of his hand.

      I take a deep breath, stare at the snow and mentally shake myself. I have to tell him about the whole ski problem. “Mitch, listen, I need to talk to you about something.”

      “Yeah?”

      “Hey, you two,” Granny calls out the back door. “You’d better get in here. Your food is getting cold.”

      “We’re coming, Granny.” Mitch’s hold on my arm tightens as he helps me through the snow so we can get inside quicker.

      My heart sinks. I have to let him know that I can’t ski, and I have to tell him about Guacamole. I hate to spring it on him before opening day. One thing for sure. He’ll be furious with me no matter when he finds out.

      “We’ll have to talk later. When Granny ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy,” he says with a laugh.

      It’s nothing compared to how you’re going to feel when I tell you what I have to tell you, I think to myself. Suddenly, I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.

      I’m fairly miserable through lunch, picking at my food, wondering how I’ve gotten myself into this mess.

      “What’s the matter, aren’t you hungry?” Granny asks, pointing to my hamburger minus two bites, and the full stack of chips and apple slices still on my plate.

      I look at Mitch and see concern in his eyes. Though I hardly know him, I know that I don’t want to hurt him. He can hardly wait for opening day, and I don’t want to ruin it for him.

      “I’m fine. Just not very hungry.”

      Mitch relaxes. “I’m meeting with the workers in a few minutes. That should take about an hour. We’ll be going over last-minute details and such. They’ll check out their equipment. After that I’ll show you around, and take you to Cool Beanz. You need to meet Lisa Jamison, the woman who will be working with you. She’ll only be here on an as-needed basis, though. That’s the best she can do since she already has another part-time job, and attends community college.” He shrugs. “I’ll take what I can get.”

      Obviously. He’s hired a woman with a fear of heights.

      “If things get really busy, we’ll hire more help later.”

      I nod.

      “Lisa will be training you. She’s taken care of a lot of the setup, but you need to get started before the crowds roll in.” He grins.

      I was hoping to stall the inevitable by working on menu plans, taking inventory, placing orders and such at the B and B, but I guess that’s not going to happen. I can do this. I can do this.

      We finish eating our meal, and I’m praying for ways to tell him my, um, less than strong points.

      Mitch wipes his mouth with his napkin and scoots away from the table. “Great meal, Granny.” He turns to me. “I’ll be back and get you in an hour.”

      I nod then look to Granny to offer help with cleaning things up but one look at her tells me she might hurt me. She shakes her head before I can say anything and starts clearing the dishes.

      “I’ll go up to my room for a while,” I say.

      “Take your time. I’ll be back and get you,” Mitch says. His words are soothing.

      “Thanks.” I trudge my way up the stairs and think this might be a good time for a word with the Lord.

      “Moms whose kids are in school fill the positions needed in the rental building.” Mitch’s words come out in frosty puffs as we make our way around the mountain. He introduces me to the new employees along the way, we put on snow boots and skis, and I’m thinking life as I have always known it—you know, where you breathe and eat, that sort of thing—is about to come to an end.

      Dressed in all the ski stuff, we shuffle toward the lift. “I’ve invited some friends to ski this afternoon so we can kind of have a trial run with all the workers here. Tomorrow will be much the same. Candace and I will wander about, making sure everything is in place and running smoothly,” Mitch says, pointing to the various work stations.

      I glance at the employees as they mill around the area. The place looks alive with business, and I can’t help feeling excited for Mitch. Must be wonderful to live out a dream. I don’t even know what my dream is.

      I watch a lift float heavenward, and I gulp out loud. Fortunately, there’s enough distraction that Mitch doesn’t seem to notice.

      I want to go home. To my Tumbleweed, Arizona, home.

      Now.

      My heart quickens, and I’m sure I will have a coronary right this very minute. My knees wobble, and I have to give myself a pep talk.

      “You doing all right?” he asks.

      This is my way out,