Thank you so much for all of the reviews - feedback is SO appreciated! My notifications apparently broke however so I'm sorry for the delay in responding!
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He looks long and hard at the response he's written, at the single word - "sure" - staring back at him in stark black and white, the cursor blinking back uncertainly at him on the screen. This is Jeanne of all people asking him to the event - and he wants to go with her, of course he does, there's no question in his mind about that. He barely sees her at work anymore, and it's brilliant that she thought to invite him - that she wants him there with her. And his entire focus these past few weeks has been invested in skiing in order to bring him closer to her, after all, hasn't it? Oh, he's made a few detours into cross-country skiing and snowmobiling and local tourism of course, but still - he's only here because of her, isn't he? And judging by the time-stamp on the message, technically she even asked before Rose asked him, so really, it would be quite rude of him to say no. And although something inside him twists slightly at the thought of canceling his plan with Rose … surely Rose wouldn't care that much, would she? She even said herself that she was inviting him as compensation for the missed lesson, after all - Rose was simply trying to do him a favor by inviting him to the ice festival in the first place.
He pauses for a moment, wonders what he's waiting for, then finally clicks send, sighing heavily. It takes a while for the email to go through, and he wonders if perhaps he should have written something longer, or more enthusiastic, if Jeanne might read something into this that he didn't intend. His response to her email about Chamonix after all had been almost embarrassing in its wordiness and emoticons, he'd been as giddy as a child to receive her invitation. This is Jeanne after all, and he wants to spend time with her, he really does, but ...
He frowns slightly, thinking of the uncertainty in Rose's eyes when he didn't respond right away to her offer, of how enthusiastic she seemed about the ice festival, how much she clearly thought he'd like it. He hopes she doesn't mind … after all, this is more him losing out on going to the ice festival than anything else. He certainly doesn't want to presume that the excitement in her eyes when she spoke of the festival had anything to do with the fact that he'd agreed to go with her. She made it seem like she goes quite often, after all … she enjoys it, she'd go and have a wonderful time whether or not he's there.
Right then. It's settled. He'll tell Rose tomorrow.
He clicks off his bedside light and goes to sleep.
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The next morning, John awakens to sunlight streaming in through his window and pouring itself comfortably across his bed like a warm winter quilt. Although he'd be normally content to rouse slowly from this little cocoon, his first thought is to go find Rose, and he stretches himself awake, wondering if her knee is feeling better today, and hoping that she doesn't have to cancel any additional ski lessons today on his behalf. After a quick shower made all the more brief because he wants to check on her, he packs up his duffel bag and ski gear, and heads downstairs. As soon as he arrives in the lobby, he looks around for Rose, but she's nowhere in sight - a common enough occurrence here at the B&B, but still a disappointment. Walking to the frost-covered window, he gently opens the rustic curtains, and notices the snowmobile is gone from its usual spot. He feels a small wave of relief wash over him - it's good that she's feeling well enough to head out this morning, that his blunder yesterday didn't cause her any real damage.
John finds Wilf in the kitchen making a traditional Durham County breakfast called 'bacon floddies', and John dons an apron as is quickly becoming his custom here and steps in to help. Side by side, they grate potatoes and stir eggs and chop up bacon, making them into small patties as Wilf gives John an impromptu lesson on how hot to heat the stove and how to shake the old iron griddle over the heat so that the eggs don't stick to the bottom. The griddle is heavy in John's hand, and the wrought iron handle feels rough against his fingers - it's clearly an ancient contraption, and John smiles to himself, at the thought of something so old and rugged lasting generations and still being of good use in this day and age.
"Rose is feeling better, I take it?" John asks as the floddies sizzle in front of him, filling the air with the aroma of bacon and eggs and warmth.
Wilf moves past John to head over towards the sink, his only response a small shrug, and it strikes John that this is the only time he's seen Wilf fall silent on a topic of interest to him.
"She always does after a good night's rest," Wilf finally says, his tone casual, and at odds with the vigor with which he is suddenly scrubbing the dishes. "Still, I told her she should cancel her lesson this afternoon, not that she listened."
A small wave of guilt washes over John, and he puts down the griddle, turning to face his new … well, his new friend, as he's honestly starting to consider Wilf. He's not sure of what to say, not sure if Wilf blames him for Rose's injury on the slopes yesterday. Despite Rose's words to the contrary, John still blames himself … and the thought suddenly strikes him that perhaps that's the reason Jimmy's words so instinctively rubbed him the wrong way - that perhaps the young man saw in John exactly what John thought of himself.
"I'm so sorry, Wilf," John says quietly, "Yesterday was all my fault. I never meant to -"
Wilf shakes his head, interrupting him.
"No, it's not your fault. It's the second time she's twisted it this season," Wilf says quietly. "Her doctor promises she's fine, but she's only twenty… And she's already pushed her body so far. I just worry…"
Wilf breaks off his statement, sighing again. John stands still, silently watching Wilf, somehow instinctively knowing that the older man had more he wanted to say. After a moment, Wilf shuts off the faucet and dries his hands, then looks over at John to meet his eyes.
"She told me you said you'd put in a good word for her. To get into a university."
John stares at Wilf for a moment, a bit surprised - of course he remembers the conversation with Rose clearly from last week. Still, he hadn't really considered it was something she might actually want to do - he'd just hated the thought of her limiting herself, and thinking that she couldn't do something. It's amazing how much she's been able to build herself a life without money, a family, or university, all by the age of 20 - she's brilliant, and any university would be lucky to have her. He'd meant every word he'd said about her being able to take on the world, and of course he'd help her apply. He wants to, and she deserves a chance - there's no question in his mind about it at all.
"I will - if that's what she wants," John says.
Wilf doesn't speak any words in reply, but rather stares at John a moment longer, a small, almost relieved smile creeping onto his face. He then nods his head decisively and looks thoughtfully off into the distance as he grabs a dish towel and begins to dry the dishes.
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Rose joins them at the tail end of breakfast, interrupting what had been a very vigorous debate about the merits of cooking with ceramic vs. cast iron pans. The two men sit at the table, their breakfast and coffee all but abandoned, so engrossed in their conversation that her presence isn't noticed by either of them until she walks up to pour herself a cup of tea. She plops herself down in the high-backed, wooden chair with ease, drawing her knees up casually and sitting with her legs criss-crossed in the chair. John smiles to himself as he notices the grace and ease with which Rose is moving - she's clearly feeling much better than she was yesterday.
"Food doesn't taste as good unless it browns properly, and the heat distribution is best with cast iron!"
"I'm not saying you should use ceramic, Wilf, they're just so much greener!"
"Rose! What do you think?" Wilf says, and both men turn around to face her, expectant.
"I think…" she hesitates, looking from one to the other from behind her cup of tea. "I think — oooh you made floddies! … but … Oi! You didn't save any for me!" she says in mock annoyance, glaring at the empty platter.
Without missing a beat, John slides his plate over to her, where a single floddie remains intact and undisturbed off to the side, then resumes his vigorous defense of the merits of ceramic. She smiles at him, a slow, almost bashful smile, and he gives her a wink and turns back to Wilf, expounding on the ease of dishwashing as she picks up the floddie and chews it thoughtfully.
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The debate exhausts itself soon thereafter, and Wilf insists on clearing the plates from the table himself so that John can finish his coffee. Rose stays seated at the table as well, nursing a cup of tea, as they sit in companionable silence, the distant clank of the dishes and running water in the kitchen being the only sound. John downs the last of his now tepid coffee with a gulp then turns in his chair to face Rose, his eyes meeting hers.
"You're feeling better?" he asks softly.
She nods and smiles at him, and he smiles back, relief easing away the remaining guilt he felt over their mishap.
"Much better, thanks," she says. "Are you … are you going to leave this morning? I know you usually leave early, but I … I just didn't know if you wanted to make up your lesson today -"
He shakes his head and notices that her face falls slightly.
"You should rest," he says.
"I'm fine -"
"Rose," he says, her name rolling slowly off his tongue as he leans forward towards her, meeting and holding her gaze. "Rest. Please promise me you'll rest. Just for today."
She pauses for a moment, staring back at him, her eyes seeming to search his, then takes a deep breath and nods. Her eyes drop from his then to linger on the table, as if she's lost in thought, and it strikes him that there's something almost forlorn about her expression. Somehow, almost instinctively, he feels an urge to comfort her, and he leans towards her, smiling at her. He feels her squeeze his hand, and it's only then, with a small jolt, that he realizes that his hand had come to rest on hers, seemingly of its own volition, and that his fingers were in the process of squeezing hers back.
He clears his throat and slips his hand from hers awkwardly. He rises from the table then, his gaze falling on his multiple bags by the door. His duffel bag sits alongside the Snow + Rock shopping backs, his new ski gear stuffed haphazardly back inside the latter, as he'd long since given up trying to fit it in as neatly as it fit when he bought it.
"I suppose I should get going," he says, motioning to his bags.
Rose nods, rising slowly from the table to head over to the registration desk. She glances at his luggage, in particular at the myriad of gear poking out from the shopping bags, and her eyes flick up to meet his.
"If you don't need your ski gear back in London … you can leave it here," she says, her eyes a bit hesitant. "If you want."
"Is that OK - I mean, wouldn't you need the room for guests during the week?" he asks.
She shakes her head quickly, the silky strands of her blond hair dancing with the motion, as she ducks her head to look back down at John's checkout paperwork on the registration desk.
"No, most of our guests are weekend stays, and, well, that's pretty much your room now for as long as you come up here, so I just thought that maybe -"
"That'd be lovely," he says softly, with a smile in his eyes, and as soon as he speaks, she looks back up at him, smiling as well.
After a moment, her eyes break from his own, and she leans over the desk to hand him his receipt.
"I'll see you next week then?" she says, stuffing her hands in her pockets and coming out to the front of the registration desk.
He gives her a bright grin.
"Absolutely."
She smiles then, a wide smile that makes her pretty brown eyes crinkle at the sides, and takes a step forward, giving him a quick hug before stepping away. He hugs her back with an affectionate squeeze and smiles to himself. He's relieved now - he's glad that she feels better, than she'll rest today - that he didn't really hurt her. He runs back up to his room to drop off the bags, then heads downstairs again to hand her the room key.
"Keep it," she says, shaking her head and laughing. "All your stuff is in there!"
He gives her one last grin, then shoves his duffel bag into the passenger seat of his car and climbs inside, ready to start the long trek back to London. She stands in the doorway and he waves to her as he starts the ignition - well, as he tries to start the ignition, at any rate. He pretends to not notice her surprised giggle as he removes the mallet from underneath his seat to give the clutch a good whack to get it in motion. With one final wave to her, he eases his car out of the driveway and back onto the main road, and Rose finally slips out of his sight in his rearview mirror.
He travels several uneventful kilometers, humming to himself, and is nearly to the A1 before he realizes that he forgot to tell Rose he wouldn't be going to the festival.
