Chapter Text
Eve took a breath, brushing stray hair from her eyes as she dodged yet another luggage cart and tried to get her bearings in the chaos of JFK. A part of her—the part that used to make these trips with Niko, rolling her eyes at his airport dad jokes, arguing over who got the aisle seat—felt strange walking through the airport alone. But this trip wasn’t about her. Hana had been determined: You’re coming, single or not, you’re family, Eve, and it’ll be fun. And, after a lot of hesitation and one “Are you sure I won’t be in the way?” phone call, she’d agreed.
Now, as she spotted her family—Hana, Liam, and Mia—just a few feet away, Eve couldn’t help but smile. The second Mia saw her, she was up like a shot, barreling toward her with her arms outstretched.
“Auntie Eeeeeeve!” Mia’s voice rang out over the terminal, her little face beaming as she launched herself straight into Eve’s arms.
“Whoa! Hello, Miss Mia!” Eve scooped her up and gave her a spin, breathing in the scent of bubblegum and orange juice as Mia giggled in her arms. She held her close for a moment, squeezing her tight as Mia wrapped her arms around Eve’s neck. “Someone missed me, huh?”
“I missed you this much!” Mia spread her arms out wide, nearly knocking over a stranger as Eve carried her back toward Hana and Liam.
Hana gave Eve a warm, knowing look. “So? Ready for three weeks of family bonding?”
“I mean…we’ll see if we all survive it,” Eve said, half-laughing, half-sighing. “I’m still not convinced that third-wheeling a family vacation is the way to ‘relax and recharge.’”
Hana nudged her, rolling her eyes. “Come on, it’s not third-wheeling when we’re all in this together. Besides, it’s a tradition. Just… with a little adjustment this year.”
Eve raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, instead turning to Liam, who gave her a sympathetic grin. “You might be the only one who wants to keep Frozen on loop the whole flight,” he whispered, glancing at Mia.
“Oh, I’m thrilled,” Eve replied with an exaggerated smile. “Nothing says ‘taking a break from reality’ like singing snowmen and flying ice queens.”
After the usual dance through security, luggage wrangling, and the sudden “emergency” ice cream stop Mia demanded, they found themselves finally waiting at their gate. Hana settled with a magazine while Liam ran Mia through a coloring book, but Eve couldn’t shake the slight ache of feeling like an extra puzzle piece. She pulled her jacket around her shoulders and glanced out the window, wondering if three weeks was enough time to recharge or just long enough to make her miss Niko.
Once they boarded, Eve settled into her seat next to Mia, who snuggled in immediately and latched onto her arm. “Auntie Eve, let’s watch Beauty and the Beast!”
“What, we’re not opening with Frozen?” Eve teased, glancing down at her. “Maybe we should pace ourselves. Start with Toy Story and work up to the real musical masterpieces.”
Mia looked scandalized. “But the Beast,” she whispered with the sort of intense gravitas only a four-year-old could manage. “He’s soooo grumpy.”
Eve sighed, smiling as she reached for the tablet. “Well, I can’t argue with that.” She clicked play, and they watched as Belle wandered through her quiet town, dreaming of something more. The kind of ‘more’ Eve used to imagine, too, when she was young and restless, still thinking every trip was an adventure instead of a chance to hide out from the rest of her life.
By the time they were mid-flight, Mia had fallen asleep against her arm, her head a tiny, warm weight that felt somehow both comforting and achingly sweet. Eve took a deep breath and relaxed into her seat, letting herself be grateful for small things—Mia’s soft breathing, the gentle hum of the plane, and, maybe, just maybe, the idea that this holiday could be something new.
Eve checked her watch: three more hours. Three more hours of seatbelt buckles digging into her hips and questionable airline coffee. Mia was fast asleep, her little face smushed against Eve’s arm, soft breaths puffing against her sleeve. With one last glance to make sure Mia was deep in dreamland, Eve slipped her AirPods in, pressing play on a playlist she’d labeled “weird feelings” and letting a familiar, bittersweet melody fill her ears.
As she gazed out the window at the vast stretch of sky, Eve let her mind wander—the kind of wandering she usually kept at bay with work emails and endless to-do lists. But here, on a plane where she was utterly without distraction, the thoughts floated to the surface, one after the other.
It had been six months since she and Niko split, and the whole thing felt like more of a shrug than a heartbreak. They’d just… fizzled out, like an old candle. No dramatic fights, no cheating, no betrayal. Just one evening, looking across the dinner table at him, realizing they were both keeping up a habit rather than a relationship. She remembered asking him, “Are we even happy?” and him replying, “I think we could be… if we were both somewhere else.” They’d parted ways with a friendly wave, the way people might after a long, boring business meeting.
But as the months rolled on, a strange heaviness settled over her. She’d always thought she was okay alone—self-sufficient, no need for fuss, thank you very much. She had her career, her routines, her treadmill of carefully scheduled plans. But now? She felt like a dusty old couch someone left on the curb—unloved, unnecessary, waiting for the garbage truck to come along.
Eve glanced over at Hana and Liam a few rows up, their heads tilted together, whispering and laughing quietly over a shared cup of coffee. That had been her once, hadn’t it? She tried to remember what it was like to feel like someone’s favorite person. She’d told herself she didn’t mind. I can be my own best friend, she’d thought, lying alone on her couch with a glass of wine and her work laptop. Friends are great, but I don’t need them to define me.
Yet every time she saw people laughing, or huddled together on the subway sharing secrets, she felt this awful, gnawing loneliness creep in. Text messages didn’t fill that void—quick check-ins, emojis, little updates she mostly initiated, just to feel like she was still a part of someone’s life. She’d texted her friend Jess the other day, hoping to make plans, and Jess had replied, “Can’t wait to hear what’s new with you!” Eve had stared at the screen, unable to think of a single thing to say. “What’s new? Absolutely nothing,” she’d whispered to herself.
Now, in the quiet hum of the plane, she felt a familiar sting in her eyes. Don’t cry on a plane, Eve. You’re not going to be the weepy woman on this flight. She blinked rapidly, turning back to the window, swallowing the feeling like a bitter pill.
But just then, Mia stirred, yawning and rubbing her eyes before looking up at her with a sleepy smile. “Auntie Eve,” she mumbled, still half-asleep. “Can we watch Moana now?”
Eve felt her chest tighten in relief, a small laugh bubbling up as she wrapped an arm around Mia. “Moana it is, my little navigator. How else would I know what the ocean wants, right?”
Mia giggled, snuggling back into Eve as they scrolled through the movies together, the ache in Eve’s heart fading a little as she watched Mia’s face light up at each cartoon hero.
Villanelle leaned back, her ski boots propped up on the table in the corner of the lodge, as she watched a few new ski instructors try to wrangle their assigned groups of kids into their helmets and mittens. She couldn’t help but laugh. “I give them two hours before they’re begging for cocoa,” she whispered to Nadia, who rolled her eyes in agreement.
“Two hours? Generous today, aren’t we?” Nadia replied, nudging her with an elbow. “Think Hugo’ll actually show up on time this season?”
“Doubt it,” Villanelle laughed, glancing toward the lodge doors. “He’s probably pretending he’s lost his skis again just to avoid the morning meetings.”
This was her fourth winter break here, back from New York and her interior design program. As intense as her classes were, she loved escaping the city every year to return to the mountains—and not just for the paycheck, though working for her parents had its perks. Her parents’ ski school had been running for years, and while she initially took the job just to help them out, the place had grown on her. She knew most of the families who came here, the parents who looked relieved to drop off their kids for the day and disappear up the mountain for their own vacation.
And then there were the perks. She, Hugo, and Nadia got free rein of the resort—their own suites, spa privileges, all the hot cocoa they could dream of. Some nights, they’d sneak out to the slopes after hours, racing each other down the mountain in the moonlight, laughing and screaming as if they were the kids.
As the doors burst open, Hugo finally strolled in, coffee in one hand, his helmet barely hanging off the back of his head.
“Nice of you to join us,” Villanelle called, grinning as he ambled over.
“Please, you knew I was here in spirit,” he replied with a smirk, flopping into a seat. “Anyway, season’s just begun, we’ve got two whole months to be responsible. What’s the rush?”
“Exactly, two months of holding other people’s kids while they throw snowballs at us,” Villanelle replied, sighing in mock exasperation. She smiled to herself, though, as she watched Hugo and Nadia settle in. This was home—a strange little family she’d found here, her winter crew, her break from the noise of New York.
As she looked out the window at the fresh snowfall, a surge of anticipation bubbled up inside her. She knew what this season would hold: laughter, new kids learning to ski for the first time, and evenings by the fire with her friends. It was always the same, in the best way possible.
Out on the slope Villanelle braced herself as she took in the pint-sized crowd lined up in front of her—fifteen miniature humans all bundled up like marshmallows, clutching their tiny poles and staring up at her with wide, expectant eyes.
“Alright, Dream Team,” she said, turning to Hugo and Nadia with a mock salute. “Let’s wrangle some future Olympians.”
Hugo grinned. “You mean future snowball-chuckers.”
“Alright, listen up, snow monsters!” Nadia called out, clapping her hands. The kids quieted, most of them looking up at her in awe, except for one boy who’d taken to eating his glove.
“Gloves are not food, Timmy!” Villanelle chirped, gently pulling his hand from his mouth.
She adjusted their helmets, handed out high-fives, and tried to keep a few kids from toppling over before they even got their skis on. Teaching kids this age was part skiing, part babysitting, and a hundred percent trying to keep a straight face when they started with their four-year-old wisdom.
As they finally started the bunny hill ascent, one girl tugged on Villanelle’s sleeve. “Ms. V-Villa-nellie?”
“Yes, Emma?”
“Why are snowmen made out of snow?”
“Good question,” Villanelle nodded, expertly dodging the answer. “We’ll figure it out later.”
“D’you think I can eat the snow?” another boy asked, already scooping a handful to his mouth.
“Not… that snow,” Villanelle said, tugging his glove back on. “Try not to eat the mountain, alright?”
Once they got the group lined up at the top of the hill, the fun really began. Hugo took the lead, gliding down effortlessly, turning to demonstrate the “pizza slice” move they’d been practicing. The kids followed with varying degrees of success. Some got the hang of it right away, cruising down in semi-controlled slices. Others took off like small, wobbly rockets, ignoring all pizza metaphors in favor of straight downhill terror.
Villanelle slid down, keeping pace with a little girl named Lilly, who had apparently decided that “pizza” was a suggestion, not a rule. “Lilly, remember our pizza slice? Just a little… just a—”
Lilly screamed in excitement as she picked up speed, barreling straight past Hugo, who spun around just in time to scoop her up before she took out half the group.
At the bottom of the hill, Villanelle and Nadia regrouped the kids, some of whom were flushed with triumph, others a bit wobbly and wide-eyed.
“You did it! Look at you, conquering the mountain!” Villanelle cheered, and the kids all beamed, some too proud to realize they’d barely stayed upright the whole way down.
“Ms. Villa-nellie!” Timmy piped up again, tugging on her jacket.
“Yes, Timmy?”
“I’m gonna be the bestest skier in the world!” he announced, throwing his arms out with such confidence that he toppled over backward into the snow.
Nadia stifled a laugh as she helped him up. “You’re halfway there, Timmy.”
By the time the day wound down, their group had crashed, slid, and “pizza-ed” their way through the hills multiple times. Every kid had fallen over at least twice, and most of them had tried eating snow when they thought no one was looking. But there were smiles on every face as they lined up to go back to the lodge, babbling to each other about their “huge jumps” and “super-fast turns.”
Hugo sighed dramatically as he looked over the chaos. “Another successful day in the snow trenches.”
Villanelle laughed, feeling the ache in her legs as she bent down to collect a discarded mitten. “And to think, we get paid for this.”
As the kids filed out, she gave each of them a high-five, sending them off with a final, “See you tomorrow, snow monsters!” She watched as they all toddled off, some still adjusting their helmets as their parents corralled them, waving back over their shoulders.
Villanelle turned to Hugo and Nadia with a grin. “Drinks?”
Hugo groaned in relief, “I thought you’d never ask.”
The hotel lobby was buzzing with the excitement of new arrivals and the comforting warmth of fireplaces crackling in every corner. Eve followed Hana, Liam, and little Mia to the reception desk, where they collected their keys. Hana and Liam were handed a single keycard—“For our cozy little trio!” Hana grinned, planting a kiss on Liam’s cheek. Eve gave a polite smile, secretly thrilled that she’d have her own room, her own space. No nighttime shuffling, no husband-and-wife whispers on the other side of a flimsy hotel room divider.
Once in her room, though, a wave of stillness greeted her. She set her suitcase down, took a breath, and let the silence wash over her. It was nice, yes, but also unsettling. She’d told herself she needed this holiday, a break from reality. But here, now, with just the whirring radiator and the distant hum of people in the hallways, the loneliness crept in like an unwelcome visitor.
Crossing to the window, Eve drew back the curtains. The view was breathtaking—snow-covered mountains gleaming in the moonlight, towering peaks brushing against the stars. It made her feel small in a way she both appreciated and hated. She checked her watch. Nine o’clock. She was exhausted from the journey, and they’d be up early for skiing with Mia. But… surely one glass of wine wouldn’t hurt?
Within minutes, she was slipping into one of the hotel bars, a cozy place with warm lighting and plush armchairs. The low hum of conversation wrapped around her like a blanket. She ordered a glass of red—“Something bold,” she’d told the bartender with a weary smile. With wine in hand, she wandered toward the back, choosing a small booth with a view of the room but enough seclusion to avoid small talk.
As she took a sip, she glanced around, taking in the faces of people laughing, talking, leaning toward each other in that way people did when they were totally absorbed. She let herself imagine bits of their lives—a couple toasting to an anniversary, a group of old friends catching up. She saw one table, in particular, that stood out: three young people, probably around twenty-five, all lively and engaged, their laughter bubbling up like music above the low murmur of the room.
There was a man with tousled hair, his laugh loud and infectious, a woman with brown hair gesturing wildly as she talked, and then… then there was the blonde. Eve’s gaze settled on her almost accidentally, and then just couldn’t seem to look away. Honey-blonde hair framed her face, hazel eyes catching the light as she laughed, her whole face lighting up. She had a perfect nose, plump lips, and a certain warmth in her expression that was as inviting as it was unsettling. She was simply, devastatingly, beautiful.
And, of course, the woman looked up, as if she could feel Eve’s gaze on her. Their eyes met, and Eve felt an electric jolt—a rush of warmth that started at her chest and buzzed down to her fingertips. The woman’s lips curled into a soft smile, a quiet acknowledgment that sent Eve’s heart racing. The moment hung between them, suspended and sweetly terrifying.
Eve blinked, breaking the connection, suddenly feeling ridiculous, like a schoolgirl caught staring at the most popular girl in class. She fumbled for her wine and took a quick, rather ungraceful sip. Glancing back briefly, she noticed the woman was still watching her, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Eve’s cheeks flushed, and she drained her glass, placing it back on the table as she steeled herself. No, she wasn’t going to sit here and dissolve into a puddle of nerves over one beautiful stranger. She stood, trying to look calm, collected, the way someone who had not just been staring would look.
But as she left, she couldn’t shake the feeling of those hazel eyes on her, following her every step back to her room.
Villanelle leaned back in her chair, laughing as Hugo recounted his latest misadventures on the slopes. “And then I realized—just as I went airborne—that the kid had a snowball the size of a football aimed at my face.”
Nadia cackled, wiping a tear from her eye. “Bet you deserved it.”
“Oh, absolutely. You can’t just tell a kid to ‘pizza’ faster,” Villanelle smirked, shaking her head. “That’s how they end up on YouTube.”
They were deep into another round of stories, wine glasses refilling every time someone took a sip, when Villanelle felt a strange prickling on the back of her neck. Someone was watching her. She paused, mid-laugh, and looked up—and her breath caught in her throat.
Across the room, barely visible in the dim, golden light of the bar, sat a woman. She had a mane of dark curls framing her face, and her gaze was fixed on Villanelle, a warm, honeyed kind of brown that made her heart skip. The woman was… well, breathtaking. No other way to say it. In a room full of cheerful, flushed faces, this one seemed almost otherworldly. The kind of face you’d paint, memorize, write poems about. And she was staring back at Villanelle, just as transfixed.
Nadia nudged her under the table. “V, you alright?”
Villanelle barely registered it, her gaze still locked with the woman’s. She felt a slow, magnetic pull, like she might get up and walk straight over there if she wasn’t careful. A faint, easy smile crept to her lips, instinctive, soft—just enough to say I see you too.
But then, as quickly as it had started, the woman looked away. Just like that, the spell was broken. Villanelle felt an odd pang of disappointment—already? She watched as the woman drained her wine, trying her best to look busy and unaffected. Her cheeks flushed as she fumbled to leave, trying to pull off an air of nonchalance that Villanelle could see right through.
Villanelle didn’t even notice that she was still staring as the woman got up and left. She could feel the urge to follow her bubbling up—just to see where she was going, maybe say hello, just… something. But she glanced back at Hugo and Nadia, who were blissfully unaware, engrossed in a fierce debate about which staff member had the worst ski form.
“Villanelle, please tell Hugo he’s insane,” Nadia said, snapping her fingers in front of her face. “We’re talking about Steve’s reverse wedge technique, for God’s sake. Are you even listening?”
Villanelle shook herself out of her reverie, tearing her gaze from the doorway the woman had disappeared through. “Sorry. Got… distracted.”
“Oh?” Hugo smirked. “By what? That bartender’s sideburns again?”
“Not exactly,” Villanelle muttered, glancing back at the now-empty booth. She shook her head, feeling her pulse begin to slow.
She gave a soft laugh, her thoughts still half-occupied by the woman’s brown eyes, the way her gaze had felt like a little jolt of static in the air. She felt a pull—yes, but something told her that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the last time they’d cross paths. They’re in the same Hotel After all.
Back in her room, Eve flicked on the bedside lamp, its soft glow casting warm shadows around the space. She moved around, setting out her ski clothes for the morning and setting her alarm, then tossing her phone on the nightstand with a little more gusto than necessary. There was something bubbling up in her, a faint thrill, like an ember she’d nearly forgotten about. She felt… excited. For tomorrow. For skiing.
She caught herself smiling, and shook her head, amused. It had been ages since she’d let herself really enjoy anything like this, really lean into it. Skiing had always been one of her true joys, but with work and the drag of everyday life in New York, she’d almost forgotten the rush of carving through fresh snow, the satisfaction of slicing down a slope.
Kicking off her slippers, she slid under the covers, propping herself up on the pillows, feeling oddly energized. It wasn’t just the skiing, though, if she was honest. There was a feeling, some spark leftover from the bar, an impression of… her. She’d never felt such an immediate, almost gravitational pull toward a complete stranger before. The way those hazel eyes had found hers across the room, like they’d been drawn together by some unspoken connection.
“Get a grip, Polastri,” she muttered to herself, chuckling as she turned off the lamp. “You don’t even know her name. Could’ve been the wine talking.”
Still, as she closed her eyes, the image of that honey-blonde hair, the soft curve of her smile, lingered in the corners of her mind. She let out a small, contented sigh, already anticipating the cold air, the thrill of the slopes, the bite of her skis against the mountain tomorrow.