When Petr brakes, I spray snow in every direction and struggle to climb out of the drift. Of course, he finds the whole thing ridiculous and bursts out laughing.
"You said you could ski." His grin is impossible to miss.
"I can ski! It's just… not my day." I adjust my glasses and try to defend myself. "That fall was a coincidence."
"A coincidence that's happened four times today?"
"Three," I correct quickly, then launch down the rest of the hill with all the dignity I can muster, refusing to look back.
I never claimed to be some kind of champion. When I was a kid, my parents took me skiing every winter. But that was when I was ten, and a lot of time has passed. So technically, I wasn't lying—I can ski. It just takes me a little longer to find my balance again.
Maybe I should ask Petr to teach me. He offered once before. But asking would mean admitting that I've forgotten. And I haven't forgotten… not really.
By the time we stumble back to the cottage, we're both soaked through.
"Wow, I'm freezing. Get those off quickly or you'll catch a cold. I'll hang them by the fire." I peel off my wet clothes, tossing them into a pile. Soon I'm darting around in just bra and panties, collecting the dripping mess and hopping about to stay warm. When Petr lights the fireplace, the glow fills the room and I start to feel alive again.
"If you don't want an accident," his voice comes from behind me, amused and low, "stop jumping around half-naked."
I freeze. It hits me in that instant—how this must look.
Petr is leaning against the doorframe, not in his usual elegant suit but still impossibly composed. His eyes are darker now, clouded with something deeper—desire. Even if I couldn't read it in his gaze, I could sense it in the air between us.
"I… I really didn't mean for this," I stammer, heat rushing to my face.
"But I don't mind." His voice deepens. "In fact, this is exactly what I wanted today—to make love to you. All day."
He steps closer. My breath hitches. I never thought I could have this kind of effect on a man. With most of my friends, I was always the reliable one, the listener, the safe shoulder. Never… this.
But here I am—heart racing, lungs tight, melting under his kiss. His hand slides to my hips, pulling me against him as he sways with me like we're dancing. His lips trail to my neck, and a sigh escapes me, helpless, full of fire.
And then—
The phone rings.
Petr ignores it at first, whispering against my ear: "Dare to let it ring."
But it doesn't stop.
"Honey, it's yours." My voice is unsteady.
"Damn it, who now?" He curses, finally pulling away to answer.
I collapse onto the couch, my pulse still pounding. From the next room, I hear him speaking sharply, the clipped tone of a man running a company even from afar. The call lasts no more than three minutes, but when he returns, his shoulders are heavy, his eyes evasive.
"What happened?" I ask softly.
"I have to leave," he admits. "A foreign partner broke the contract. It's a mess."
The words hit harder than I expect. Our vacation ends just as it began.
"Sara, I'm sorry. You don't have to come with me. Stay here, enjoy it."
"Enjoy it? Alone?" I shake my head. "No. I'll go home with you, then you can leave from there. I can't stay here by myself."
I should have known this was possible. He warned me—he always had to keep his phone on. He's the head of the company. Still, I didn't want to believe it.
The flight back is quiet, the silence thick with disappointment neither of us can quite put into words. By the time we land, the reality is sinking in.
"Don't you need help before you go? Iron something?" I ask at the airport, desperate to ease the weight.
"You'd be very kind," he says, tired but grateful.
At his apartment, I dive into the work immediately—ironing, folding, anything to give us a few more stolen moments. When his suitcase is packed, we stand at the door, suspended in a silence neither wants to break.
"You can stay here while I'm gone," Petr offers.
"No. Too much space for one person. I'd feel lonely." And haunted, I think. Everything here would remind me of him.
"As you wish. Four days at most, I hope. I'll call you every free moment."
Between the doorframes, we hover—wanting to say everything, saying nothing.
"I'll clean up and head home," I murmur.
"Take care of yourself, okay?" His arms wrap around me. He pretends not to notice my trembling.
"You too. And go—before I cry."
"I'm sorry." His eyes hold mine, heavy with regret. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
Then he kisses me once more, turns, and the door slams shut.
And just like that, the room is empty.