After an array of, ‘wait, I need to grab my luggage’, some infuriated Italian security guard at passport control, and a hurry to squeeze into the hire van, and get the right one, you were on your way to the Dolomites.

After an hour in the mini van, your crew pulled up outside of the darling, lush chalet, blanketed in snow that continued to fall through the undulating pine and fir trees, and warm lamps lighting the salted driveway.

Through the horde of luggage, some borrowed, some owned skis, and a few slips and almost falls on the iced over stone stoats, you all trudged up the slated stairs to the big doors that looked like something out of a Hallmark movie.

Once inside, a warm breath of air whooshed overhead, warming your flushed cheeks and cold fingertips. As you wandered around you were met with the sight of pretty, neatly made up rooms of cream, navy, maroon and Christmas decor. A large Christmas tree decorated stood strong by the fire, doused in lights a with four large couches around.

Quickly the kitchen became an area of takeaway pizza - this is Italy after all - before people halfheartedly went to claim bedrooms. Everyone landed with their own room, some lucky with an en-suite, like yourself.

Soon enough the evening hours whirled by in a haze of wine, and DIY Aperol Spritz, horrifically overpriced from duty free. Drunken cuddles by the fireplace resulted in crisps and uneaten pizza crust being thrown at the lovey, newly made couples.

After a late night and an early morning, you all awoke to sunny clear skies, and the slopes looking flawless and crisp. Once being dressed and fed briefly, you all headed out until around two pm, where you caught a late lunch.

Just as you sat down in the huge booth, an arm was slung around your shoulders, heavy, muscled nicely, and coupled with a cologne that had always made your eyes roll back. “Looking good out there, you know.”

You smiled, looking up at said complimenter - Oliver - dazzling pretty boy with lightly tanned skin, warm brown hat and startling grey eyes with lush lips you’d got in trouble with one too many times.

“Says you, ‘Mr I’m alright’.” You teased right back.

“You’re like a pro,” He murmured, shifting to let Mikey slide in next to him. “It’s really attractive, actually.”

With a giggle and a drinks order the poor waiter had no chance of delivering true, easy conversation enveloped the busy booth.

After the lunch that left many of them reluctant to get back on the slopes, they easily skied down, before most of them called it a day, minus Oliver, Andy and Elliot who insisted on a few more runs.

You arrived back at the house, pulling on a warm sweater over your under layers, and settling by the fire as talk of visiting the famous Christmas market took over the house.

The door opened and closed and the sound of stomping snow off boots and the rustles of coats being hung.

“Guess who?” Cold, minty breath tickled your neck, his smirk evident in his voice, making a flush arise in your cheeks as you subtly reclined into the touch. Oliver.