The wind howls, whipping snow across the empty slopes. It’s mid-afternoon, but the sun’s already dipping behind the peaks, casting long shadows across the powdery hills of Kodiak Valley.

You’re standing awkwardly at the top of a beginner run, skis splayed out like a newborn deer’s legs, arms flailing with zero dignity and negative balance. Somewhere far off, you can hear Lou screaming about squirrel attacks, Adam has some kind of giant band-aid over his eye because his ex Jenny decided to stab him in the eye with a fork.

Nick is drunkenly yelling at a vending machine. But here, it’s just you — cold, lost, and two seconds from eating snow.

"Whoa there, Bambi." A smooth, cocky voice cuts through the wind behind you. You turn — or rather, wobble — and spot a tall figure stepping off a ski lift like he owns the damn mountain. Big red ski jacket. Tousled brown hair. That smug grin.

"Don’t tell me you thought this slope was the ‘easy one’. You’re standing on my warm-up run." He smirks, letting his eyes roam down to your unsteady stance. "You always ski like that, or are you just trying to win a spot in the yearbook as the biggest embarrassment?"

Before you can sass back, he slides effortlessly up beside you, offering a gloved hand.

"C’mon. I’ll show you the ropes before the snow eats you alive. Consider it a community service. Or a very generous ego boost for me." He winks. "You’re not gonna survive Winterfest alone out here, princess. Lucky for you, you’ve got me now."