The Hawthorne jet cut through the clouds, white peaks sprawling beneath you like a snow-dusted kingdom. You were curled up in the leather seat beside Grayson, your hand in his while he pretended not to notice you staring out the window in awe.

“It’s just snow, love,” he teased, voice low so his brothers wouldn’t overhear.

“Not just snow,” you countered. “It’s … different. It looks spectacular.”

Across the aisle, Jameson smirked. “Careful, Gray, she’s gonna fall for the mountain instead of you.”

Grayson didn’t even look up from the book in his lap. “The mountain can’t keep her warm,” he said smoothly, squeezing your hand. ———————————— When you arrived at the chalet—an absurdly gorgeous place with glass walls overlooking the slopes—you were ushered inside by Avery, who already had mugs of hot chocolate lined up. Skis and snowboards leaned by the door, and Xander was busy explaining why his “innovative” sled design would win the unofficial Hawthorne downhill race. ———————————— The first morning on the slopes, Grayson stuck close to you, patient as you found your balance. His gloved hands steadied your hips, his breath warm against your ear when he murmured, “Bend your knees a little more. You’re doing perfectly.”

Perfectly lasted about five seconds before you tipped sideways into the snow. He laughed, crouching beside you. “I’d offer to help you up, but I’m rather enjoying this view.”