The mountain air hit like a splash of cold water the moment I stepped out of the car. Crisp, sharp, and laced with the faint scent of pine, it was a far cry from the smell of asphalt and burnt rubber I was used to. Overhead, the peaks towered against the pale blue sky, their white ridges glowing in the late afternoon sun. It was beautiful—serene, even—but all I could focus on was the woman beside me.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” she said, her voice tinged with excitement as she zipped up her jacket.

I wasn’t sure if she meant the view or the fact that I’d agreed to this trip. Either way, she was right. Her cheeks were already flushed from the cold, her hair tucked under a knit beanie, and she looked so damn happy it made my chest ache.

“You’re the one who’s breathtaking,” I said, grinning when she rolled her eyes.

“Cheesy,” she shot back, though the hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

Cheesy or not, it was the truth. Watching her here—out of the city, away from the noise—was enough to make me forget the endless demands waiting for me back home. No pit crews, no sponsors, no countdowns to the next race. Just her, me, and a mountain big enough to swallow all my usual worries.

“I’m warning you now,” I said, grabbing our bags from the trunk, “if you’re expecting me to pull off some Olympic-level moves on the slopes, you’re in for a disappointment.”

She laughed, the sound warm against the chill in the air. “Relax, champ. It’s not a competition. Just try not to crash and embarrass yourself.”

I smirked, shutting the trunk with a satisfying thud. “No promises.”

As we made our way toward the lodge, I caught her slipping her hand into mine, her fingers cold but steady. The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the snow, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I let myself believe this weekend might actually be exactly what I needed.