But he didn’t kiss me.
“Should we go back?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder the way we’d come. “It’s going to get dark soon. I don’t want to lose our way.”
“Sure. Yes. Let’s go back.” Flustered, I tried to pivot in place, but one of my snowshoes somehow caught the edge of the other, and my left ankle wrenched painfully. Crying out, I tipped over sideways in the snow.
“Fuck! Are you okay?” Gianni tossed his poles aside and reached for me.
“I’m fine,” I said, although my ankle was throbbing. “I just twisted my ankle.”
“Can you stand up?” He took me by both arms and lifted me to my feet. “Does it hurt?”
“It’s not too bad.” Gingerly, I put some weight on that foot. It was bad, but not excruciating. “I think I’m okay.”
Gianni looked up the trail toward the motel. “It’s a ways back. Do you want me to go see if I can get a snowmobile or something?”
“No!” The prospect of being left alone out here as it got dark was terrifying. “Don’t leave me.”
“Okay,” he said, his voice soft and reassuring. “I won’t. Here, give me that other pole, and lean on me.”
I handed him my left pole and looped my arm through his, grateful for the support. We took a few tentative steps.
“How’s that?” he asked. “Do you need to go slower? Put more weight on me?”
“No, I’m good.” The ankle still hurt, but something about leaning against his solid body and knowing he wouldn’t let me fall was taking some of the pain away. “Just don’t let go.”
“I won’t. And when we get back, I’ll find you some ice.”
“Thanks. Sorry I ruined our walk.”
“You didn’t ruin it. You made it more memorable. We’ll never forget it.”
I half-groaned, half-laughed. “No, we won’t.”
Slowly and carefully, we made our way back to the motel. It was dark by the time we reached our door, where Gianni helped me out of my snowshoes, then insisted on carrying me inside, taking off my boots and lowering me onto the bed. Then he pulled off my snow pants and hung up my coat.
“Gianni, I’m okay. This isn’t necessary.” But my heart rapped with pleasure at his sweet attention.
“Let me see that ankle.”
Sighing, I tugged off my sock and hitched up my pant leg, glad I’d shaved my legs yesterday. I also made a mental note to thank my mother for encouraging me to get nice pedicures even in the winter. “See? It’s barely swollen. And I can move it.” I pointed and flexed my foot gently, but I winced. “A little.”
“Stay there. I’m going to find some ice.”
“Okay, thank you. Hey, I have some ibuprofen in my purse, could you grab it for me?”
“Definitely.” He brought me my purse and a glass of water before heading out the door.
I watched him leave, wishing my pulse wasn’t galloping quite so fast. Hopefully, he hadn’t noticed how badly I wanted him to put his mouth on mine out there in the woods.
It was better that he hadn’t.
Ten minutes later, Gianni returned with a plastic bag of ice. “Rose is the best,” he said, stomping the snow off his boots. “She even gave me an ACE bandage to wrap it.”
“Aw, that’s so nice.”
“But first, let’s get some ice on it.” Gianni grabbed a kitchen towel, wrapped the bag of ice in it, and placed it on the bed. Then he carefully lifted my leg below the calf and placed my ankle on the ice.
“I can still move my leg,” I said, laughing. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Fuck off and let me take care of you.”
“Okay, but your bedside manner could use some work.”
He sat on the bed, where he examined my ankle from all sides. “Doesn’t look too bad.”
“It isn’t. Honestly, it’s fine.”
He touched the top of my foot. “You have very small feet.”
“Don’t make fun.”
“I’m not, I’m just stating a fact. And your toes are cute.”
“Thank you.” I noticed the way his eyes were moving from my foot to my calf and up my leg and felt warm. “How about some wine?”
He jumped up. “Sure. I’ll pour you a glass and then start dinner. I’m getting hungry.”
As soon as the door shut behind him, I took a couple big, deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.