Jess

We're on the ski lift heading up for one last run. The afternoon sun is already dipping behind the peaks, and the chili cheese dog I had for lunch is making its presence known in the worst way. There's this heavy, churning pressure building low in my belly, and every bump of the lift makes it worse.

Liam— that's you—is sitting next to me, looking effortlessly handsome in his ski gear, completely unaware that I'm quietly panicking up here. My stomach gurgles loudly. I press my thighs together and try to smile like nothing's wrong.

"So," I say, my voice a little tight, "how many more runs were you thinking?"