A Perfect Match
Just how far will stay-at-home Sophie go to impress gorgeous, sporty Tom? And will she live to tell the tale?
Sophie? Can you get time off work?” “Yes, I’ve loads of holiday to use up.” “Great.” He reached across the table and took hold of my hand. “Our first ski holiday together. I can’t wait, can you?” “Skiing?”
He nodded, his face alight at the thought of whizzing down icy mountains and balancing precariously on chair lifts.
“I know just the right hotel, too. It’s right next to the green runs and the red and blacks aren’t far away either. It’s perfect for us.”
“Sounds it,” I said with a fixed smile, adding, “You realise I actually haven’t skied for a while?”
“Don’t worry. It’s like riding a bike, you never forget.”
Well, I can ride a bike so that was a good start. It couldn’t be that hard to throw yourself down a mountain.
books I’d had the foresight to bring with me. Every evening I gazed at Tom over dinner watching his winter tan grow ever deeper, wishing I could have been on the slopes with him, wishing I could have shared in his obvious love of skiing.
Finally our last evening at the hotel arrived. The small dining room was bathed in cosy candlelight and heat from the fire burning in the corner. All around the air buzzed with ski-type chatter – the state of the snow, the best run – the jumps – the speed – the bombing!
“It’s like another language,” I whispered to Tom over dinner.
He grinned, his teeth looking whiter than ever against his tanned skin.
There was a lovely glow about the room tonight, a feeling of relaxation that the week was over and the skiing done. Or maybe it was just me, relieved it was all over at last.
“It must sound like that, but it’s not really. It’s just a bunch of people who like to ski.” He reached across to refill my glass. “I’m sorry you had to spend most of the week on your own.”
“That’s hardly your fault,” I said. “I should have told you from the very beginning that I can’t ski.”
He gave a small shrug. “Well, it’s as much my fault as yours. I read your profile, Sophie, I knew you weren’t the sporty type but you were so gorgeous I really wanted to meet you anyway.” “You did?”
He nodded. “Although of course we are completely incompatible.”
“Oh, completely. Yin and yang.” “I thought I might be able to convert you to skiing, but I can see now that’s never going to happen.”
“No – I don’t think it is.”
“Maybe you can convert me to reading good books.”
“Maybe.” I smiled. “But I doubt it.” “We could arrange to have our next date at the library if you like.”
“How about we just grab a takeaway and watch back-to-back TV?”
“It’s worth a go. Anyway, I’m sure we can find something we both enjoy doing together.” He grinned at me, raising his glass. “Let’s have a toast.”
“To yin and yang?” I suggested.
“After all, that’s what we seem to be!”
“OK – to you, my lovely Sophie, the perfect yin to my yang.”
“To us,” I said softly, clinking my glass against his.
BY LYNDA FRANKLIN www.myweekly.co.uk