Beneath the Aspen Moon

Part 1: First Tracks

The shuttle hissed to a stop, and Avery Monroe stepped into the biting chill of Aspen’s winter air. Snowflakes dusted her blonde hair, catching in the strands like tiny stars. Her blue eyes, bright with anticipation, scanned the resort’s bustling plaza—ski racks, steaming coffee carts, and the distant hum of chairlifts climbing the mountains. She tugged her scarf tighter, her breath clouding in the crisp morning. Winter break had finally arrived, a glorious escape from the grind of college deadlines and her parents’ expectations back in Boston. With her two best friends, Lila and Sophie, giggling behind her, Avery felt the promise of adventure tingling in her veins.

“This is it, girls,” Avery said, her voice buoyant. “Powder, hot cocoa, and maybe a cute snowboarder to flirt with.” She winked, dodging Lila’s playful shove.

“Or you’ll just bury yourself in a snowbank trying to show off,” Sophie teased, adjusting her beanie. “Come on, let’s check in and sign up for lessons. I’m not breaking a leg on day one.”

Avery had insisted on advanced ski lessons. She wasn’t a novice—years of family trips to Vermont had given her solid skills—but Aspen’s slopes were legendary, and she wanted to tackle them with confidence. Plus, a little professional guidance couldn’t hurt, especially if the instructor was easy on the eyes. The thought made her smirk as they headed to the ski school desk.

Inside the lodge, the air smelled of pine and coffee. Avery scanned the schedule, her friends bickering over whether to try snowboarding instead. Then she saw him. Leaning against the counter, all broad shoulders and quiet authority, was a man who looked like he’d been carved from the mountain itself. Dark hair curled slightly under a knit cap, and his jaw was sharp enough to cut glass. His eyes, a stormy gray, flicked up from the clipboard he was studying, locking onto hers for a heartbeat. Avery’s pulse stuttered. He was older than she’d expected—maybe early thirties—but the rugged confidence in his posture screamed trouble in the best way.

“That’s Beau Thatcher,” the clerk said, noticing Avery’s stare. “Head instructor. You’re lucky—he’s teaching the advanced group today.”

“Lucky me,” Avery murmured, her cheeks warming as she signed her name. Lila elbowed her, whispering something about “hot ski guy,” but Avery barely heard. Beau was already moving, barking orders to a younger instructor with a clipboard. His voice was low, gravelly, like he didn’t waste words. She wondered what it would take to get him to say more.

An hour later, Avery stood at the top of a groomed run, skis waxed and heart pounding. The advanced group was small—just her, a cocky finance bro named Chad, and a quiet older couple. Beau, in his black instructor’s jacket and mirrored sunglasses, stood before them, his presence commanding the snowy slope. The mountains loomed behind him, dusted in fresh powder under a slate-blue sky.

“Listen up,” Beau said, his voice carrying over the wind. “This isn’t your backyard hill. Respect the mountain, respect your limits. We’ll start with a warm-up run, but I’m watching your form. Sloppy technique gets you hurt.” His gaze swept the group, lingering on Avery just long enough to make her stomach flip. She straightened, determined to prove herself.

The run was exhilarating—fast, steep, and demanding. Avery carved sharp turns, her skis hissing against the snow. She felt Beau’s eyes on her, assessing, and pushed harder, wanting to stand out. Chad, predictably, showboated, nearly clipping her on a turn. Beau’s sharp whistle cut through the air.

“Ease up, hotshot,” he called to Chad, his tone clipped. “You’re not impressing anyone.” Then, to Avery, softer: “Nice control. Keep your weight forward.” The praise, small as it was, lit her up.

At the bottom, Beau gathered them for feedback. Avery’s cheeks were flushed, her breath visible in quick puffs. She listened as he critiqued Chad’s reckless form, then turned to her. “You’ve got skill,” he said, his sunglasses now pushed up, revealing those storm-cloud eyes. “But you’re holding back. Trust your instincts up there.” His gaze held hers, intense, like he saw more than just her skiing. She swallowed, her throat dry.

“Thanks,” she managed, her voice steadier than she felt. “I’ll try.”

The lesson moved to a steeper run, and Avery’s confidence grew. She wanted to show Beau she could handle more than he thought. Near the end of the session, they reached a small jump—a natural rise in the terrain. Chad whooped and launched himself off it, landing messily but upright. Avery hesitated, then thought of Beau’s words: Trust your instincts. She pushed off, soaring briefly, the wind rushing past her. But her landing was off—she wobbled, arms flailing, and braced for a faceplant.

Strong arms caught her, steadying her against a solid chest. Beau. His grip was firm, his breath warm against her ear as he righted her. “Easy,” he murmured, his voice low enough to send a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. She looked up, her blue eyes meeting his, and the world seemed to narrow to just them—snow falling softly, his hands still on her waist, the heat of his touch burning through her jacket.

For a moment, neither moved. His lips parted, like he was about to say something, his gaze dropping to her mouth. Avery’s heart hammered. Then, footsteps crunched behind them, and another instructor’s voice broke the spell. “Beau, you got the group’s eval forms?”

Beau’s hands fell away, his expression shuttering. He stepped back, clearing his throat. “Yeah, coming,” he said, his voice rough. He glanced at Avery, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, then turned away, leaving her standing there, breathless and wanting more.

Part 2: Slopes and Secrets

Beau Thatcher leaned against the ski school’s gear rack, the morning’s chill seeping through his jacket. His mind wasn’t on the day’s schedule or the fresh powder blanketing Aspen’s slopes. It was on her—Avery Monroe. Those blue eyes, bright as the sky after a storm, had burned into him yesterday when he’d caught her on the slope. Her warmth against him, the way her breath hitched, had stirred something he’d buried years ago. He clenched his jaw, shoving the memory down. She was a student. A tourist. Trouble.

He’d spent the last decade in Aspen, carving out a life that was steady, controlled. Teaching rich kids and executives to ski paid the bills, and the mountain kept his secrets. But Avery, with her fearless grin and reckless jump, had cracked something open. He’d almost said something stupid yesterday—something personal—before Mike’s interruption saved him. Today, he’d keep it professional. No lingering looks. No catching her when she fell.

Across town, Avery sat in the rental chalet’s kitchen, nursing a coffee and ignoring Lila’s teasing about her “ski instructor crush.” Her friends were headed to the spa, but Avery craved quiet after yesterday’s electric encounter. Beau’s hands on her, his stormy eyes so close, had left her restless. She wasn’t here for a fling—she’d come to escape, to breathe. But the way he’d looked at her, like she was more than just another tourist, had her wondering what lay beneath his gruff exterior.

By evening, Avery found herself at the Silver Pine Lodge, a cozy après-ski spot tucked off Aspen’s main drag. Her friends had ditched her for a nightclub, so she curled up in a leather armchair by the fire, a dog-eared novel in hand. The lodge was warm, all wood beams and soft jazz, the windows framing a snow-dusted night. She was lost in her book when a shadow fell across the page.

“Didn’t peg you for a reader.” Beau’s voice, low and rough, sent a jolt through her. He stood there, jacket slung over one shoulder, his dark hair slightly damp from melting snow. His gray eyes flicked from her book to her face, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Avery’s heart skipped. “Didn’t peg you for a lodge guy,” she shot back, closing her book. “Thought you’d be out wrestling bears or something.”

His smirk widened, and he gestured to the empty chair across from her. “Mind if I join you? Or are you and…” He squinted at her book. “Jane Austen having a moment?”

She laughed, surprised by his playfulness. “Jane’s great, but she won’t mind. Sit.”

He did, leaning back with an ease that didn’t quite match the tension in his shoulders. Up close, without the sunglasses or the instructor’s authority, he looked less untouchable. Tired, maybe. Human. They ordered drinks—whiskey for him, mulled wine for her—and the conversation started light: her skiing form, his worst student stories. But as the fire crackled and the lodge emptied out, it turned deeper.

“I needed this trip,” Avery admitted, swirling her wine. “School’s been… suffocating. My parents want me to be this perfect lawyer, but I’m not sure that’s me.” She glanced at him, expecting a nod or a quick change of subject. Instead, he watched her, his gaze steady.

“Sounds like you’re running from their map of your life,” he said quietly. “Aspen’s good for that. Clears your head.”

She tilted her head. “Is that why you’re here? Year-round, I mean. Most instructors chase the season, don’t they?”

Beau’s fingers tightened around his glass, his expression clouding. “Yeah, well, I like the quiet. Winter’s loud, but summer’s just me and the mountain.” He paused, then added, softer, “Had my fill of chasing.”

There it was—a crack in his armor. Avery wanted to ask more, but the weight in his voice stopped her. Instead, she smiled. “Bet you’re secretly a poet up there, writing odes to the pines.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and unguarded. “You got me. Total poet. Want to hear my sonnet about snowpack?”

Their laughter mingled, easing the air. Their knees brushed under the table, and neither pulled away. His eyes lingered on her lips, and she felt the pull, like gravity. The lodge’s band struck up a slow, sultry tune, and couples drifted to the small dance floor. Avery raised an eyebrow. “You dance, Thatcher?”

“Not usually,” he said, but he stood, offering his hand. “First time for everything.”

Her pulse raced as she took it, his calloused fingers warm against hers. On the floor, he pulled her close, one hand at the small of her back. They moved slowly, her cheek grazing his jacket, his scent—pine and leather—filling her senses. Every touch was electric, every glance a spark. She felt his breath catch when her fingers brushed his neck.

“You’re trouble, Monroe,” he murmured, his voice rough, his lips close to her ear.

“Says the guy who’s got me spinning,” she whispered back, her heart pounding.

The song ended too soon. He walked her back to her chalet through the snowy streets, their steps slow, like neither wanted the night to end. At her door, under the porch light, he stopped. His eyes searched hers, dark with something unspoken. He leaned in, close enough that she felt his warmth, his breath. Her lips parted, waiting.

“Goodnight, Avery,” he said instead, his voice tight, and stepped back, leaving her breathless and aching in the cold.

Part 3: Powder & Passion

Avery’s skis sliced through the morning powder, her heart racing as she followed Beau’s lead down a black diamond run. The air was sharp, the sky a bruised gray promising snow. Last night’s dance at the Silver Pine Lodge lingered in her mind—his hands on her, the heat in his eyes, the way he’d stopped short of kissing her at her door. It left her hungry for more, and today’s lesson crackled with that unspoken tension. Beau was all business, his instructions clipped as he pushed the group harder, but his gaze kept finding her, dark and unreadable.

“Monroe, tighten your turns,” he called, his voice cutting through the wind. “You’re drifting.”

She smirked, leaning into the next carve with precision. “Better, Thatcher?” she shot back, catching his slight nod. The challenge in his tone lit her up—she pushed harder, matching his pace, determined to show him she could keep up. Chad, the finance bro, grumbled about the pace, but Avery barely noticed. It was just her, the mountain, and Beau’s stormy eyes tracking her every move.

The lesson wrapped early, and Beau dismissed the group at the lift. “Free ski the rest of the day,” he said. “Stay on marked trails. Storm’s coming.” His gaze lingered on Avery, a warning in it. She nodded, but the thrill of the slopes called her. She wanted one more run, something bold to burn off the restless energy Beau had sparked. Her friends were at the lodge, so she headed up alone, picking a steep trail she’d eyed earlier.

Halfway down, the sky darkened, and snow began to fall—thick, blinding. The wind howled, swallowing the trail markers. Avery slowed, her breath hitching as visibility dropped to nothing. She was alone, the silence eerie, her confidence crumbling. A wrong turn sent her off the main path, and panic crept in as she realized she was lost. Her phone had no signal, and the cold seeped through her gear. She crouched against a tree, trying to stay calm, when a shout pierced the storm.

“Avery!” Beau’s voice, raw with urgency, reached her. She stood, waving through the snow. His figure emerged, a dark shape against the whiteout. He skied to her, his face a mix of fury and relief. “What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, grabbing her shoulders. “You could’ve—” He stopped, his breath ragged, his eyes searching hers.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, shivering. “I thought I could handle it.”

He cursed under his breath, pulling her close for a moment, his warmth grounding her. “We need shelter. Now.” He scanned the area, then pointed to a faint light through the trees. “Warming hut. Come on.”

The hut was small, a wooden refuge with a woodstove and a bench. Beau kicked the door shut, the storm muffled outside. He lit the stove, the glow casting shadows on his tense jaw. Avery’s clothes were soaked, her teeth chattering. “Get out of that jacket,” he said, his voice gruff but gentle. He shrugged off his own, draping it over her shoulders. She hesitated, then peeled off her wet layers down to her thermal top, her skin prickling under his gaze.

They sat by the stove, the crackling fire filling the silence. Adrenaline still buzzed in her veins, and his nearness—his broad shoulders, the scent of pine and sweat—made her dizzy. “You scared the shit out of me,” he said finally, his voice low. “Finding you out there…”

“I didn’t mean to,” she said, meeting his eyes. “But you found me.” Her hand brushed his, and the air shifted, heavy with everything they’d danced around. He didn’t pull away.

“Avery,” he murmured, his voice rough, like he was fighting himself. Then he leaned in, and she met him halfway. Their lips crashed together, desperate, hungry. His hands cupped her face, then slid to her waist, pulling her closer. She gasped against his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss deepened, all heat and need, as they stumbled to the bench, her back against the wood.

Clothes fell away, urgency overtaking caution. His touch was fire, her skin alive under his hands. It wasn’t just lust—it was the storm, the fear, the pull they’d both fought. They moved together, breathless, lost in each other, the world outside forgotten. When they finally stilled, tangled in each other’s arms, the hut was warm, their breathing the only sound.

Avery traced his chest, her heart full. Then her fingers brushed something in his jacket pocket—a small, worn photo, half-tucked in a fold. She glimpsed a woman’s face, smiling, before Beau tensed, his hand closing over hers. His eyes darkened, pain flickering there, and she knew she’d stumbled onto something he wasn’t ready to share.

Part 4: Truth on Ice

Avery sat by the warming hut’s dying fire, the photo’s image burned into her mind—a woman, smiling, her face framed by snow-dusted hair. Beau had tucked it away quickly, his silence heavy as he dressed and stoked the stove. The storm outside had eased, but the air between them was colder. Their moment of passion, so raw and unguarded, now felt fragile, shadowed by whatever he was hiding. She wanted to ask, to understand, but his closed-off expression stopped her.

“We should head back,” Beau said, his voice low, avoiding her eyes. “Trail’s clear enough now.” He handed her jacket over, his fingers brushing hers briefly, but the warmth from earlier was gone.

The ski back to the resort was quiet, the snow crunching under their skis. Avery’s heart ached—last night’s dance, the hut’s fire, his touch—it had felt like more than a fling. But now, with Beau’s walls back up, she wasn’t sure. At the lodge, he muttered a goodbye and disappeared into the ski school office, leaving her standing in the cold, her breath clouding around her.

Back at the chalet, Avery tried to shake it off. Lila and Sophie were sprawled on the couch, scrolling through photos from their spa day. “You look like you got dumped,” Lila said, tossing a pillow at her. “What happened with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broody?”

Avery forced a smile, curling up with a mug of tea. “It’s complicated.” She didn’t want to spill everything—not yet. But the photo nagged at her, and Beau’s reaction even more. She needed answers, not guesses. “I saw something,” she said carefully. “A photo in his pocket. He shut down when I noticed it.”

Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like baggage. Be careful, Ave. Guys like that… they’re hot, but they can break you.”

Avery nodded, but her mind was already elsewhere. She couldn’t let it end like this—not without knowing. The next morning, she found Beau at the ski school, prepping gear. His gray eyes flicked up, guarded, as she approached. “Avery,” he said, his tone neutral. “You okay after yesterday?”

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice steady despite the knot in her chest. “But we need to talk. About the photo. About… whatever you’re not telling me.”

His jaw tightened, and he set down the ski pole he was holding. “There’s nothing to say.” But his voice cracked, betraying him. She stepped closer, her blue eyes searching his.

“Beau, I felt something yesterday. In the hut. Before the photo. Don’t tell me it was nothing.” Her voice softened. “Who was she?”

He looked away, his hands clenching. For a moment, she thought he’d walk away. Then he exhaled, his shoulders sagging. “Her name was Claire,” he said, barely audible. “My fiancée. She died on this mountain five years ago. Avalanche.” The words were raw, like they’d been ripped out. “I was leading the group. I couldn’t save her.”

Avery’s heart broke open. She reached for his hand, but he pulled back, his eyes haunted. “I don’t talk about it. I don’t… I can’t do this again, Avery. You’re young, you’re free. You deserve someone who’s not carrying this.”

“You’re not broken,” she said fiercely, her voice trembling. “You’re hurting, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get to live. I see you, Beau—the way you push me on the slopes, the way you laughed at the lodge. That’s real.”

He shook his head, stepping back. “You don’t know what you’re asking.” He turned, his boots crunching in the snow as he walked away, leaving her standing there, her chest tight with unshed tears.

Avery spent the day in a daze, her friends dragging her to town for lunch and shopping. She smiled through it, but her mind was on Beau—his pain, his guilt. She wanted to shake him, to make him see he wasn’t alone anymore. That evening, Lila burst into the chalet, waving her phone. “You’re not gonna believe this,” she said. “There’s a charity ski race tomorrow, and your boy Beau’s running it. It’s for avalanche safety or something. Big deal around here.”

Avery’s pulse quickened. “He didn’t mention it.” But it made sense—Claire, the mountain, his guarded heart. She knew where she’d be tomorrow.

The race morning was crisp, the slopes buzzing with skiers and spectators. Avery stood in the crowd, her scarf pulled tight, her eyes scanning for Beau. He was near the start line, clipboard in hand, directing volunteers. He looked tired but focused, his dark hair peeking from under a knit cap. She wondered if he’d slept, if he’d thought of her at all.

The race began, skiers flying down the course, but Avery’s gaze stayed on Beau. As the first racers crossed the finish, he glanced into the crowd, and their eyes met across the snow. His expression shifted—surprise, then something deeper, like he hadn’t expected her to be there. Her heart pounded, unsure if he’d walk away again or if this was her chance to reach him.

Part 5: Beneath the Aspen Moon

The charity race’s finish line buzzed with cheers, skiers gliding to a stop, and volunteers handing out water. Avery stood in the crowd, her breath catching as Beau’s gaze held hers across the snowy expanse. His gray eyes, usually so guarded, softened with something raw—regret, maybe, or longing. She’d come to the race on instinct, needing to see him, to know if what they’d shared in the warming hut was real. Now, with the mountain looming behind him and the cold biting her cheeks, she waited, her heart a tight knot.

Beau handed his clipboard to a volunteer, his movements deliberate, and started toward her. The crowd seemed to fade, the noise dimming as he closed the distance. He stopped a foot away, his breath visible in the crisp air. “You’re here,” he said, his voice low, rough with emotion. “Didn’t think you’d come after yesterday.”

“I had to,” Avery said, her blue eyes steady. “I needed to see you. To know you’re not running from this. From us.”

He flinched, his jaw tightening. “Avery, I told you—I’m not what you need. My past, Claire… it’s a weight you shouldn’t carry.” He looked away, toward the mountain, his voice dropping. “I’ve spent five years punishing myself, keeping everyone at arm’s length. Then you show up, with your damn smile and your fearlessness, and I’m terrified. Because you make me want things I don’t deserve.”

Her chest ached at his words, but she stepped closer, refusing to let him retreat. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve, Beau. I didn’t come to Aspen looking for love. I came for a break, for freedom. But I found you, and I’m not ready to let that go.” She reached for his hand, her fingers brushing his. “You’re not your past. You’re the man who saved me in a blizzard, who danced with me in a lodge, who makes me feel alive.”

He looked down at their hands, his expression warring between hope and fear. “You don’t know how hard it is to let you in,” he murmured. “But I don’t want to keep pushing you away.”

“Then don’t,” she whispered, her voice fierce. “Let me in.”

He exhaled, a shaky breath, and pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her. The crowd, the race, the cold—it all melted away as he tilted her chin up and kissed her. This wasn’t the desperate heat of the warming hut; it was slow, deliberate, a promise sealed in the snow. Her hands slid to his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her palms, steady and real.

When they parted, his forehead rested against hers, his breath warm on her lips. “I’m a mess, Avery,” he said softly. “But I want this. I want you.”

She smiled, her heart soaring. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

That night, they sat by the fire in her chalet’s living room, the glow casting shadows on the walls. Lila and Sophie had tactfully vanished to a bar, leaving them alone. Avery curled against Beau on the couch, a blanket draped over them, his arm around her shoulders. Outside, the moon hung low, silver light spilling over Aspen’s snow-covered peaks. They talked—about her life in Boston, his summers on the mountain, the logistics of distance. Long-distance wouldn’t be easy, with her college and his life rooted here, but they spoke of visits, holidays, maybe her coming back next winter.

“It won’t be simple,” she said, tracing patterns on his hand. “But I want to try.”

He nodded, his gray eyes warm in the firelight. “Me too. For the first time in years, I’m looking forward to what’s next.” He leaned in, kissing her softly, his lips lingering. “You’ve got me, Monroe. All in.”

She laughed, the sound light, and nestled closer, her head on his chest. The fire crackled, the moonlight streamed through the window, and the future felt possible, bright as the stars above. “The season might be ending,” he murmured against her skin, “but I think this… this is just beginning.”

Avery tilted her head, catching his gaze with a spark of mischief in her eyes. She glanced toward the bedroom door, then back at him with a wry smile. “Shall we?”

Beau’s answering grin was slow and heated, and he didn’t need to be asked twice.