He was visiting Seattle but I'd persuaded him make the trip to the ski resort of Whistler, a couple of hours from the Canadian border for the weekend.
I'd booked my favourite condo, the one with the outdoor tub, that sits at the bottom of Blackcomb mountain just next to the village. I came here regularly to write.
He had the code for the door so if we arrived at different times he could still get in.
It was late March and snow was still thick on the ground. I got there first so left my bag and went into Whistler to get some supplies. The condo had a small kitchen so we weren't reliant on eating out, a good move in a place where everything is bussed in.
When I got back he had just arrived. He was cold, grumpy and I suspected a bit nervous. It had been some time since we had seen one another in the flesh and after the last time, I had made sure he was absolutely clear of my expectations. I wanted to shag him senseless.
"Need a drink?"
He nodded. I fixed him an Irish coffee. Hot, not too sweet and alcoholic enough to take the edge off.
I took it to him on the balcony, he was looking at the mountains and the snow. It really is a beautiful place.
"I didn't think it'd still be so snowy."
"Canada? Mountains? Hello!"
As he drank the coffee he swung an arm over my shoulder and hugged me.
"Inside?" I asked.