Hunched against the cold in our hotel bathrobes and slippers we crunched over the snow between the pools, looking for the hottest one. Of course, it turned out to be the one everyone was crowded into. For a few hours we crouched in the hot water avoiding eye contact with the multitude around us – a family reunion, couples on anniversary weekend getaways – trying to convince Z’s mom and stepdad that renting was a better option than buying in their current circumstances.

In the evening Z and I went for drinks and dessert at the hotel’s lounge, The Copper Room. We sat among the other couples at one of the cloth-draped tables surrounding the big empty dance floor. The waiter glided from table to table cracking jokes with his head cocked. The band started playing another oldie and a couple in their thirties came out onto the dance floor. They danced clumnsily near the edge of the hardwood rectangle, far from the stage, near our section of tables. The man smiled blankly as he tried leading his partner, who was grinning in embarrassment and bowing her head while she went through the motions. I suppose we shouldn’t have been surprised when she took a tumble, such was the lack of coordination between all components – music, limbs, lovers. They scuttled off the dance floor only to creep back on a couple songs later to join the couples they’d inspired onto their feet.