Chapter 8

8

JACE

J ace leaned forward, his elbows resting on the mahogany desk that seemed as weathered as the mountains surrounding Christmas Valley. The bank manager's office was a small, cloistered space where the scent of aged paper and leather mingled in the air, wrapping around him like the feel of an old library—comforting, yet still a bit formal. His gaze, sharp and green as the pines outside, held onto the man sitting across from him, searching for some glimmer of hope in the other man’s weary eyes.

"Mr. Winterborne," the bank manager began, his voice carrying the weight of unwelcome news, "I'm afraid the financials for Northwind Lodge are quite clear." He tapped a finger on the stack of papers that detailed years of losses, a rhythm of defeat that seemed to echo off the walls. "It's been bleeding money for quite some time now. I know there was an offer from a developer, but your uncle turned them down because he felt accepting it would have negative consequences for the town."

Jace's heart sank, a heavy stone thrown into the depths of his chest. He had suspected as much, but hearing it laid out with such finality was another matter. The lodge, his refuge and newfound purpose, was gasping for air, struggling under the burden of neglect and dwindling tourism. But he wasn't one to be easily discouraged. The lodge wasn't just a building; it was part of him now, its wooden beams and stone hearth infused with the same rugged charm that defined him.

He leaned back in the creaking leather chair, feeling the texture beneath his fingers—a mix of smooth and cracked—much like his own journey. There was something almost sensual in the way the chair conformed to his frame, the way the room seemed to close in around him, pressing him for a decision, a plan of action.

"Thank you for being straight with me," Jace said, his voice steady despite the turmoil brewing inside him. The manager nodded, a silent acknowledgment between men who understood the harsh realities of business. Yet, Jace’s words carried an undertone of resilience, a refusal to be broken by numbers on a page. The warmth in his tone, usually reserved for lighter, more flirtatious conversations, was tinged with a steely determination now.

"Tourism has dropped steeply. Many businesses are being forced to shut down. We’ve always been a seasonal town that depended on people coming to visit, but they’re just not returning year after year like they did in the past. Huge, modern resorts are taking the place of charming little villages with rustic accommodations. Young people want to go where there’s a nightlife, which we just can’t offer them," the manager said, a hint of regret lining his words. "Without substantial collateral and/or a personal guarantee, I don't see how we could approve the lodge’s loan application."

Jace nodded, digesting the news that punched the air from his lungs. His hand instinctively found the arm of the chair, a lifeline anchoring him to the spot as he mulled over the heavy risk of putting up most of his own savings as well as a personal guarantee.

"Most of what you've transferred here would need to be on the line," the manager continued, with a cautionary tone. "With a personal guarantee for the remainder. And even with that, I can’t guarantee approval or even favorable terms."

It was a gamble, staking nearly everything he had on the lodge—a lodge that breathed with the history of his family, every timber and stone a testament to their legacy. He could almost hear the echo of his ancestors' whispers, urging him to rise, to fight for the lifeblood of not only the lodge but Christmas Valley.

"Thank you," Jace murmured, his voice husky with unspoken emotion. "I'll have to think about it." He offered a tight-lipped smile, one of gratitude mixed with a silent pledge to tackle the challenge head-on.

As Jace stood up, the manager stood as well, extending his hand, which Jace grasped firmly—their handshake a testament to the promise he made to himself. The lodge wouldn't fail. Not on his watch. It was more than a challenge; it was a legacy he had to uphold.

With a polite nod, Jace turned on his heel and exited the bank, the door closing behind him with a soft click that signaled the end of one chapter and the tentative beginning of another. His boots thudded against the worn sidewalk as he made his way out into the crisp morning air, his mind already racing with plans and possibilities.

He realized he’d already made his decision. The Northwind Lodge would thrive again; he would see to it. And though the path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, Jace was no stranger to forging trails through uncharted territory.

Jace's reflection in the frosted glass of the bank was a stern guardian, watching over the hard truths that had been laid before him. The air was cold, an antithesis to Jace's own warmth, yet it did nothing to quell the fire of resolve burning in his chest.

As he walked back to his Range Rover, the windchill in the surrounding air bit at his cheeks, a stark contrast to the heated determination boiling within. Though the threatened shadow of defeat attempted to cloud his vision, Jace shook it off like snow from a pine bough. He had come here seeking an adventure, a new chapter scrawled in bold strokes across a fresh page. The Northwind Lodge wasn't just a building; it was the embodiment of his dreams and the keeper of memories yet to be made.

He headed toward his vehicle, each step carrying him away from the solemnity of the bank, and Jace felt the weight of his responsibility intertwine with the thrill of possibility. He wouldn't, couldn't, let this place fall into oblivion.

"Ancestors, bear witness," he whispered to the wind that danced around him, playful and encouraging. "I will not let you down, nor will I falter, myself."

As he drove home—and he realized that was what the lodge had become, home—he looked up at the towering silhouette of the lodge perched against the skyline, a testament to resilience in the face of adversity. And with that view etched into his mind's eye, Jace walked inside, fueled by a promise to breathe life once more into the heart of Christmas Valley.

Jace's boots echoed on the worn hardwood floors of the Northwind Lodge as he made his way through the empty halls, but the sound seemed distant, muffled by the thoughts swirling in his head. The numbers and figures that had leapt off the bank manager's spreadsheets were now overshadowed by a pair of bright eyes and the sweet scent of fresh pastries. Felicity Hart, with her tousled hair and endearing mix of poise and clumsiness, filled his mind.

It was perplexing how someone he had just met could have such an immediate effect on him, how she could make him momentarily forget the financial abyss that threatened to swallow his dreams whole. He almost laughed at the irony—a man who had faced down arrogant chefs and restaurant critics without flinching was now undone by a woman whose most dangerous weapon was likely a spatula—chefs had knives; bakers had tools.

His feet carried him to the elevator, the old metal gates creaking as they parted ways. Jace pushed the button for the third floor—a part of the lodge he had not yet explored. The elevator hummed its way upwards, a slow ascent to what he hoped might be inspiration or respite from the ghosts of uncertainty haunting him.

When the doors opened, he stepped into a space untouched by time. Dust particles danced in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and there it was—an owner's apartment, a hidden sanctuary nestled in the rafters of the lodge. It boasted a private balcony that offered a panoramic view of the surrounding white-capped mountains, their stoic presence both daunting and comforting.

The bedroom's promise of rest was accentuated by an ensuite bath that hinted at luxurious soaks, while the sitting room whispered of quiet evenings with a glass of whiskey in hand, watching the fire crackle. The kitchen, although in desperate need of expansion, sparked visions of culinary adventures—perhaps shared with a certain bakery owner whose laughter was as warm as her oven-fresh delights.

As Jace wandered through the rooms, the weight of his worries seemed to lift. Here was potential; here was escape. This could be his private retreat, a place to recharge and dream up strategies beneath a canopy of stars. And perhaps, just maybe, it could also be a place to write new stories, ones that didn't revolve around ledgers and loans.

The realization brought a smile to his lips. He needed this—this sense of peace, this touch of domesticity amidst the chaos of reviving the lodge. It was the kind of balance he'd been seeking without even knowing it. And with Felicity's image still lingering in his mind, he couldn't help but wonder if she too might find solace within these walls, surrounded by books and the quiet magic of Christmas Valley.

Jace looked out from the balcony, feeling the cool breeze against his skin. It was as though the mountain air itself was whispering possibilities into his ear, and for the first time since he'd walked away from the bank, hope fluttered in his chest like a delicate bird preparing to take flight.

"Northwind," he murmured, "you've got more secrets than I thought." And with a renewed sense of purpose, Jace began to envision not just the future of the lodge, but the contours of a life that might include more than just business victories—a life rich with the warmth of companionship and the sweet surprise of unexpected romance.

Jace's boots echoed on the polished wood of the Northwind Lodge's grand staircase as he descended, the scent of pine from the Christmas wreaths sweet and sharp in his nostrils. Despite the festive cheer they lent to the lobby, he’d wondered about letting the local florist deliver and install them. His mind was a tumult of numbers and disheartening figures, but their cheery presence did help. He let out a tired sigh, one that seemed to fog the air with the weight of responsibility.

He moved behind the reception desk, the surface cluttered with stacks of papers and old reservation books. His fingers brushed against envelopes and faded receipts, a tactile reminder of the lodge's storied past. And then, amidst the chaos of financial despair, his hand landed on something unexpected—an envelope, heavier than the rest, with a wax seal.

Breaking the seal, Jace unfolded the creamy paper, skimming the contents. A major resort developer, their logo emblazoned at the top like a harbinger of change, was offering to buy the Northwind Lodge. The offer was generous, lavish even, but it reeked of corporate indifference, a threat to the rustic charm and community spirit that the place embodied. It was just the kind of place the bank manager had hinted at.

"Can't turn you into just another soulless ski resort," Jace murmured to the empty room, tucking the letter back into its envelope. He knew his ancestors would haunt him if he dared betray the legacy they left in his hands.

"Talking to yourself now?" The mayor of Christmas Valley, Evelyn Moorehouse's voice, rich and warm, cut through the stillness of the lodge. Jace turned to find her standing in the doorway, her presence commanding yet comforting all at once.

"Old habits," Jace replied with a half-smile, leaning back against the desk. "But I guess I'm not alone in that."

"Indeed," Evelyn said, stepping closer, her eyes taking in the old-fashioned decorations and well-worn furniture with a fondness that matched his own. "This place is more than walls and fireplaces, Jace. It's the heart of our town."

Jace had found a note from the mayor on the reception desk when he arrived. It wasn’t some formal note from a politician to a new business owner, but rather a personal note of welcome. Her gaze locked with his, and in them, he saw the reflection of his deep-seated resolve. She was right; the Northwind Lodge was the lifeblood of Christmas Valley.

"Your uncle believed that, too," she continued, her tone gentle yet insistent. "He poured everything into keeping it alive. You have his spirit, Jace, and his blood. Don't forget that."

"Believe me, Evelyn, I haven't." He pushed off from the desk, feeling the weight of her expectations—and those of an entire town—settle onto his shoulders. "I'll do what I can to keep this place going."

"Good," she nodded, her smile both encouraging and knowing. "Because we need you. This town needs you."

As Evelyn turned to leave, her words echoed in the cavernous space, mingling with the pine scent and the crisp mountain air. Jace felt the burden of his duty, but also a glimmer of something else—a challenge that ignited his adventurous spirit.

"All right, Northwind," he whispered, his voice steady and resolute, "let's see what we can do."

Jace watched Evelyn's face crumple, the lines of her grief as stark as the bare branches outside the frosted windows. "Pete and I," she began, her voice hitching, "we saw what was happening to villages like ours, swallowed by cold corporate giants with no care for the community, for its soul."

"Is that why he never sold?" Jace prodded gently, his own heart clenching at the pain in her watery eyes.

Evelyn nodded, a tear escaping down her cheek. "After my Harold passed, Pete... he became more than a friend. We both dreamed of preserving this valley, its charm, its warmth." She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, her gaze distant. "Selling to developers would've been the end of Christmas Valley as we know it."

Understanding washed over Jace, along with an unexpected surge of kinship. He reached out, covering her hand with his own. "I get it now."

Evelyn squeezed his hand, her smile wistful. "Pete knew he was getting older and wasn’t sure he had what it would take to bring the lodge back. He didn’t want to sell it to just anyone. He hoped you’d be up for the challenge and would have the fire and drive to take the reins and restore it to its former glory."

Jace smiled. “I just hope his faith in me wasn’t misplaced.”