Chapter 6

“ A l’s got the hots for the Christmas tree lady.”

The statement cuts through the deafening whirr of the rotor blades, ringing out loud and clear in my headset. My head flicks to Hendricks, and I shoot him my best daggered glare, which only makes him laugh.

Sometimes it’s hard to tell who’s the bigger shit stirrer. Him or Miles. At least with Miles you expect it. Hendricks is like a silent assassin, striking when you’re weak.

Little shit.

“I have not.”

“Yeah, then why are we decorating gingerbread houses? And why did you spend five hundred dollars on muffins.”

“It wasn’t five hundred dollars. And it wasn’t muffins.”

It wasn’t . Not quite, it was four hundred. And if you take into account that everything in Aspen is ten times more expensive than anywhere else, it reduces the overall cost to approximately twenty-five dollars. Which is a perfectly reasonable amount to spend on bread, cinnamon rolls, and gingerbread. Not a bloody muffin in sight.

I’d spend ten times that if I got to see her blush again because that shade of pink on her cheeks did something to me. Yeah. Five thousand dollars on cinnamon buns would be a bargain.

“Who’ve you got the hots for?” shouts Lando, which is the first full sentence he’s uttered all morning.

“No one,” I reply at the same time Hendricks, the rat, repeats, “The Christmas tree lady.”

“Haven?” asks Miles.

“Yup.”

“Yeah, we already know. It was totally obvious yesterday. I was expecting to come down and see her at breakfast with us.” Miles’s brows waggle.

I roll my eyes. It’s pointless denying it, because yeah, she’s super hot. I turn my attention back to the view outside; we’re soaring over Aspen Mountain, everything below is the perfect blanket of pristine white snow. In the distance, the gondolas are transporting today’s skiers to the top for them to zoom back down to the bottom, and repeat.

Being outside, breathing in the clean, fresh, freezing air, it’s about as far away from London as you can get. Which reminds me why we’re here. To distract Lando from what’s going on back home, to take his mind off what we’ll be returning to, and to give him a break. It’s time for the four of us to be together as brothers because we haven’t done it since Lando met Caroline.

It’s not so I can shag the first girl I meet.

Plus, if anyone’s going to behave like that, it’s Miles.

Pulling my phone out to snap a picture of the ground whizzing past us, a message pops up. I groan as I realize it’s not just one, but an entire thread.

Burlington Fam Chat

Miles the Great: Hey, Clem. Al’s got the hots for a girl.

Clemmie: What? Who?

Miles the Great: Guess.

Clemmie: Milo, how am I supposed to guess?

Henners: *eye roll emoji*

Henners: It’s the local Christmas tree seller.

Clemmie: Christmas tree? Al, are you feeling okay?

Miles the Great: He’s actually looking a little flushed right now. He’s been blushing A LOT since we got here *blushing face emoji*

Alex: I’m sitting across from you, dickhead. You’re going to be flushed in a minute when I throttle you.

Miles the Great: Spoken like someone harboring a true crush.

Clemmie: Never thought I’d see the day Alex fancied someone who likes Christmas.

Lando: She doesn’t like Christmas. She luuurves it. And we’re all making gingerbread houses tomorrow because she sold them to him.

Henners: He bought half her Christmas shop yesterday. He’s changing.

Clemmie: *speechless emoji* *heart eyes emoji* *kissy face emoji*

Clemmie: Does this mean you’ll come for Christmas morning and we can do stockings this year?

Clemmie: Wait. Oh my god. Wait!

Clemmie: Are you filling her stocking?

Next to me, Miles snorts so loudly and quickly he starts choking, which descends into a full-on coughing fit. I don’t bother slapping him on the back, though maybe I should.

Alex: Why do I have the most annoying family?

Clemmie: Love you too, Al.

Clemmie: How’re you doing, Lanny?

There’s silence—as silent as you can be in a helicopter. Miles holds in another cough as we wait for Lando to respond, because though we’ve all been together the past few days, he’s barely spoken.

Lando: Fine.

With that, Lando shuts his phone off. Miles is still typing away, but I shut mine off, too, just to stop the incessant buzzing of messages.

In my periphery, I see Miles’s mouth open, no doubt ready to throw out another deluge of annoying comments about me having the hots for Haven. Like he’s got nothing else to talk about.

“This week isn’t about girls,” I snap loudly, before covering the microphone of my headset and jerking my head in Lando’s direction so Miles knows exactly what I’m talking about. “It’s about taking his mind off things.”

“Hey,” Lando grumbles from the seat behind, because I’m obviously not that subtle, and he’s not blind, and I was speaking into a microphone. “Don’t bring me into this. I don’t care what you do.”

I shake my head, even more so when Miles adds, “For your information, I was about to say we’re nearly at the first drop-off. And I don’t care what you do, either, Al. Though if you ask me, getting laid might cheer you up a bit. So maybe you should try it. Been quite a while, hasn’t it?”

Hendricks laughs loudly.

“I don’t need to get laid.” I grit out, turning back to the windows.

I do need to get laid.

But it’s not been quite a while —it’s been a couple of months at most—though that’s likely a death sentence in Miles’s world. But I broke up with my ex-girlfriend because she wanted to take the next step in our relationship and I did not .

I’m still contemplating my lack of sex life and trying harder not to think about having sex with Haven, when I realize we’re descending. Five minutes later, the doors of the helicopter slide open, and we breathe in that perfect mountain air I was talking about. There’s a second of silence as we take it all in, but only a second because then the guide is running through safety checks, including avalanche warning signs and directions for the pickup location.

He’s barely finished before the least responsible, but annoyingly and arguably better skier—not that I’d ever admit it out loud—has pulled on his helmet, clipped in, and taken off.

“Race you to the bottom. Last one there needs to get laid.” Miles’s voice echoes around the mountain.

It’s followed by, “Miles, you shit,” as Lando, Hendricks, and I all flick down our visors and chase after him.

My stance on not needing to get laid lasts all day.

It’s there through the first mountain drop, a long lunch followed by two more mountain drops, a change of clothes, an argument about whether to go to The Little Nell or The Old Saloon for drinks, and up to the point where we walk through the doors of The Old Saloon. I barely notice the live band playing Christmas music because Haven is the first person I see.

She’s standing behind the bar, her hair’s piled on top of her head, and she’s all flustered, pouring out a beer from the tap. Her lower lip juts out as she tries and fails to blow a lone tendril of hair away from her eyes. There’s a giant ball of mistletoe hanging almost directly above her, and all I can think about is kissing her.

Big deal, I want to kiss her.

It’s certainly not why I’m walking over to stand in front of her while ordering my brothers to find the nearest available table next to the fire, and telling them I’ll get the drinks.

“Need a hand?” I ask.

Her green eyes shoot up and widen. “Oh, hey, Alex. Hey…um, how’s it goin’?”

“Great.” I grin, while she puffs again at the blonde strand stuck to her long, thick eyelashes. It’s making her look like she has some kind of twitch. “May I?”

I reach out as she blinks again, carefully remove the errant hair, and tuck it behind her ear.

“Oh, thank you.” She smiles wide, her eyelashes fluttering free this time as a pink hue creeps up her cheeks. She places the beer glass down on the tray and picks up an empty one. It’s then I realize that she’s on the wrong side of the bar.

I’m fairly certain they don’t allow patrons to pour their own beers, therefore I’ve found another place she’s working at.

“You know, I’m starting to believe that you run the town.” I laugh. “Are you the mayor?”

She groans, and I feel that groan right in my dick.

“I wish. If I were the mayor, I’d give myself the day off.”

“When do you have a day off?”

“Um…” She looks at her watch. “Today’s Monday, so that would make it the day after never.”

“What?” I laugh, though I’m slightly aghast. “You must have a day off.”

Another empty glass is picked up to fill. “We’re short-staffed tonight, so I’m helping out.”

“But you must have a day off, surely?” I press, because if she doesn’t have a day off, how am I supposed to see her socially and create an opportunity that will lead to us having sex?

Hypothetically.

I never get her response, however, as a guy I recognize from the other night comes up to the bar and drops his tray on the counter with a loud clatter. “Two bottles of Bollinger, four of the Snowmass IPAs, and four eggnogs.”

An involuntary wretch squeezes my throat at the idea of drinking eggnog again. “That stuff needs to come with a warning.”

“Hey, it’s our best seller.” He chuckles, though only halfheartedly, and as I turn to peer at him, I notice his face has taken on a greenish tinge.

Maybe he’s had too many eggnogs.

Before I can ask him, he takes off with the beers Haven has finished pouring, and I lurch forward from a heavy clap on my back.

“Al…what are you—” Lando starts, then spots Haven, who’s pouring out a jar of spicy crackers. “Oh, never mind.”

Haven’s eyes snap up. “Hey, there. Lando, right?”

“One and the same.” He salutes her. Dipping his mouth closer to my ear so only I can hear, he says, “You need to wipe the drool off your chin, brother.”

My hand’s already swiping at my mouth before I realize he’s got me. “Idiot.”

“Come on.” He tugs at my arm and throws his around my shoulder. “Try to play a little hard to get. You took too long. Miles ordered food and drinks. And found a deck of cards.”

A deck of cards only means one thing.

“We’re playing snap.”

My eyes widen. “In public?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. C’mon.”

Turning my attention back to Haven—not that it really left—I thumb behind me. “I’ll be over with the boys, think you could ask the band to play something more Slipknot-y?”

I’m rewarded with a hefty eye roll and a rumble of laughter, before she nods her head. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.” I throw her a grin and follow Lando to the table, where an ice-cold beer is waiting for me.

We’re going to need Slipknot to drown out the noise—though, this Christmas band seems to be doing its best to deafen people. Burlington snap can get… animated …because when you have four guys all wanting to slam the table at the same time, it’s noisy and can lead to an expensive repair bill.

Hendricks looks up from shuffling cards quicker than a Vegas pro. “Something more interesting over at the bar, Alexander?”

“Much more interesting.” I drop into the empty seat next to him, which also happens to be next to the fire, and remove my coat and sweater before I die of heat exhaustion. “What’s the dare?”

Ever since we were kids, the four of us, plus Clemmie when we allowed her to, played snap. Instead of playing for money—because none of us had any at ten years old—each round counted toward a point, and the player with the least points at the end of the game had to perform a dare.

They started out small (ish), like the time Lando dared me to steal some food coloring from the Burlington kitchens and dye our family golden retriever pink. Or when Hendricks switched out all the sugar for salt. But as we got older they became a little more extreme. Once, Hendricks had to pretend he was Miles on a date with Miles’s new girlfriend, who couldn’t tell the difference between them. But he wasn’t allowed to make out with her, and spent the whole afternoon dodging her mouth.

“Loser has to pick up a girl.” Miles grins, looking directly at Lando.

Lando seems to have a different opinion, given he’s now wiping droplets of spluttered beer off his chin. “I never agreed to that.”

“Too bad, not up to you to decide. I lost the last game, therefore I get to name the dare.”

“I’m not picking up a girl.”

I scoop up a handful of the spicy crackers that had been left with our beer, throw them in my mouth, and lean back in my chair, trying my hardest not to laugh. “If you lose, you have to. You know the rules, Lan.”

“There are loads of really hot girls in here. It’s not going to be hard,” offers Hendricks, slightly more conciliatorily, but there’s no hiding the grin he’s not bothering to hold in. “We’re playing until the food arrives. Loser will be announced then.”

All four of us look around, and it’s true there are a lot of really hot girls in here, including a big group who’ve just arrived, dressed like they’re on a bachelorette party. But my eyes land back on tonight’s barmaid. She’s easily the hottest girl in here, and the only one I have any desire to look at.

The thought briefly occurs to me to throw the game and lose so I have an excuse to kiss her. She might not have been a breakfast guest this morning, but we’ve got a few mornings left here to accomplish that.

“Fine.” Lando huffs, and his eyes narrow at Miles.

“So you agree to the dare?” he replies, and holds his hand out.

“Yup. I’ll find a girl. But that’s only if I lose, and I never lose.” A pointed smile crooks Lando’s lip, and he places his palm on the back of Miles’s hand. Hendricks and I follow.

The dare has been sealed and agreed to.

Miles pins Lando with a look of his own. A look I know well, and it’s usually followed by a whole lot of trouble. “We’ll see. Deal the cards, Henners.”

Hendricks flicks each card around the table until we have a neat pile in front of us. “As the previous loser, Milo goes first.”

Miles takes his time, sipping his beer as slowly as possible, which Lando refuses to rise to. He just sits there patiently waiting for Miles to peel a card off the top of his stack and place it down, which he does. His palm barely lifts from the table, however; something Lando’s not quite so patient about.

“Milo, lift your hand,” he orders. “Six inches off the table. And that’s most definitely not six inches.”

“That’s what she said.” Miles snorts, but raises his hand a little higher.

Lando places his card—an ace of hearts—on top of Miles’s, but a flinch of his hand has Miles slamming his palm on the table loud enough for the group next to us to turn around.

“Rookie mistake, little brother.” Lando smirks. “And that’s minus one to you.”

Oh, I forgot to mention, the trick to Burlington snap was to fake your turn enough that your opponent slammed first, but not at the expense of an actual snap of the cards. Which is exactly why it can get rowdy.

Miles throws a cracker into his mouth. “Don’t worry, just lulling you into a false sense of security.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Hendricks places next, and I follow. We manage to get through another rotation of the table without anyone slamming their hand, and more importantly, breaking anything. The following rounds, we aren’t so lucky when Miles, in his enthusiasm, sends the bowl of chili crackers flying, and only Lando’s lightning reflexes—as he grabs it midair—stops it from smacking the guy behind us in the head.

I refrain from once more pointing out that Burlington snap should never be played in public, because Lando is now laughing so hard I almost forget why we’re here in Aspen, at Christmas, because I’m trying to remember the last time I saw him laugh like that. But I can’t.

And as annoying as Miles is, his best quality is making people laugh.

“Ooh, food is here. Game is over,” Miles cries, just as a tray of huge burgers and fries is placed in front of us. “Tally on the points?”

Hendricks stuffs a fry into his mouth and looks down at his phone, where he’s been keeping track. “Miles two, Lando zero, Al and me one point.”

“How the fuck am I zero?” snaps Lando. “I won the last round.”

“Yeah, but twice you slammed early,” Hendricks replies, so straight-faced I realize the twins have set up this entire game just so Lando loses.

Just so Lando has fun and forgets everything waiting back home in England. At least for one more day. For Lando.

“No way! Al lost more than I did.”

“I did not,” I protest, and peer over to Haven again. I wouldn’t mind losing so much…

The sound of glasses breaking has everyone turning around to the end of the bar, where the guy from earlier slumps against it. Haven rushes to his side, along with another person, the older guy Haven pointed out the other night, I assume must be the owner—and they help him to his feet. I’m waiting for someone to ask for a doctor, but a third person steps in who seems to have assumed the role.

A couple of minutes later and everyone’s lost interest. Drinks are being drunk, the boys are eating like they’ve forgotten how to chew, and the band is back to playing annoying-as-hell Christmas music. But as the doors fling open again, and another crowd of après-skiers enters, I catch the look on Haven’s face.

She already said they were short-staffed tonight, and now they’re down by two more, because the older guy and the one who collapsed have left with the doctor.

Before I can think any more about it, I finish my burger, stand up, and walk over to the bar.