Chapter Four

Logan

The cold air slapped my cheeks as I trailed behind the group returning from the snowball tournament, my thoughts still tangled with what had happened out there in the courtyard. A few minutes ago, I’d all but collided with Emberleigh in a tumble of snow and racing hearts, leaving me breathless with old longing. Now, as we stepped into the relative warmth of the chalet’s lobby, an awkward buzz of tension hovered over all of us. Our boots squeaked across the tile, snow dripping from our jackets, the aftermath of the day’s “friendly” competition melting around our feet.

I tried to catch Emberleigh’s eye. She avoided me, fussing with her camera bag and fiddling with the strap on her coat, hair still dusted with flakes. The memory of her being pressed against me behind that snow-laden pine flickered in my mind, and heat coiled in my belly. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus on our immediate surroundings instead of the electric moment we’d shared.

Holly Joy hovered near the reception desk. Normally, she would’ve been bouncing on her toes, rallying us for more holiday cheer, but her brow furrowed at the screen of her phone. A loud vibration buzzed in her palm, and her expression darkened further. She pasted on a thin smile and waved us over.

“Hey, everyone,” she said with forced brightness. “I just got an update from Nicholas Klauss—Nick, our maintenance man.” She paused, swallowing. “He says the roads are still impassable. They won’t clear until after Christmas, at least two more days.”

A collective groan rose around me, echoing across the chalet’s stone walls. Jenna let out a small whimper, clinging to Tyrese’s arm. Pearl frowned so deeply that it felt like the temperature dropped another degree. Even Holly Joy—who was the poster child of relentless optimism—looked genuinely disappointed.

Dante, standing beside me and fiddling with the strings of his apron, cleared his throat. “Well, on the bright side…we have enough supplies in the kitchen.” His attempt at reassurance met only stony silence. Not even a half-chuckle, I noted wryly.

Emberleigh shifted, letting out a measured breath. Without glancing my way, she slung her camera over her shoulder and turned toward the main staircase. “I need to make some calls,” she announced flatly, disappearing before anyone else could react. Sasha, phone clutched in gloved hands, muttered something about lost viewership and needing to come up with a new angle, and then she, too, slipped away. Pearl and Norman grumbled about missed family obligations and ambled off to the lounge, leaving behind a vague tension that felt thicker than the snowdrifts outside.

Jenna and Tyrese trudged upstairs hand in hand, murmuring about hot showers. Raul peeled off toward the reading nook. Celestia Moon quietly glided in the direction of the spa, her robes flowing. Holly Joy offered us a quick, half-hearted wave and disappeared through a door behind the reception counter. Only Dante remained at my side. He sighed, rolling a kink out of his neck.

“Guess we’re all stuck here for a while,” he said with a small shrug.

“Yeah,” I agreed, my gaze drifting to the staircase Emberleigh had climbed. “At least until after Christmas.”

“Seems that way,” Dante murmured, face clouded with worry. Then, as if shaking off a bad dream, he squared his shoulders. “Well, I need to prep dinner to be served at 7 pm in the dining room. We’ll see if we can lighten the mood, right?” There was a hopeful note in his voice, and I managed a nod hoping the gesture of reassurance came off as sincere.

I lingered near the front desk for a minute, unsettled by the day’s turn of events. My mind kept replaying that near-collision with Emberleigh; the way her breath had tangled with mine, the fierce spark in her eyes, our faces inches apart. The memory burned hot under my skin, along with regret that we hadn’t said anything—hadn’t resolved anything—before stumbling back into the chaos. Pressing my lips together, I decided that once I’d showered and changed, I’d try again. It was obvious there was still something between us, and I was sure Emberleigh felt it, too. She deserved an explanation. And I was determined to give it to her, whether she liked it or not.

At precisely seven o’clock, I found myself entering the chalet’s dining room, scrubbed clean from a long, hot shower. The day’s tension still knotted my shoulders, and I tried to ease it by rolling them back, taking a steadying breath. The dining room was set with long tables, each lined with crisp linen tablecloths and understated centerpieces of pinecones and flickering candles. Dante had pulled out all the stops for dinner, as if hoping a feast would mend the group’s sour spirits. Considering the waves of frustration and resentment swirling through the chalet, it would take a miracle of holiday proportions.

People filed in at different intervals, all looking subdued. First came Pearl and Norman, followed by Jenna and Tyrese, who weren’t holding hands this time. Sasha strolled in next, phone aimed at the lavish spread, face twisted in a half-pout. Raul settled into a corner seat, sighing as he unfolded a napkin. Celestia drifted to a spot near the far end, giving everyone a serene nod. Emberleigh arrived last, crossing the threshold with her usual poised grace, but I noticed faint shadows under her eyes. She avoided looking directly at me, and my heart panged.

Holly Joy, stationed by the buffet, tried her best to recapture her cheerful tone. “Dante’s been working hard on this dinner, folks. Let’s give him a warm welcome and enjoy!”

Dante popped out from behind a partition, rubbing flour off his hands. I couldn’t help but marvel at how a day of chaos hadn’t diminished his passion for cooking. He’d created an elaborate buffet, more in line with a holiday banquet than a casual meal. Appetizers included deviled eggs garnished with tiny slivers of red pepper, stuffed artichokes drizzled with olive oil and garlic, and a crunchy cabbage salad with a tangy vinegar dressing. The main course consisted of sliced turkey, roasted golden-brown, arranged neatly on a large platter; maple-glazed ham, dotted with pineapple rings and cherries; one classic and one rich mushroom gravy—steaming in matching ceramic boats. There were accompaniments of herbed sausage stuffing, creamy mashed potatoes piled high with a swirl of butter melted on top, a sweet potato casserole with a toasted marshmallow crust, and sauteed green beans sprinkled with pomegranate seeds. An assortment of warm artisan breads and rolls peeked from under warming cloths in several baskets.

And to top it all, a special Christmas cocktail Dante had concocted—a potent mix of rum, spiced cranberry juice, and a dash of something that smelled suspiciously strong.

My stomach rumbled at the savory aromas wafting up from the various dishes, and everyone clapped after Dante finished taking us through the various items he’d prepared, originally meant to be featured as the chalet’s special Christmas dinner. However, with the lodge’s itinerary now affected by the storm, he explained that he’d decided to serve the meal early as he thought everyone could use some cheering up.

Heads nodded in response; however, the tension in the room felt tangible, a prickly heaviness that overshadowed even the mouthwatering aromas. We formed a line by the buffet, heaping food onto plates in near silence. I took healthy portions of ham and turkey, a ladleful of mashed potatoes, and spooned some gravy on top. Next to me, Emberleigh lifted the spoon for the sweet potatoes and scooped some onto her plate, followed by a spoonful of green beans. Our eyes almost met, but then she quickly moved on.

At the far end of the table, Sasha scooped stuffing into a precarious mountain, then reached for a cocktail glass. She took a big sip, eyes widening. “Wow, that’s…that’s strong,” she muttered appreciatively.

We shuffled to a large rectangular table set with white linens and topped with garlands and pinecones in the center of the room. Chairs scraped the floor as we sat. Jenna and Tyrese settled side by side but kept a noticeable distance between them, which was odd. Pearl and Norman took seats opposite. Celestia perched at the far end, closing her eyes briefly as if summoning serenity. Holly Joy sat next to Dante, who looked anxious, as if the entire success of the evening hinged on people’s reactions to his dishes. Raul hovered, sipping his cocktail, looking vaguely unimpressed. Emberleigh took a seat near me, though she angled her chair away as if to maintain a buffer of space. Was she afraid of the heat between us whenever we got too close?

I cleared my throat, forcing out some camaraderie. “Dante, this looks incredible,” I said. “Thank you.”

A few half-hearted murmurs of agreement followed—“Yes, lovely,” “Thanks,” and a couple of nods—but the mood didn’t lift. People started eating in subdued silence, broken only by the clink of silverware against plates. The first few bites of turkey were tender, the gravy rich, and I dug into the food with gusto, hungry after the earlier antics.

Before long, complaints and grumbles began brewing around the table. Sasha, swirling her second (or was it third?) cocktail, glanced at her phone. “Ugh, my viewership dropped after that snowball fight ended so abruptly,” she lamented. “People wanted more content, and we just vanished.” She shot me a slightly accusatory look.

Emberleigh, studiously ignoring me, was attempting to engage Jenna in small talk; however, Jenna didn’t seem inclined to chat, instead sipping her cocktail and glancing over the rim, eyes narrowed, at her husband.

Pearl, carefully arranging a deviled egg on her plate, sighed heavily. “We won’t spend Christmas with our grandchildren now,” she said, voice trembling with disappointment. “I made the sweetest little knitted booties for our newborn granddaughter.” She cast a glare at the windows, as if the storm were personally insulting her handiwork.

Norman heaved a sigh. “I know, dear. And this was my opportunity to talk our son-in-law into going into business with me.” He shook his head. “I know the holiday gathering would have helped him see the wisdom behind the idea. Now that’s all shot.”

People kept eating and drinking. Dante’s elaborate spread was too tempting, and the cocktails too enticing to ignore. By the time a third round was poured, cheeks were flushed and tongues loosened. Jenna dabbed at her eyes, tears threatening to spill. Tyrese, frowning, took a swig of his drink.

Jenna hiccupped. “This will be my first Christmas away from my mother,” she said in a trembling voice. “I haven’t missed a holiday with her since…since…” She trailed off, tears welling.

Tyrese muttered, “It’s about time.”

Jenna’s head jerked up, eyes blazing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tyrese set his fork down with a clatter. “It means,” he said slowly, “that you need to cut the umbilical cord. You married me. I’m your husband, not your mother.”

She gasped, color draining from her cheeks. “You take that back! My mother is just worried about me. She cares. Unlike your mother, who controls you and calls you every morning, like you’re a baby who can’t tie his shoes!” Her voice rose shrilly.

The rest of us exchanged wary looks. The newlyweds bickering was new territory. Pearl whispered something to Norman, who shrugged helplessly. Sasha took another gulp of her cocktail, seemingly delighted to capture potential drama on her phone. Holly Joy tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace, and Celestia closed her eyes again, fingers forming a meditative pose under the table.

Tyrese slammed his hand on the table, rattling dishes. “We’re not talking about my mother,” he growled. “We’re talking about you being too attached to yours.”

“Don’t shout at me!” Jenna shot back, tears brimming. She reached for the gravy boat to pass it, but Tyrese made a quick move, causing her to jostle. Hot gravy sloshed out, spilling across her dress.

She let out a shocked cry, bolting upright. “This…this is sabotage! You’re trying to ruin my clothes on purpose!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Tyrese snapped, but any hope of calm was gone. Jenna grabbed the nearest object—a dinner roll—and flung it at him. Her throw was off; the bread sailed past Tyrese and whacked Pearl in the shoulder.

Pearl let out an outraged “Oh!” She snatched the roll from the floor, glared at Norman, and chucked the roll at him. Norman dodged, knocking over his cocktail glass in the process. Boozy liquid splattered onto the table, soaking napkins and plates.

The chain reaction continued. Sasha, bleary-eyed from alcohol, started slurring, “Whoa, careful!” She wobbled to her feet, aiming her phone around, snapping photos. “This is gold…GOLD!” She hiccupped, stepping sideways. “Logan, babe, get in this shot.” She tried to cozy up to me, her heavy perfume and unsteady grip making me cringe. I attempted to back away, colliding with Raul, who’d just stood up and was still holding a platter of green beans.

The beans went flying, scattering across the table, the chairs, people’s laps. Shouts broke out. Suddenly, chaos descended like an avalanche: Jenna hurled another roll at Tyrese, missing again and hitting the turkey platter. Tyrese retaliated, scooping up mashed potatoes and flinging them back. Pearl, stung by the bread earlier, grabbed a handful of deviled eggs and lobbed them blindly into the fray. Norman tried to salvage a dish of sweet potato casserole, only slip over a fallen green bean, sending the casserole splattering and himself crashing to the floor.

A chunk of ham slid off the table in the confusion, nearly landing on Sasha’s boot. She shrieked, toggling between horror and excitement because her camera was capturing content.

Bending to give Norman a hand up, I ducked a flying spoonful of sausage stuffing that soared overhead like a misguided projectile.

Emberleigh rose, eyes wide with disgust. One second she was out of the line of fire, the next a glop of mushroom gravy arced through the air and caught her shoulder. She gasped, trying to brush it away, and our gazes locked for a brief moment.

Dante, mortified, dove under the table, shouting, “No! Not the food!” which only added to the chaos. Holly Joy ran around, wailing about the mess, her sweater catching bits of stuffing that whirled by. Celestia Moon, initially meditating in the corner, stood up abruptly. She closed her eyes, touched her thumbs and forefingers in a desperate attempt to reclaim calm. At that exact moment, a deviled egg soared across the room and smacked her square on the forehead. Her eyes flung open, rage flaring.

“Sonofabitch!” she barked, grabbing the nearest salt and pepper shakers. She shook them around like maracas, letting out a wild, primal wail. The sight of the serene spa therapist losing her Zen with egg yolk dripping down her temple was equally hilarious and horrifying.

I ducked behind a chair, trying to avoid the worst of the incoming food missiles. Sasha shouted something about “ruined footage!” as she stumbled around filming. The newlyweds were locked in a furious standoff, gravy slopping onto the floor. Pearl and Norman hurled half-spent accusations between bites of drenched rolls. Drinks spilled, plates shattered, and the entire feast turned into an absurd battlefield.

Finally, my shirt now completely covered in flecks of gravy and cranberry sauce, I shouted for the chaos to come to a halt. “Stop!” I yelled loudly in the voice I normally reserve for the field.

Immediately, everyone froze.

The mood successfully broken; the energy of the previous mayhem fizzled like a snuffed out wick. People slumped into chairs, panting. The table was a wreck: plates overturned, silverware scattered, lumps of food dripping off the edges. The floor fared no better, smeared with gravy and mashed potatoes. Even the walls hadn’t escaped the tirade and were dotted with splotches. Everyone stared around as though stunned by the sight of what they’d done.

Dante emerged from under the table, shoulders caked with bits of stuffing. He offered a wan smile. “Anyone want…dessert?” he asked weakly, attempting humor. No one laughed.

A heavy, sullen silence descended. Jenna wept softly into a gravy-stained napkin. Tyrese set his jaw; arms crossed. Sasha’s phone dangled from her hand, filming or not filming, I couldn’t tell. Pearl glowered at Norman, who was trying to wipe off a smear of sweet potato from his shirt. Raul shook his head, disgusted. Celestia flicked egg yolk off her sleeve, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Holly Joy stood in the corner, eyes wide, torn between tears and laughter. Emberleigh, spattered in gravy and who-knows-what, looked utterly drained, her arms wrapped around herself. I longed to pull her to me, to make everything right somehow.

After a long, excruciating pause, we all moved in slow motion, retrieving cloths, napkins, anything to start cleaning. Pearl found some old rags in a side cupboard, handing them out. We sponged gravy from the furniture, scooped up lumps of food from the floor. There was no conversation now—just the scraping of chairs, the wet splat of gobs into trash cans, and the stale smell of our destroyed feast.

I kept sneaking glances at Emberleigh. My chest ached at the sight of her wiping stuffing off her sleeve. I recalled her eyes, lit with that old spark hours ago in the snow, and how it had almost led to something real. Now she was covered in the ruins of a meltdown none of us saw coming. I wanted to talk to her, to at least check if she was okay, but she avoided me, focusing on wiping up the spill of gravy.

One by one, people slipped away when the cleaning came to a close. I had no idea how long we’d been at it, but I suspected it was nearing midnight.

Soon, only Emberleigh and I remained in the room, along with Dante and Holly Joy. Now, I told myself, I need to talk to her now. I stepped toward her, my voice low. “Emberleigh,” I began softly, “can we talk?”

She looked up. Our gazes caught—my chest fluttered with the intensity in her eyes, something raw and unguarded. But before she could respond, Sasha, swaying and slurring, stumbled up behind me.

“Logan,” she purred, planting a hand on my arm. Her breath reeked of spiked cranberry. “Come on, let’s go…somewhere. Just you and me babe. This is too funny, right?” She tried to cozy up, giving me a clear view of cleavage.

Emberleigh’s expression shut down on the spot. She turned on her heel, marching swiftly towards the exit. I yanked free from Sasha’s grip, my pulse spiking, and chased after Emberleigh’s retreating figure, but the freshly mopped floor slowed me, my shoes squeaking. By the time I cleared the room, she’d already disappeared into the main lobby, heading for the small bank of elevators near the front desk.

“Wait!” I called, rounding the corner. However, I was too late. The elevator doors glided shut, Emberleigh inside. My heart twisted at the sight of her reaching up to wipe away a tear. Was it just due to exhaustion? Being snowed-in and unable to attend whatever plans for the holiday she’s had? Or could her emotion have something to do with me?

The doors sealed before I reached her. I hit the call button, but it was too late—the elevator hummed upward, carrying Emberleigh away from me. Chest heaving, I stood there, gravy splattered on my pant leg, my mind spinning with regrets. The corridor remained empty and silent.

How had everything spiraled so out of control? Just a few hours ago we’d managed a near-kiss in the snow, and I thought maybe it wasn’t too late to fix things, maybe even ask for another chance. Now everything was chaos—ruined dinner, raging tempers, misunderstandings on top of misunderstandings. I stared at the elevator’s reflective surface, feeling the press of shame and longing. We were trapped in this chalet at least two more days, over Christmas, all of us. I clenched my fists in anger. If only I’d avoided Sasha’s clingy flirtation from the start. If only I’d talked to Emberleigh in private hours ago. If only the roads weren’t blocked.

But if the roads were clear, would I have run again? The question stung. No. No, I wouldn’t run. Coaching had taught me to face mistakes and correct them, not flee. Emberleigh and I had parted under a cloud of unfinished emotions. I needed to fix that, to tell her why I left years ago, that I never wanted to hurt her. That I still cared, probably more than I should.

I exhaled shakily, stepping back. Above me, the antique chandelier flickered, as if mirroring the powerlessness that now hung over me.

After a minute, I turned and walked slowly back to help Dante and Holly Joy with the last of the cleanup as a way to calm my restless spirit. I couldn’t make things right with Emberleigh tonight—that much was clear. But maybe the forced proximity of Christmas would give me another opportunity. And if Emberleigh slammed the door in my face, at least I’d know I’d taken my shot. The sting of regret was almost as sharp as the memory of her scent behind that pine tree. Almost.