2. Aloneymoon

2

Aloneymoon

Ivy

Getting to Winter Heights, Colorado takes forever . I remember that fact being a selling point for us when we looked into different places. We wanted a secluded town so we could enjoy the frigid air in our little honeymoon ice bubble. Or at least, I did. I’m the one who organized the whole vacation. Dan just handed me his credit card—his signature move. If I were a hot-shot lawyer, maybe it’d be my move too, but a nurse’s salary doesn’t come with a bottomless checking account. With all this time on my hands in planes, trains, and taxis, I’m starting to rethink this whole aloneymoon thing.

This trip has barely started, and it’s getting more excruciating by the minute. Guess who got an upgrade to business class for the flights? Yay, the lucky bride, who had to explain to the flight attendants why there wasn’t a lucky husband to upgrade alongside her.

Who do you think had a limo waiting at the airport for the transport to the train station? Yup, you guessed it.

And another limo for the transfer to the ski resort? Take a wild guess. Along the way, I discovered that I still had some tears left in me.

The only upside was the unlimited champagne on board each mode of transport, so when I arrive at my beautiful chalet hotel, I don’t even feel my heart breaking or the tears rolling down my cheeks as I explain, again, that I’m vacationing solo. And the pity smile of the receptionist barely registers in my brain.

Thankfully, my room is fantastic, just as beautiful as the pictures. Composed mostly of wood, it’s incredibly warm and welcoming, but the best feature is surely the floor-to-ceiling window that takes up the entire wall opposite the bed. Right in front of it is a couch and an armchair with a coffee table. Better view than the TV, I’m sure. Too bad it’s dark out. But I already feel the immensity of the mountain on the other side of the glass.

Throwing the swan-shaped folded towels, rose petals, and box of chocolate on the plush carpet, I crawl into bed, my bloodshot eyes swollen from all the tears.

I hate Dan for doing this to me. Who decides to go steady with a person when they have feelings for someone else? Who gets engaged when they are hung up on another woman? He’s the one who proposed! It’s not like I pressured him into marrying me. We’d been together for three years and had barely started living together when he popped the question. I didn’t expect it. I’m not sure I even wanted it. And I definitely didn’t think we were there yet. Well, as it turns out, we weren’t.

Getting out of bed, I pick up the heart-shaped chocolate box from the floor and the bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket on the coffee table and sit back on the bed.

Take notes, travel bloggers—this is how an aloneymoon begins.

The next day, my usual cheerful attitude perks up as I awaken to the glorious sun shining above those gorgeous snow-capped mountains. As I suspected, the view is outstanding. Even better than in the pictures. I hop out of bed, suddenly dying to go outside and step on the crisp snow, to feel the cold air on my face. Yes, this is exactly what I need.

After unpacking my suitcase, I take a shower and get dressed for my first day out. I’ll spend the rest of the morning exploring the town, and this afternoon, I have my first-ever ski lesson followed by a relaxation session and a massage at the spa. When I was planning the trip, I figured the massage would be welcomed since neither of— I have never tried skiing before.

Screwing my white-and-pink beanie over my hair, I slip into the matching winter coat I bought for the occasion. I glance at myself in the mirror and approve—until I see “Mrs” embroidered in golden letters on the back. Tears spring to my eyes again, but I shake my head. It’s fine . It’s just a coat. I’m not going to let that little detail ruin my day. Or my outfit.

I skip down to the lobby and revel in how beautiful the hotel is. You feel like you’re in a wood-and-gold chalet with rustic palace vibes. It’s very chic with its golden chandeliers, vintage furniture, and wood-paneled walls.

After enjoying a copious continental breakfast, I step outside. Surprisingly, it’s not as cold as it looks, but it’s incredibly bright, which helps with my mood. The sun seems to shine stronger here than anywhere else in the world, and the rays are reverberating off the white mountain and warming my face. It’s truly breathtaking. How could you ever be in a bad mood when you live here?

I walk down the street of my hotel, and I’m greeted by a charming, quaint small-town atmosphere. The street is lined with snow-covered buildings, most of them made of bricks and stone with touches of wood adding to the rustic ambiance. They’re all adorned with Christmas lights, which promises an enchanting atmosphere when night falls. Most of the buildings host souvenir shops, local specialty stores, winter clothing outlets, restaurants, and hubs for winter activities. I also notice a convenience store, a salon, and a bakery-slash-café. It’s a little crowded for such a small town, but with the holidays in full swing, it makes sense. Initially, I wanted to come a little later in the season, but Dan couldn’t get the time off. As the thought hits, I shake my head vehemently as if to kick him out of my head.

Just as I’m about to step into a cute soap store, Hazel calls, so I sit down on the bench in front of the shop.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hi there. How are you holding up?” The connection is shaky, but I can tell her tone is grave.

“Good. I’m really good, actually,” I lie. “I’m in Colorado.”

I hear a ruffle of movement from her end. “What? I can’t hear you very well. What did you say?”

Well, they did warn us that the reception was spotty here on the brochure. “I’m in Colorado?”

Getting up, I start walking down the street, hoping to catch a better signal. I only hear a snippet of what she’s saying, but it’s enough for me to understand her disbelief.

“Yes. I went alone,” I explain.

More weird disconnecting sounds hit my ear, and then nothing. I glance at the screen and see that the call has ended. I try calling her back, but it’s not working anymore. So I try texting her.

Ivy

I’m on my honeymoon in Colorado. Cell service is crappy here. Hope you’re having fun in the sun.

Minutes later, an answer comes through.

Hazel

I wasn’t sure I was hearing you right. I’m glad you still went. It’ ll do you good.

Ivy

You have no idea. I’m already in love with snow! After twenty-eight years of waiting, snowflakes have not disappointed.

Hazel

Awesome! Have fun, and text me if you need anything.

I text her thanks and that I love her, but the message doesn’t go through.

Stowing my phone, I top off the morning by doing some shopping and enjoying a walk in the snow. Then, I grab a light lunch in a charming little restaurant before retreating to my room. Putting my ski outfit on, I walk to the rendezvous point at the other end of the street for my ski lesson.

When I venture into the small wooden shack, the jingling bells signal my presence. It’s just one large room, a high desk situated straight ahead and a waiting area on the side.

Just as I’m wondering whether there’s another bell I should ring, a large man with long, bushy brown hair erupts from a back room behind the desk, startling me.

“Oh, hi! ”

His dark eyes look me up and down, and a low groan escapes him.

I shift on my legs. Is he even supposed to be here? He looks like he belongs in a mountain cave, not a small ski shop. Definitely too big to be allowed—kind of like Hagrid in Harry Potter—except he’s not a half-giant. He has the body of a Viking and oozes sexy, rugged charm. I didn’t even know that was a thing, but here we are. He’s wearing a thin sweater that defines his many, many muscles.

Yup. It warmed up pretty quickly in here.

Zane

I’m stuck ogling the woman before me, unable to produce any words. Probably just stunned by all the pink she’s wearing. A pink-and-white jacket, pink snow pants, pink gloves, and pink boots. No need to ask her favorite color.

Taking off her—you guessed it—pink beanie, she shakes out her dark-brown hair, and her glossy locks catch the light. She has some sort of copper highlights that illuminate her face. “Um, I’m Ivy Clark. I’m here for the ski lesson. ”

I look at the paper Darwin left on the desk with the booking information. “I have an Ivy and Dan Ross here.”

She blushes, unzipping her coat to reveal a very pink sweater. “Yes, well. It’s just me. And it’s Clark.”

“The booking mentioned a honeym—”

“It’s just me,” she says sharply, then sways on her feet, looking around. “But you can keep the money for both.”

I don’t ask any more questions because I really don’t want to know.

“Okay.” I walk around the desk and grab the equipment Darwin rented, then motion for her to sit down on the bench.

I hand her the ski boots first. “Here. Try these on and let me know if they fit.”

She stares at me for a second, then at the boots.

“Sorry,” I say. “We ran out of pink.”

A small smile tugs at her lips. “That’s fine,” she says, taking her boots off. “I probably don't need any more.”

That we can agree on.

She struggles to secure the boots, so I squat down to help her. I slide both of her feet into the rigid boot shells, then start closing the various straps and buckles.

“Ah!” she screams as the first buckle latches with a loud clack .

A wave of panic washes over me. “Did I hurt you? ”

She looks down, then shakes her wavy hair. “No, I don't think so. It just scared me.”

“Scare easily, huh?” I say, moving on to the other foot.

She twists her mouth to the side. “Sorry.”

I get back up. “Walk around. Tell me how it feels.”

She starts walking across the room—well, “walk” might be a strong word. But in her defense, getting around with ski boots for the first time is like learning to put one foot in front of the other all over again.

“So?” I ask, one thumb tucked in my back pocket.

She adjusts the straps and takes a few more steps, wearing a confused expression.

“Well, do they fit? We got them based on your shoe size, but sometimes the model or the thickness of your socks can make a difference.”

“No. I don’t know,” she mumbles, bending her ankle to the side to get a better look, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. Thankfully, she doesn’t see it.

“We’re not shoe shopping here, Ivy. Just tell me if it feels okay.”

She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow when I say her name, but she doesn’t comment. Good. I’m not about to call her “Mrs. Ross” or “Mrs. Clark” or whatever her name is, despite what’s written on the back of her coat. I’ve always called people by their first name, even my teachers in high school—not that I attended long.

“I guess it’s fine. Is it normal if it hurts a little here?” she asks, showing me her ankle.

“Hurts how?”

“Like it’s compressed, and it can’t move.”

“That’s kind of the point,” I say with a sigh. “If it moves, you might lose the boot, or worse, break your ankle.”

Her forest-green eyes widen. “Oh, okay.”

“But it shouldn’t hurt, either.”

I squat back down and slide a finger between her ankle and the cuff of the boot. It fits snugly. “Seems fine to me. Not too loose. A little discomfort is normal in the beginning. Can you bend forward a bit?”

She does as I ask, and everything looks in order.

“Now, for the helmet.”

Looking at the size of her head, I figure she’s probably a Small. I hand it to her.

She grimaces, holding the helmet at arm’s length. “Is that really necessary? I mean, we’re not going to be doing any crazy acrobatics, right? I’ve never skied before. I’m pretty sure I put that down on the form.”

A low chuckle rumbles out of me. “Yeah, no kidding. Helmet’s mandatory. Even if we’re not training for the Olympics. ”

She takes it from my hand a little too harshly, and I’m surprised by her attitude. I didn’t think she had that in her. She slips the helmet on, and it fits. Hallelujah. We’re ready to go. Grabbing the skis Darwin rented for her, I stand them next to her to check her height.

“I don’t get poles?” she asks, pointing at my pair that’s leaning against the wall.

“Nope. Don’t need them for your first lessons. Let’s go.” I was two seconds away from saying, “Let’s get this over with,” but I caught myself just in time.

Darwin owes me big time.