Ivy

W hat the hell have I gotten myself into?

That seems to be a running theme in my life. A cycle I can’t break. One I can spot coming from a mile away but am destined to repeat. Two weeks ago, I was sitting in the sun on the Southern California coast. Well, I wasn’t sitting exactly. More like lounging on the beach. I’d had a little too much champagne to drink that I’d spent a little too much money on.

After my ex-husband of less than a year announced his new engagement a month ago, I’m embarrassed to say I went a little off the rails. Like crash Daddy’s boat off the rails. I mentally wince, thinking about that night. What's worse is, it’s not because I’m still in love with him or anything. In fact, I would go as far as to say I was never in love with him. Our marriage wasn’t really so much a romantic entanglement as it was a business deal. No, it was because he announced his engagement to her . Margot Moreau; stunning, long legs, cool haircut, French, seems super sweet to your face and then sleeps with your husband, bitch. What a piece of shit. The both of them, but Noah? Noah James could fall off the face of the earth, and I wouldn’t bat an eyelash. I built a five-inch thick, reinforced concrete wall around myself, but somehow it still stung. The human condition is fascinating.

I’ve never given much thought to how my life would go. In the state of Colorado, under a constant cover of clouds and snow, there is a small mountain town named Silverthorne. With a population of 4,769. Okay, someone has to take away my access to Twilight. I think it’s safe to say I’ll stick out like a redhead in a snowstorm. Which is exactly what I am at the moment, so that’s not even a metaphor. The wind picks up again, and I can’t see out my windshield. Shit. Snow. Snow. More fucking snow. It’s everywhere. There’s no getting away from it. It’s been coming down steadily from the moment I landed in Denver. Thankfully, for just a few moments, the flurries start to slow, and the faint glow of civilization I’ve been heading toward for the last thirty minutes is getting brighter and closer.

The Edgemont Ski Resort and Lodge, my purgatory, will have to wait a little longer. There’s no way I’m making it up the mountain in this. It’s already dark and as careless as I am with my own life sometimes, I won’t risk somebody else’s trying to make it to the top of a mountain in the middle of a snowstorm. I think back to the conversation I had with my father a few days ago.

“If you think you can continue on the way you’re going and then waltz into,”— I have never waltzed into anything in my life. I am not a good dancer, despite the many lessons I’ve been subjected to—“ being the CEO of my company, you are sorely mistaken, .” I can still hear the disappointment and contempt in his voice. It’s not hard to detect when that’s all you’ve heard your entire life.

It’s always been the plan that one day, I would take over our family business. I’d move back home and take my place on the board for Rutherford Industries, specifically as a creative head in our new branding. Since my small stint on the other side of responsible the past month, Sullivan Rutherford has decided I need to “ gain some first-hand experience” before handing over the proverbial reins. Really, I think he would find any excuse to keep me away from the business. Away from him…but I’ve had my eyes set on this job and the life that comes with it for too long to give it up now.

Focus, . I don’t have time to dwell on my personal issues. There are more urgent ones at present. Like not sliding my shiny new parting gift, which was parked and waiting for me at the airport, into a ditch. And how I’m going to create two new streams of revenue over the next three months so I can leave this place. I need to get back home. Back to my life. This is just an unfortunate stepping stone to get me where I’m meant to be.

Silverthorne looms before me. It’s hard to see it fully with the conditions being what they are—it’s the middle of the night and snowing. What was supposed to be a scenic drive from the airport this afternoon turned treacherous because of my flight delays. Having grown up in Northern California, I’ve driven in the snow before. This is different though. This is a blizzard. Or, well, it feels like one. I feel my throat tighten. Do not cry. Do not cry. I can’t afford anything else obscuring my vision right now.

There! I take the exit a little fast, having almost missed it, and luckily, this road will take me directly into downtown where my destination will be. I can’t wait to take a hot shower and curl up in a bed. I’m exhausted from more than just today. I drive down the main street and notice that it looks as picturesque as a snow globe. Lights and decorations litter the buildings and lamp posts. I check my GPS to make sure I’m in the right spot. I had to google if there would be anywhere to stay tonight. This place is the only one. And I don’t mean the only one available. I mean the only one. I pull into the parking spot with a sign that reads Holloway Hotel Customer Parking Only, the words barely visible, and slowly roll to a stop. I breathe a deep sigh of relief. My hands and back are sore.

I didn’t realize how tightly I was wound up until now. I look out into the dark night, squinting even though it doesn’t help. I can’t see beyond the building I’m parked in front of. Three months. I can do this. I will do this. I send a quick text to Sienna, the only friend I have who will care where I am. I’ll call my father tomorrow. I straighten my back, tug my beanie down over my ears, and step out into the freezing cold night. Fuck, that’s really cold.

Walking into the lobby, the first thing I notice is how cozy it is in here. The plush brown leather sofas have a few fuzzy cream throw pillows on them, and the amber light that’s filling the space is inviting. I look up and see a staircase with a black iron banister leading to a small sitting area that has a few shelves filled with books. Yes, it’s very cozy, and making a tally in my mind, I mark this hotel as charming. I’m not sure why I do this, but it’s something I’ve always done. A quirk I've had so long that I don’t remember when it started.

The snow that was clinging to me outside is starting to melt, and I pull my hat off. I look at the big clock on the wall. 8:47 p.m. Okay, so it’s not the middle of the night . It only feels that way then. There are paintings on the walls of what looks to be this building before it looked like this, perhaps in its original form. I spot another room with a lit-up bar, but no lights are on in the main area.

“Hello, welcome to the Holloway Hotel. I’m Marilyn. What can I do for you this evening?” A pleasant voice breaks through my thoughts. I turn and see an older woman standing behind the check-in desk, looking at me expectantly.

I clear my throat, not sure how my voice will sound after being alone on the road the past few hours. “Hi. I was wondering if you have any rooms available. I just got into town and was heading to The Edgemont, but…” I trail off.

“But driving up the side of the mountain in the dark during a snowstorm sounded like a bad idea?” she supplies, finishing my sentence and thoughts perfectly. I smile. She gets it.

“Exactly,” I confirm.

“Well, I do have a few rooms available, and I also commend you on not throwing common sense to the wind and deciding to ride out the storm here in town.” She beams. “Will a king room work for you?” She holds up a key. Not a key card. An actual key. That is…charming.

“That’s perfect. I would have taken a closet with a throw pillow and a towel to cover up with,” I say, accepting the key.

“Luckily for you, that won’t be necessary. Your room’s up the stairs, third floor, fourth door on the left. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you. Is there anywhere I could get a drink? I saw that there was a dining room when I came in, but it looks very dark in there. I'm praying that’s just because the vibe is really dark and moody or that there are vampires that hang out in there after a certain time of day.” I ramble off without thinking how strange I must seem to this complete stranger. She doesn’t know that fictional vampires are always just a thought away for me. I don’t drink very often these days, but I’m too keyed up now to sleep, and a nightcap sounds good.

Marilyn doesn’t miss a beat. “No vampires tonight; you can try back next week though. Unfortunately, we closed the dining room early because of the weather. Most of our staff has gone home. I live in town, so I volunteered to stay,” she tells me. “If you’re really needing a drink, you can go to AJ’s. It’s right across the street, and Buck will probably still have the kitchen open.” I’m not sure which part of her response trips me up the most. Her playing into my bit without so much as blinking, that there’s a bar within walking distance, or that its owner's name is Buck. I think it may be the name.

“Thank you. I think I’ll head over there before I settle in for the night.” I turn and give Marilyn a little wave.

“Tell Buck hi for me! Have a good night!” she calls as I walk toward the glass door and back out into the whiteout. I pull my hat back on my head and tug it down. Stepping off the curb, I see the bright neon sign for AJ’s. Overhead are strings of lights, and on every shop door, there seems to be a wreath, a bow, or a fully decorated Christmas tree. It’s very charming, but as adorable as it may seem, I’m not looking to fall in love with this sleepy little mountain town. I’m looking to prove myself in order to finally have something that’s mine, and no one can take it from me.

AJ’s Bar is warm, so I already like it in here. From the rustic wooden door to the stunning wooden bar top, it’s obvious it’s been crafted with care. I note the exposed brick walls and wooden floating shelves that display sports and other memorabilia. My quick survey of the room tells me this is most likely a local hangout. Everyone here seems comfortable and familiar. I feel a small pang in my chest. I’ve never had a place like that. I’ve spent time in plenty of bars, but none that I felt comfortable in. Or with anyone I felt comfortable with.

There’s quiet chatter floating around the room, and checking the mental tally in my head, we can add this bar to the charming column. I walk straight to the counter, ready to have a drink and call it a night. The bartender is older and moving a bit slowly, filling a glass with beer. I internally tell myself not to sound like I’ve had the last couple of days that I’ve had. It’s not this man's fault. Patience, . I remind myself.

Sitting down on an empty barstool I ask, “Can I get a vodka tonic with lime when you get a minute, please?” Hoping I sound friendly and not like I’m in a hurry. I remove my jacket, then, after debating it for two seconds my hat, running a hand over my head and through my hair that I’m sure looks matted and greasy. I set them both on the empty stool to the left of me and lift my head to take a look around the bar. I don’t get any further than the seat to my right, where a pair of icy-blue eyes are watching me. They’re attached to a face that could be a priceless work of art hung in a museum.

A sharp jaw covered in stubble that I can almost feel running my finger over. High cheekbones and pouty lips. His hair is dirty blond and messy. I run my eyes down his throat to wide shoulders, and that’s when I notice his clothing. He’s in some kind of jumpsuit. Red with a patch on the shoulder. Then I see the reflective band around his elbow, and over his chest is another patch in the shape of a triangle. Alpine Search and Rescue is embroidered around a red plus sign, signaling someone in the medical field.

I realize, too late, that I’ve been ogling this stranger for far longer than acceptable. I flick my eyes back to his face and find him smirking at me. Kill me. The bartender has my drink and sets it down in front of me. I turn my attention to him, and hopefully, the dim lighting in here hides my blush.

“Just the one drink tonight? Or do you want to open a tab, hon?” he asks. Most of the time any term of endearment annoys the hell out of me, but this man exudes wholesomeness.

I reach for my purse. “Just the one tonight should do it. Thank you,” I respond.

“Add her drink to my bill, would you, Buck?” The voice comes from the man beside me that I just visually catcalled. Wonderful.

I turn toward him to politely decline. “That’s not necessary,” I tell him.

“ Necessary? ” he asks quietly. Almost to himself, then lifting his eyes to meet mine, he stares at me as he speaks. “Probably not,” he agrees thoughtfully. I start to turn back to my purse when he speaks again. “I can think of a lot of things that aren't necessary .” He pauses, smiling. “But I still enjoy doing them,” he tells me, picking up his beer and taking a drink. I watch his throat as he swallows, then his tongue as it peeks out to lick his lips. I don’t particularly care for beer, one tick in the not-my-type column, but then why do I wish it were me licking the bitter liquid off his lips? Probably because he’s hot. Like stop-and-do-a-double-take-in-the-streets hot.

Still living in the delusion I’ve found myself in, I lean onto my elbow, cradling my jaw into my hand and angling myself toward him on my stool. I wonder what other things he enjoys. What he finds necessary and what he finds indulgent. Is he a list maker? A rule follower? Why do I care?

“What’s another?” I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me. He faces me and mimics my body language. Pointedly and playfully. He takes up so much space, and when he turns on his stool, his knees brush against mine. I feel the brief touch go up my spine, causing goose bumps on the back of my neck.

“Talking to strangers in bars,” he says, and I have to think back to the question I asked him before responding. “Although, after you looked at me for as long as you just did, it started to feel necessary.” The right side of his mouth tilts up, and I spy a dimple. This man having a dimple seems unnecessary. He’s got enough going for him without that fucking dimple.

“I’m worried that you may have a selective memory. It was you who was staring at me ,” I tell him.

A few small lines form between his brows as he scrunches them down in disagreement. “I observed a beautiful woman sitting down in the seat right next to mine. Staring feels like too strong of a word,” he says.

“Staring may feel like too strong of a word, but it doesn’t change the fact that you were doing it,” I quip before taking a sip of my drink. Mmm that’s good.

His answering chuckle is a deep rumbling. I swear I can almost feel the comforting vibrations in my chest. I take another long drink. I don’t even know this man, but I want to curl up on his chest and purr. That’s an unsettling thought…and visual. I shake my head.

“What thoughts are you getting rid of when you do that?” he asks, infiltrating my brain. I choke on my vodka tonic. Oh god, that burns. He pats my back gently and hands me his napkin. This is fun and not at all embarrassing. I’m not usually this off my game. I’m blaming it on the past couple of days. “That bad, huh?” he asks, and I feel my neck start to heat because, yeah, that bad .

“I’m sure you’re a really nice guy, but I’m not interested in sleeping with you,” I blurt out. I’m lying, but I’m trying to put my best foot forward here. I need to refrain from making the wrong choices I always seem to make. Like going back to this guy's place. I don’t need my first night in town to be making a mess that I’ll have to clean up later with a local. Although, I can almost guarantee I would be having the time of my life getting messy with this man. Better to rip the Band-Aid off.

I’m prepared for him to be frustrated, for him to tell me I’m a tease. I’m prepared for him to call me a bitch or pretend I’m ugly. I’m not prepared to be startled by his laughter. Full-blown, head-thrown-back laughter. I stare at him. Confused. “I’ll take that as my cue to leave then.” I sigh, grabbing my drink and reaching for my coat.

His laughter slows, and I can tell he’s trying hard to hold it together when he retorts, “Who said I was planning on sleeping with you?” This is embarrassing. Did I misread his attention?

“Listen, I’m sorry if I offended you—” I start, but his hand coming to rest gently on the counter next to my arm halts my words. He’s not touching me, but I can feel the heat coming off his arm.

“I’m not offended,” he informs me, still smiling. “And for the record, I do want to do things with you.” He lowers his voice, and I lean forward to catch what he’s saying, a wicked grin on his face. “I want to do a lot of unnecessary things with you.” He drags out his words and they hit their mark, if their mark is between my legs. “ Sleeping isn’t on the list, but?—”

“There’s a list?” I cut him off this time, and his eyes get shiny.

“An extensive one,” he murmurs .

“Do you make a lot of lists?” I ask. “You seem like the type to make a lot of lists.”

“I do...” he confirms before asking, “What's your name?”

“That’s none of your concern tonight, boy scout. I’m not looking for anything after tonight. I don’t plan on being in town for very long,” I tell him.

“Well, I guess there goes my plan of trying to lock you down and get hitched next week,” he says with a grin.

“Funny,” I tell him and take a drink.

“I’m technically only in town for the night,” he says, and that bit of information has my ears perking up. So he’s not from here? I finish the rest of my drink and give him a small smile. I’m about to make a decision that may haunt me later, but he looks too good to pass up. What’s the worst that could happen?