“You look good, Nic,” Jack said, drumming the steering wheel with one hand as he glanced at her. “How’s Utah treating you? Heard you guys got a nice little Thanksgiving dump of powder.”
“It was not little,” she replied. “And there was more on Friday. Base is looking good for Deer Valley.”
“Since when do you care about base snow depth at DV?” No surprise, his voice sounded hopeful.
She shot him a look from the passenger seat. “Since I sell ski gear and there has to be snow in order for people to buy it.”
“Fair enough,” he conceded.
“How’s Grammy?” she asked, easing back to more pleasant subjects. And nothing was more pleasant than Jack’s hilarious and wonderful eighty-five-year-old mom.
“Still winning at poker and cheating at bingo.” He smiled fondly. “She’d love to see you.”
“Sign me up for bingo, please. But how do you cheat?”
“She’ll tell you, if she’s not busy flirting with all the new arrivals at Pinecrest Village, where she is the unofficial mayor and actually has her own squad.”
Nicole gave a soft hoot. “Oh, I love that woman.”
“Brace yourself. She’s hosting a special Christmas Day brunch with a winter wonderland theme, and has roped me into being the ‘guest’ speaker.”
She laughed. “You can show old Olympics tapes.”
“God help us,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. “And how’s old Red doing?”
“Cantankerous as ever,” she said, always surprised that he asked about anyone at Snowberry before inquiring about Mom.
Nicole rested her head back, feeling the weight of the upcoming conversation pressing on her chest.
“And how’s Copper?” Jack asked, thankfully buying her a few more minutes.
Nicole sighed dramatically. “Still a drama king, and the love of my life.” At his look, she added, “Literally, so don’t ask if I’m dating because the answer is no.”
He just smiled as they rode in silence for a bit. “You hungry?” he asked as they got deeper into Burlington, where he lived.
“Starving,” she admitted. “Plane peanuts only go so far and my layover in Chicago was frantic.”
“Oh, good. I know the perfect place to take you.”
As they drove there, she took in the New England Christmas card surroundings—brick buildings with wreaths in every window, a gentle snowfall dancing between gas lamps, and a sweet, slow pace that she really liked.
They pulled into a little café called The Maple Crate, where the windows were fogged up and the smell of coffee practically punched her in the face as soon as the door opened.
Inside, the tables and chairs were mismatched but charming. They settled into a booth with a window view and ordered dinner—Dad chose the maple-glazed meatloaf, but Nicole never could resist a chicken pot pie.
Despite the late hour, they both had coffee, taking a moment to enjoy the warmth of the place.
“So,” Jack said after fixing his coffee and taking a sip. “How are things at the lodge?”
Nicole stirred her cream, knowing this was her opening. Where should she start?
“What?” he pressed. “Not good?”
“How can you read me so well?”
He smiled and took a sip. “You’re a younger, better-looking version of me. And your expressions are transparent, just like your mother.”
Finally, a mention of Mom. She gave him a hard look. “You haven’t asked about her, you know.”
