Cassie brings her attention back towards us and grabs two menus to lead us to our small wooden table by the fireplace.
This place is nowhere near fancy. People are sitting, people are standing, and others are coming in and out. Aspen and I are sitting at this small wooden table with two chairs and are near a warm fire that rejuvenates my fingers from the cold.
I go to grab the laminated menu that’s only one page long and Aspen yanks it gently from my hand.
“Trust me, I know what to order,” Aspen says all sexy. I love a sexy man in charge.
“I trust you,” I tell him.
He gives me a mischievous stare down.
Our waiter, with short black hair and long, lean legs, approaches us with a friendly smile. He asks what we’d like to order and Aspen casually tells him, “Two waters and the Aspen specialty.” I can’t help but laugh, thinking it’s funny that the waiter knew exactly what he meant. I don’t ask any questions, though—there’s clearly some unspoken connection there.
The lighting in here is low, the only thing really giving light is the fire coming from the fireplace, the candles lit on each table, and the lights above that are on the lowest level of brightness.
It’s so romantic.
His dark lashes paint shadows on his face and I’m now realizing how beautifully long his lashes are.
"So, what are you majoring in? I don’t think I ever asked," Aspen says, pulling me from my thoughts.
I swallow the lump in my throat. I hate this question. Usually, I dodge it with a lie but I don’t want to lie to Aspen.
"I’m a business major… for now. Don’t laugh, but I’ve already switched three times this year. Honestly, I’m struggling to choose," I admit forcing a small smile.
Aspen tilts his head. "What do you want to do for a career?"
"I don’t know," I sigh. "I love fashion, but my mother would never approve. She’s this super successful surgeon who wants all her children to follow in her footsteps. My two brothers did, so now she’s relying on me to not break the mold. But I’m not interested in it. I gave the major a try, but I didn’t love it. I just haven’t told her that yet. I could see myself working in marketing for brands in the fashion world, though. That’s why I switched to business."
"I see. And why don’t you just tell your mom you don’t want to be a surgeon?" Aspen asks.
Jeez, I just got here and I’m already being interrogated. No one’s ever asked me that before. I don’t even know how to answer.
"Because she would die," I admit. “Plus I probably couldn’t make it in the fashion industry anyways. I don’t have my own ideas—I just pull inspiration from other people."
Aspen leans back slightly. "You do know every idea comes from another idea, right?"
I blink. I don’t think I’ve ever looked at it that way before. He’s not wrong. But how does he have so much confidence in me—more than I have in myself?
The waiter sets down our waters, ice clinking against the glass, and a glass of sprite for Aspen, then walks away. I take a sip, trying to add some moisture to my tongue—my mouth was getting dry. I’ve never really been interrogated about school like this before, exceptby my academic advisor and the dean of my college. My parents definitely don’t care. To them, school is just an ultimatum—go or get cut off.
“I guess I never thought about it like that,” I say, considering his words.
"I’m just saying—don’t spend your life doing something you don’t love. Chase your dream. That’s what I’m doing," he says.
Working at a resort? I guess I don’t even know what his dream is.
"What’s your dream?"I ask genuinely curious.
“To become a professional snowboarder,” he says matter-of-factly.
"Seriously? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who’s said that before." Only that’s exactly what I can picture Aspen doing. He was born to ride.
"Well, now you have," He says just as our pizza arrives. The cheese bubbles, still sizzling from the oven. The pepperoni glistens with grease, and something drizzled on top catches my eye. I can’t quite tell what it is, but the smell is absolutely incredible.
"This is my specialty pizza—hot honey pepperoni," he shares, a hint of pride in his voice. "There’s this pizza place up in Idaho Springs that leaves hot honey on the table, so you can drizzle it over every bite. Once I tried it, I knew Dante had to make something similar. He put his own twist on it, and now this is my go-to."
"I love that—but why hot honey?" I ask, curious.
