"Longer than it looks like it would." He's walking beside me, close enough that our sleeves would touch if either of us moved half a step in. He hasn't moved half a step, so I haven’t either. "Most people design night walks for the visuals. I was more interested in where the sounds change."
"The sounds?"
"The wind drops on the east path because of the tree line. You can hear the elk in the lower meadow from the ridge overlook. The hot chocolate station is positioned where you first start to feel the cold from the upper mountain, right when your body starts wanting something warm, there it is."
I stop walking.
Not literally. But something inside me stops.
"You designed it around what people feel," I say. "Not just what they see." Warmth when they're cold, he truly takes care of people.
He looks at me sideways. "That's the whole point. To make people truly feel something.”
This man designs experiences around what people feel and then acts like that's a normal thing to say.
This man is going to be a problem.
The hot chocolate station is exactly where he said it would be, and it is exactly what your body wants at exactly the right moment, and I am starting to understand that Anthony Rossi is someone who pays attention to things other people don't think to pay attention to.
We sit on the bench at the ridge overlook, heated, of course it's heated, he probably specified the exact watt output, with the delicious homemade hot chocolate and for a while we don't talk.
It's not awkward. That's what I notice first. The silence has weight but it's a comfortable weight, the kind that means both people are actually there instead of just filling space.
I can't remember the last time I sat in a silence that felt like company.
"Tell me about the business," he says, eventually. It doesn’t seem like he’s prying, more like he’s actually interested in my life and my business.
"Which part?"
"The part that's keeping you up at night."
That's a very specific thing to ask. I consider deflecting and decide against it. Something about the cold air and the way he's just sitting there like he has all the time in the world makes deflecting feel like more effort than honesty.
"Travel agents," I say, "are becoming what video rental stores were in 2005. Everyone can feel it. Some people are pivoting hard into corporate travel. Some are doing destination weddings. I've been leaning into the content side because I genuinely love it, and because the audience I've built actually trusts my recommendations in a way that an algorithm can't replicate. But —" I wrap both hands around the mug. "The agency side is slowing down. I lost two long-term clients this year to DIY booking platforms. Not because my service wasn't better. Because 'better' is harder to justify when 'good enough' costs next to nothing. These platforms use AI to generate atrip for clients. You answer a few questions and within seconds the artificial intelligence has the cheapest way to go, a full-on itinerary and even personal testimonies scraped from other sites. Why pay my fee when you can get all of this for next to nothing or even free?"
He's quiet for a moment. "What's the gap between what the content earns and what you need to be making?"
Not that it sounds hard. Not trying to solve all my problems. Not placating me. What's the gap. I glance up at him and realize how close we are sitting.
We’re close enough I could lean in and kiss him.
I should absolutely not be thinking about kissing him.
"Manageable, right now. Uncomfortable in six months if the trajectory holds." I look out into the dark where I know the mountains are looming but I can only barely make out the peaks. "The platform I've been building is real. The audience is engaged. I have a hundred thousand followers and thousands who actually reply to my posts, which in travel content means something. What I don't have is a clear bridge between the content and reliable income that doesn't depend on individual brand deals that can fall through."
"Luxury resort partnerships," he says.
"That's one version."
"You could do destination content packages. Develop ongoing ambassador relationships instead of one-off campaigns and see how that works."
I look at him. "You've thought about this."
"Yes, after we talked the other day. I've watched Justin build two businesses. I’ve learned the patterns from him and how he’s successfully managed to turn his family business into a multi-billion-dollar revenue stream." He picks up his mug. "You're not selling the wrong thing. You're just pricing it wrong. The algorithm can plan the trip, but it can't be you. That's theproduct. You’re the product. You have to figure out how to advertise it as such."
I've been so worried about what's disappearing that I haven't been thinking clearly about what does sell. What is working.
"When did you become a business consultant?" I ask.
