"I'm going to need the content of course."
"Of course." His smile grows.
The way he says it, like he finds me delightfully adorable and is only just deciding whether to say so.
I get out before I do something inadvisable like tell him that I really like it when he calls me a good girl, and I make it inside the lodge and down the corridor and into my suite before I allow myself to lean against the door and press both hands over my face and think:what is happening to me.
The answer is obvious.
I just need a minute to catch up with it.
CHAPTER 6
Saturday arrives wrapped in fresh snow and the specific organized chaos of Holly and Justin executing a vision. It’s definitely chaos. It’s definitely organized. It’s all the things I love about Holly. I’ve really seen her blossom once she found Justin. He gives her free reign to express her vision but with the boundaries and safety net she needs. Their love story is everything I’ve dreamt of. I’ve noticed the stern way he’s whispered in her ear, how his hand goes to her bottom and squeezes and even a few times where he’s excused them for a few minutes. I know, because I’m one of her closest friends, exactly what’s happening in those quick escapes. Controlled chaos. He’s in control but she brings the chaos.
The Christmas preview event is everything Holly described and more. The resort grounds are transformed with additional lighting, stations for ornament decorating, wreath making and mulled wine, an outdoor market with Colorado artisans selling things I absolutely cannot afford and am absolutely going to buy anyway, a tree lighting ceremony planned for after dark, and a sleigh ride component that involves actual horses and has been causing Justin anxiety since Tuesday.
I've been up since seven writing the draft of my first full resort piece, which is going to go live timed to the grand opening and which I'm genuinely proud of. The angle I found, showing the place as a living thing, designed around what people feel rather than what they see, came directly from a conversation on a dark ridge with a man who designs walking routes around where the wind drops and the noise shifts.
I haven't told him that yet. He’s inspired me to find the story behind the moments, and to try the best I can to express the emotion and feeling they invoke. AI can’t bring that to life.
The event runs starting at noon and I am caffeinated and professionally present, wearing the dark red sweater that Madison said in the group chat this morning would, and I'm quoting, make a tall veterinarian lose his entire mind.
I told her I was wearing it for the photos. Because it would look good against a Christmas backdrop. Because red, green, and gold, duh.
She sent back a single period.
The ornament station is in the covered outdoor market, warm from heat lamps, surrounded by the smell of pine, cinnamon and mulled wine. I'm set up with a collection of plain glass ornaments and an array of paint pens and glitter that I'm already mentally photographing from six angles when I feel him before I see him.
I don't know when I started being able to feel him enter a space. Sometime between the mountain road and the ranch, the awareness just became a fact. I know when he is here.
He comes to stand beside me. Close, not touching, but close in the way that's been building all week, in the way that sayssomething without committing to words. He’s driving me nuts. I want him to make more of a move. I’ve never been a slow burn type of girl but, as I remind myself, it’s only been a few days. Is it really a slow burn if it’s been less than a week? What did I expect from him? To throw me in a pile of hay and take me the first day we met? That idea isn’t without merit but…
"You actually came," I say, trying to shoo away the very inappropriate thoughts running loose in my mind.
"You said I should."
"I didn't think you'd listen."
"I generally listen." He looks at the ornament station. Then back at me. Then down at the glitter. With an expression that is the opposite of enthusiasm he says, "This is what you had in mind?"
"Pick one." I push the tray toward him.
He picks one like a man completing a task he has decided to complete, a chore if you will. With full commitment and absolutely zero joy. Oh, sweet summer child, when I introduce you to the art of a very creative little who loves to paint, color and throw glitter around like confetti. I already know, it’s going to be my job to bring the color and chaos into his controlled life.
"What do I do with it?"
"You make it beautiful."
"I'm a wildlife veterinarian."
"And now you're also an ornament artist." I hand him a paint pen. "Here, start with the base color."
He accepts the pen. He looks at it. He looks at the ornament. He makes the expression of a man who is resolved to do something because someone asked him to and he cares about her to do it, even if he might not enjoy it.
He starts painting.
He's meticulous. Of course he is. He does everything with a complete, quiet attention that makes you want to watch him,and he brings that same quality to a three-inch glass ball on a hook, and it's going to be beautiful, and I hate how charmed I am by all of it.
