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Mikey got to work on dinner, moving around his kitchen with a kind of natural rhythm and grace he’d always had when cooking. I loved to watch him work. Watching someone do one of their favorite things was like getting a special glimpse into their true self.
“Why do they have it out for him?” I asked. “Was their family that affected by the ski resort closure?”
Tiller poured some nuts and pretzels into a little bowl and slid it over to me like a bartender. I knew him well enough to see this for the little deception it was, but I kept my mouth shut. Mikey did not.
“You eat those pretzels and I’m not letting you have dessert,” he said calmly to Tiller.
Tiller blinked at him with faux innocence. “What? They’re for our guest.”
Mikey’s eyes narrowed. “Then it won’t be a problem for you not to eat them.”
“It’s the off-season.” Tiller’s voice bordered on whiny. “I can have pretzels.”
“Yes, you could have. If you hadn’t eaten half a pan of brownies for breakfast. And don’t lie to me and tell me it was Sam, because I know his body is a temple.” He shot me a wink.
The truth was, I’d ignored the brownies in favor of the leftover mousse. Being here with Mikey’s cooking reminded me how much I’d missed hanging out at their house back in Houston.
“I think it was Sam,” Tiller said, shooting me a look of false disappointment. “He’s always making bad choices, aren’t you, buddy?”
I laughed before taking another sip of my beer. Even though Mikey was no longer Tiller’s professional nutritionist, he still managed Tiller’s eating plan to help keep him in top training shape. Tiller secretly loved it. He loved having someone who cared about his health and paid attention to him in that way. In return, Tiller looked out for Mikey and made sure he didn’t run himself ragged with too many commitments cooking for others.
They made a good team.
“Can we get back to Truman and the Stanners, please?” I asked.
Mikey nodded and proceeded to explain that Gene Stanner, Patrick’s father, had managed all of the lift operations and maintenance for the resort. As it was a highly specialized position, maybe he had a hard time replacing the lost job. But in Colorado, there would be several places to at least get similar work. It was hard to believe anyone could place that kind of long-term blame on a child. Why hold a grudge like that for this long? It didn’t make much sense to me, but then again, I was an outsider. I didn’t really know what the closing of the resort had done to the people of Aster Valley.
“What’s your timeline for opening the resort?” I asked once we sat down to dinner. I wondered if their plan would make a difference to people like Gene Stanner, assuming he got his drinking under control of course. “You said you were going to aim to get it up and running in three or four years?”
Tiller and Mikey exchanged a glance before focusing back on me. “That’s one of the things we wanted to talk to you about,” Tiller began. “Originally we didn’t want to even consider undertaking this project fully while I was still under contract with the league. But if we had someone here permanently overseeing the project who we could trust…”
Mikey jumped in. “And, just to be clear, that would be you.”
I refrained from reminding them I ran a business in Houston. My family was in Houston. Besides, I’d never even skied before.
Tiller continued. “Then we’d want to go ahead and get started right away. I told you about that sports awards event we went to in Palm Springs, but what you may not know is that Mikey and I met several Olympian skiers there. One of them was Rory Pearson. Do you know him?”
I pictured the rugged alpine superstar who I knew more from men’s underwear ads than his actual career achievements. Even now that he was retired from skiing competitively, the man had a body that wouldn’t quit. “Yeah, of course I know him,” I said with a laugh.
“Right?” Mikey asked with a dreamy look on his face. “And to think there was a time I tried to swear off having feelings for pro athletes.”
Tiller reached over and pinched Mikey’s side. “Now look where you are,” he teased. “Overflowing with feelings for them.”
“For one,” Mikey said, slapping Tiller’s hand away. “Just the one. Tiller Raine for evah.”
I loved watching them together. It made me so happy for my friend Mikey, who deserved to be adored exactly the way Tiller adored him.
“He might be old enough to have skied here,” I said. “Isn’t he pushing forty?”
Mikey nodded. “And he’s looking to settle down and train other athletes. But he wants somewhere quiet where he can be a big fish in a small pond.”
