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There was some yelling in the background and Christina had to excuse herself from the call, but not before making me promise to call her later to show off my loot from my shopping spree.
Six hours and several thousand dollars later, I returned to the hotel room, hoping that Christina had been right about the refund. If not, I was going to have to pick up about ten extra shifts at the restaurant when I got home from the trip.
From my room, I could see the cabins of the gondola as they whisked skiers up the mountain. The colorful snowsuits of the kids on the magic carpet running outside my room looked like Skittles zig-zagging down the snow slopes. I set about removing all the tags from my new ski gear and clothes, but I left the tag on the one pair of lacy underwear that I almost had left on the rack.
My stomach growled and I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything since I’d stopped for a croissant and a coffee at the Sugar Peaks café in town. The Sugar Peaks hotel where I was staying was at the base of the mountain, a cab ride away from the town, and my only option for dinner was the fancy steakhouse in the lobby.
I glanced at the lacy underwear, but only for a second, and then pulled on a pair of my cotton boy shorts. I wasn’t going on a date. I was taking myself out to a fancy dinner, something I’d never done before.
After getting dressed in a black sweater and jeans, I took a deep breath and stepped into the elevator, hoping that I wasn’t under-dressed.
The steakhouse was dark and smelled incredible. But, it was early and most of the tables were empty. A pretty waitress with a slicked-back ponytail stepped from behind the bar and greeted me at the hostess stand.
“I don’t have a reservation,” I said.
The waitress grimaced and tapped at the screen on the hostess stand. “I don’t know if we can fit you in.”
I sighed and wondered if I could survive on potato chips from the convenience store in the other hotel.
“I was just messing with you.” The girl smiled. “Is it just… you?” Her brow furrowed for a microsecond as she looked over my shoulder, presumably for my dinner companion.
“It’s just me.”
As I slid onto the bench seat that ran along the wall, I noticed a man two tables down from me, also alone, also seated facing the bar. I must have been seated in the lonely single’s section. The man was looking at his phone, and I took a glance at him as I opened up the giant leather-bound menu. He was not my usual type. He looked a little older, a few gray stands were glinting in the light from the modern fixture that hung above his table, and he was wearing a sweater that looked like it was straight from a European runway in the 1970s.
The waitress, whose name was Natalie, brought me the glass of California Cabernet I’d ordered when she’d seated me.
“What’s elk like? I’ve never tried it.” I pointed to the first thing on the menu.
Natalie smiled and I swore she winked at me. “Why don’t you ask him?” She turned to Mr. Fancy Sweater. “Sir. What do you think of the elk?”
The man set down his steak knife and dabbed at his mouth with his linen napkin. I didn’t know what accent I was expecting, Norwegian, French, maybe, but out came a full-on New Yorker accent, quite similar to my own. “It’s delicious. I’d highly recommend it.”
I nodded to Natalie. “I’ll have to try it.”
She nodded. “Medium rare?” She was guiding me; I had no idea how to order elk.
“Perfect.”
Natalie left the area, but not before giving me another wink, this one a lot more obvious, as she took away the menu.
“Thank you for the recommendation.” I smiled at Mr. Fancy Sweater Man. He held up his wine glass.
“Cheers.”
I nodded and felt heat travel across my jawbone as I held up my glass. Was the man flirting with me? “Cheers,” I parroted.
Our eyes met in the dim light as we sipped the wine together. “Did you go with the California?” he asked.
“I did.” I swirled the wine in the huge goblet-style glass. “How are the conditions?” I pointed in the direction of the ski lift with my glass.
“Beats me.” He shrugged. “I just got here. Although, my bags didn’t. He held out the sweater between his fingertips. “This is a gift shop special.”
“It’s very…Euro. Or preppy.” I added. Hoping that he didn’t find either of those things insulting.
His grin lit up his eyes and dimples dented his cheeks. When I got a good look at him, his chiseled jawbone, the dark brown shadow of a beard, his icy blue eyes, complete with smile lines that had only started to form, I realized that he was closer to thirty than to forty. The sweater had aged him. He might have even been in his late twenties. I couldn’t tell at that point. “It’s hideous, but it’s warm.”
I had to set down my wine glass. “I’m glad you said it, not me.”
