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“The view is incredible,” she said. “And we’ll be able to have a dance floor.”
“There have to be other options,” he murmured.
“Not that I know of.”
He couldn’t stop his cheek from flinching. “We should at least call around.”
“I did call. I have a list and everything.” Sighing loudly, she took a notebook from her purse. With a shove, she slid it toward him. It knocked into his coffee, tipping the to-go cup onto the pad. Dark liquid poured out the peel-back spout of the lid. Righting the cup, he stood quickly to avoid getting a lap full of scorching coffee.
“Oh, no!” Garnet grabbed a stack of napkins and dabbed at the spill, smearing the ink on the page. “Did it get on you? I’m so sorry. I’ll get you another one.”
“Don’t worry about it.” After sitting back down, he took his own napkin and wiped the table, adding to the sodden napkins she’d piled in the middle of the table. “Probably better if I avoid the caffeine. Might need a new copy of your notes, though.”
They both reached for the damp notebook at the same time, hands colliding. Instinctively, he covered hers with his uninjured fingers.
Her gaze snapped to his, wide with surprise. With something else, too, something warm, magnetic.
Heat flooded his veins. Her skin, soft and warm and contrasting with the strong tendons underneath—the mark of a woman who worked with her hands—pulled him in.
He couldn’t let go for the life of him.
She didn’t seem to have the same problem, slipping her hand from under his. “We don’t have time to wait to book. We’re lucky anywhere had room on a Friday in December.”
He let out a slow breath. He wasn’t being purposefully difficult. Hell, two Decembers ago he’d have been the one pushing for a party up a mountain. But if this one was held anywhere in the vicinity of a building with the moniker “Peak,” he wouldn’t be able to attend. Less than helpful for one of the planners.
“You’re sure the lounge at the Sutter Mountain Hotel doesn’t have room? I, uh, don’t know anywhere else suitable,” he said, earning a raised brow. But any topic was preferable to dwelling on his inability to climb on a chairlift. Even admitting that he barely knew where to buy groceries here, let alone where to host a get-together for fifty-odd people. “And you called every restaurant in town? And the smaller hotels? If there’s anywhere you missed, I’ll phone around after my last appointment.”
“I’ve done that already.” Her teeth latched onto the edge of her petal-pink lower lip. “Not going to lie, my heart’s set on the Peak Lounge. The ceilings are killer, and the price is right. My bosses have a bit of an in.” Her mouth quirked.
“Couldn’t those same bosses get us an in at the Loose Moose?” he said, throwing out the name of the local bar also owned by the Dawson family’s company. AlpinePeaks had a laundry list of businesses to its name, from Evolve Wellness and a handful of eating establishments to the entirety of Sutter Mountain Resort. Not to mention, Caleb could credit the Dawsons—well, Lauren, at least—for his position at the clinic.
He’d been drowning in Denver, working as an ER physician in the hospital where, prior to the avalanche, he’d made his name as a trauma surgeon. He’d come home from a twenty-one-hour shift, sick to death of people sending sad, fleeting looks at his injured hand. His call to his buddy, Zach, Sutter Mountain’s ski patrol director, had been intended as a stress release. But Zach had mentioned his soon-to-be sister-in-law was bailing as clinic partner and they needed someone to fill the position, stat. Caleb had called the managing partner before changing, showering, napping, anything.
Four months later and the job still seemed like a lifeline. But he wouldn’t truly settle in until he could claim resident status. Which he wouldn’t earn if his issues hampered his coworkers’ traditions.
He ran his fingers through his hair, racking his brain for an impersonal reason not to have the party up the mountain. “People aren’t going to want to schlep up two chairlifts in their holiday finery.”
