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I accepted, then glanced around curiously. “Where are your parents?”
He rolled his eyes. “Key West, if you believe it. They claimed they forgot about the gala and double-booked themselves. I think my dad just did it to get out of buying the crafts from the auction.”
A tiny part of me wondered if this was a scheme between him and my father, but I kept that suspicion to myself. “That’s right, didn’t your mom buy like half of the kids’ art last year? What did she do with all of it?”
“I have no idea, but I’ve never seen it around the house,” he snorted. “It wouldn’t surprise me if it went straight into the dumpster.”
“You’re kidding right? She wouldn’t do that. Those kids were super proud of their artwork.”
“Yeah, my mom wouldn’t, but my dad sure would. And you know what she’s like, out of sight, out of mind. Dad figures he did his part by making the donation. That doesn’t mean he has to keep it. Once we own it, it’s ours to do what we like.”
“I suppose. I still feel bad for the kids, though.”
He shrugged. “All that matters is that they raise money for the program. You don’t really come here because you enjoy dressing up and having weak cocktails in an old gymnasium, do you?”
“True, but still. She could have let other people win the bid if she didn’t actually want it.”
“Ah, but you forget the most important part: my mom loves winning.”
“Fair enough.” We passed through the entrance, posing for a few photos on the short red carpet they’d rolled out in the hallway. It was a strange juxtaposition, how they had this incredibly glitzy event but hosted it in the aged community center. I’d attended a few of these. I knew the point was for those of us with the money to see how it helped the community. Every year they talked about the new improvements they made to the facility, and trooped in groups of kids for a talent show-style performance. A long table displayed artwork made by the kids, and a silent auction ran all night. They announced winners at the end. My dad typically picked one item to make a single generous bid on, then stuck the item on a shelf in his office until he replaced it with one from the following year.
Struck with inspiration, I dragged Zach to the auction table. “Come on, let’s find my dad’s new art piece.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, it’s for charity, and he always bids on something. Just because he bailed, that doesn’t mean the kids shouldn’t get the money. He usually throws ten grand down on some random thing, so let’s pick one for him. His fault for not being here to pick it himself.”
Zach chuckled, but he was game. We walked the length of the table and he wrote a few modest bids on behalf of his mom. Finally, I found the winner.
“This is the one,” I announced, grinning maniacally at Zach.
He eyed the sculpture dubiously. “Are you sure? I mean, there are some really interesting works of art here.”
“Oh, yes, most definitely. I think it’s a great conversation starter, wouldn’t you agree? Dad loves when people ask him about his pieces.”
“I mean, it’s interesting. I’ll give you that. But I’m not sure what a blue, headless barbie on skis, holding a giant golf ball, really says in terms of an artistic commentary.”
“Maybe she’s a modern take on the headless horseman?” I shrugged, writing ‘JJ Tremont - $10,000’ on the first bid line. “Or perhaps she’s some kind of yeti, protesting the development of golf courses in the mountains?”
“Maybe she’s the ghost of the ski resort, coming in to usher a new age of winter golf?” Zach suggested.
We amused ourselves with increasingly weird suggestions as we made our way to our table. Naturally, since the other seats were reserved for the parents who had ditched us, that left only Zach and me to claim our seats.
The party got underway, and time never seemed to drag. Zach and I settled back into the same comfortable banter we always had: lighthearted jokes about the ski business and tourism, ripping on our parents and their old-fashioned mentality, comparing ideas for the future of snow tourism. It reminded me just how much history I had with Zach, and drew a stark comparison to Jake, who—try as I might—I just couldn’t picture navigating the same scenario with similar ease. Sure, he’d look good in a tux, and I had no doubts he’d be a perfect gentleman, but would he really enjoy it? Would he feel out of his depths among the glitterati of the ski world?
My thoughts swept back to his reaction upon seeing photos of Zach and me at the golf tournament, and a nugget of guilt lodged in my stomach. I knew the answer to my own question. He definitely wouldn’t be as comfortable here as Zach was. We’d grown up with these events, the expectation to show up, give to the community, represent our brands to remind people how much good we brought in with our businesses. This was normal for us, in a way it could never be normal for Jake.
Even so, some part of me knew I’d rather Jake was here with me than Zach. Zach was comfortable in this setting, but I hadn’t forgotten his plan to wipe Aspen Ridge off the map and replace it with Snowshoe 2.0.
So as familiar as this was, there was no mistaking my thoughts on it; whatever happened with Jake, Zach would never be the answer.
Chapter15
Jake
* * *
“Ellie is so pretty,” Olivia commented with a dreamy sigh from the couch. The kids were playing on their tablets while I made our Saturday morning tradition: blueberry pancakes.
