“No, not really.” I turn and face him now, telling myself that it's time to act like a grownup. No games. No stringing this out for the sake of egos—not his or mine. Even if it puts my job in jeopardy, I need to be honest and clear. “I think I needed you to kiss me tonight,” I say slowly. “I think it helped to settle what I sort of already knew.”
“That we should only be friends?”
I nod, hopeful. “Yes. Is that what you felt too?”
“I wasnt sure, but it crossed my mind tonight. I have felt an attraction to you, Cassidy. I have for some time now.” He actually smiles. “It gave me hope. I thought maybe I was ready to get back into the dating game, that maybe I could get serious about a woman again.”
“And you can,” I tell him. “It just won't be me.”
He nods. “I can respect that.”
“Do I still have a job?”
He laughs now. “Of course. I'm not about to let my best marketing woman go.”
Suddenly I remember something Bridget said last week. “I probably shouldn't even say this, Ross.
“Yes?”
“Well, I happen to know someone who thinks you're quite a guy-”
“Not your mom?”
I laugh. “No. Although I think she and Todd might be cooling it.”
“Who then?”
“Bridget Ferrington.”
He looks surprised. “Are you serious?”
“Totally. She's made it clear to me that she'd like to get to know you better. She thinks you're pretty cool. Probably even cooler after you bought her mural.”
“Really?”
Okay, I can see the wheels turning in his head now. So much so that I almost feel jealous. But not quite.
“You should give her a call.”
“Really? Bridget is interested in an old dude like me?”
“Hey, Bridget is the same age as me,” I remind him.
“I know.” He nods. “But you're mature for your age, Cassie.”
“I hope that's a compliment.”
It IS.
“Well, why don't you call Bridget then? Tell her you guys have my stamp of approval—not that you need it.”
“Thanks, Cassie. I'll give that some serious consideration.”
“See you on Monday.”
“And Happy New Year!”
“Yeah, that's right. Happy New Year to you too.”
y the middle of January, Bridget and Ross have become a fairly serious item in this town. Of course, everyone assumes this is because Ross dumped me for her. Although it hurts my pride more than I care to admit, I'm so relieved to be out of the uncertainty of the relationship that I don't really mind. Sometimes, just to throw the gossipers off, we all three have dinner together and really yuk it up.
“I'll bet they think I'm dating both of you,” Ross said the other night.
“I'm really not into that kind of thing,” I tell him.
“Me neither,” says Bridget, turning her nose up.
As this chilly January wears on, loneliness sets in, and I almost resent having given up Ross. Okay, I realize that's incredibly immature, not to mention selfish, but it's the sad and embarrassing truth. It was nice having someone to go to dinner with, someone who treated me special. And, although Mom and Todd are history, she's now dating Mike Reynolds, a respectable widower who owns the newspaper.
Business at the lodge remains consistent, and the snow is still better than average, but even so I keep getting this feeling that my usefulness at Black Bear Butte is wearing thin. There are only so many things you can do to a marketing campaign once it's solidly launched. Especially when the season is halfway through. I even mention this concern to Ross, but he doesn't agree with me. He assures me there's still much to be done. But I worry that he might be keeping me on as a charity case.
Then one afternoon in early February, shordy after I get home and kick off my shoes and put up my feet, Will calls. I can feel my heart flutter just to hear his voice. But I'm worried that he sounds a little sad or maybe very serious.
“My dad passed away last week,” he eventually tells me. “The funeral was today, and I guess I'm a little blue.” I'm so sorry.
“We knew it was coming. He got lots worse during the holidays. I actually moved back home shordy after Christmas, just to help out. He went downhill quickly, and it was pretty overwhelming for my mom. My parents were fairly old when they finally had me, and I'm an only child.”
“I didn't know that.”
“Yeah. My mom's a lot older than your mom. She's in her seventies and pretty worn out from everything.”
“It's great that you can be there for her—and were there for your dad before he passed on.”
“Yeah, I'm glad I came. It gave my dad and me a chance to talk. At least at first, when he was well enough. But the past couple of weeks have been pretty quiet. He was mostly knocked out by the pain medication. He wanted to have his final days at home.”
“But he went peacefully?”
“Yeah, he really did.”
“So did you quit your job at Terrazzo de Giordano?”
“Oh, they told me it was mine if I came back. But I gave up the apartment in the city” He sighs. “Our apartment.”
This actually makes me laugh. “Well, it's not like we really shared it, Will.”
“We sort of shared it.”
“Okay.” I try not to imagine what it would be like to share an apartment with Will—I mean, after a wedding.
“So, how are you doing?”
I sigh and wonder what the honest answer to this would be. “I don't know,” I finally admit.
“What's wrong, Cassie?”
“I'm not sure. I guess I feel a little restless or something.”
“Are you still dating Ross?”
“How did you know about that?” I ask. “I mean, I wasn't really dating him, not as in seriously.”
“Your mom mentioned it. And I could sort of tell. Remember how I mentioned that I thought he was into you.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, no, I broke it off. We were together at my sister's wedding on New Year's Eve, and I could just tell it was all wrong for me. So I told him.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, and now he's actually dating a good friend of mine. They are totally great together.”
“And you're okay with that?”
“Do you mean is that why I'm feeling a little out of sorts?” I guess.
“No, not at all. I think I'm a litde lonely. But it's more than that, Will. I mean, I do like my job, and I like this town and everything. But I feel as if there's something more for me. I just can't put my finger on it.”
“I know what you mean.”
We talk some more about the kinds of lives we wish we were living. And it's amazing how we really want some of the same things. We both want satisfying jobs that engage us creatively. But we don't want our jobs to be the central focus of our lives. Will is worried that owning a restaurant, although it sounds exciting, could be too demanding. Plus, we both want to get more involved in recreational activities, and we both like the outdoors and want to do some traveling. After about an hour, I start to worry. This conversation almost seems to be going too far, getting too deep. Not that we're talking about anything sexual—it's nothing like that. But it's more like my heart is getting way too involved, like my soul keeps trying to connect to this man. And I find that a little scary. I worry that I'm just desperate. Or, even worse, that I'm imagining he's saying things that he really is not.
“Well, I should probably go,” he says. “I promised my mom I'd make dinner tonight. A lot of her friends have been bringing casseroles and those sorts of things lately, and she and I are both craving a nice steak and green salad.”
“Sounds yummy,” I say as I consider my own lackluster prospect of canned soup again.
“You take care, okay?”
“Ifeah, you too.”
After I hang up, I start to cry. I tell myself it's just PMS as I wipe my tears o
n a dishtowel. Or a little pity party. I heat my soup, read the newspaper with Felix in my lap, watch the Food Network, and call it a night.
The next evening after I get home from work, Will calls again. This time we talk even longer, and when we hang up, I don't cry. Then he calls the next night. And the next and the next. I can't imagine what his phone bill is going to be, but I have a feeling his mother won't care. She seems so happy to have him staying with her. And based on some things he's barely mentioned, I have a suspicion that his family has money. I don't know why I find this so surprising. I guess it's because I still have that first loser-dude image of Will indelibly stamped on my mind. It's highly prejudicial, and it was really a wrong impression. But the idea of his parents being well-off doesn't quite fit. Still, as he tells me more about his dad, who was an aeronautic engineer for NASA before he retired, and his mother, who started an interior design shop in the sixties and just retired from it about ten years ago, I realize there's a lot I don't know about this guy.
“I used to think I was born about two decades too late,” he tells me one night a couple of weeks after his dad's funeral. “I mean, not only were my parents in their forties when I came along, but I had the spirit of a flower child.” He laughs. “Back in middle school when everyone else was dressing like yuppies, I wanted to be a hippie.”
“Did you smoke grass?”
“Of course.”
“A real rebel boy”
“You bet.”
“But you're not now?”
“Well, I'm drug free.” He chuckles. “But I'm still a bit of a rebel, I think, and a free spirit. I don't see myself ever falling into the money-is-everything trap. At least I hope not.”
“How's your mom getting along?” I ask.
“Better. She's actually talking about getting a condo in Florida with one of her girlfriends. She always wanted to be a snowbird, but my dad liked the winters.”
“She should do that,” I say. “Florida actually sounds delightful to me right now.” Then I tell him about our record-breaking lows this week and how it affected business on the slopes. “It was so dead out there that I tried skling yesterday and nearly froze my nose off.”
“Well, don't do that,” he says. “You have a cute nose.”
“Thanks.” I smile. “But we're hoping it'll warm up a little before the Presidents’ Day weekend, since that's usually pretty busy.”
“Do you work tomorrow?” he asks unexpectedly.
“Yeah, sure,” I tell him. “Why?”
“I just wondered since its sort of a holiday.”
Then I remember what I'd been trying to forget. “Valentine's Day?” I laugh. “Well, Ross might close the lodge for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but Valentine's Day does not fall into that category. In fact, next year he plans to have the lodge open for all holidays. He's thinking that some people don't have families or things to do, and the slope is a great getaway for them.”
“Yeah, I've even been thinking about getting but the old board and waxing it/’
“I didn't know you were a boarder,” I say.
He laughs. “I'm a rebel, remember. You don't think I'd be a skier, do you?”
“You should bring your board up here,” I tell him. “Maybe I'll race you down.”
“Last time I saw you skling was a little scary, Cassie.”
“Hey, I'm much better when I'm not wearing a bear suit.”
“Well, I might just take you up on that little challenge,” he says.
The temperature is slightly warmer the next day, but I still layer on the clothes, and as usual it takes about five freezing minutes before my Subaru's heater kicks on. As I drive up to the lodge, I wonder how long I'll be able to do this. I mean, other than the ice and snow, the drive is beautiful, and the lodge is a great place to work, but I cannot imagine myself doing this for years to come. And I wonder what will keep me busy once the ski season ends in the spring. Still, I try not to think about these things as I scurry across the freshly plowed parking lot and into the warmth of the lodge.
“Hey, you,” says Bridget as I reach the top of the stairs. She's wearing her coat and appears to be going down.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, although it seems she's here almost as much as I am.
She puts her fingers to her lips and nods back toward Ross's office. “A Valentines surprise.”
I nod. “Oh.”
“Yeah, I'm trying to make a neat getaway. Did you see him down there?”
“No. But he's probably out plowing.”
She laughs. “It's so funny how he likes running that thing. Like a little boy with his big toys.”
“What did you get him for Valentine's Day?”
“Go take a peek in his office. Then call me and tell me what you think.”
So she goes one way, and I go the other, and before I even take off my coat and things, I slip into Ross's office and look at his desk. But it looks the same as usual. Then I glance around the spacious and uncluttered office, and I see it. Bridget has hung a beautiful painting of the lodge with the mountain behind it. Done in her amazing impressionistic style, it's absolutely perfect. I hear Ross talking to Marge, so I hurry out and into my own office, where I start peeling off coat and vest and scarf and gloves, then sit down to check e-mails.
“Did you see it?” asks Ross as he comes into my office with a beaming smile.
I grin at him. “Isn't it awesome?”
It is.
“And it gives me an idea.”
“Uh-huh?” He nods. “It gives me an idea too.” Of course, I can tell by his dreamy expression that our minds are on two completely different tracks.
“Earth to Ross,” I say. “My idea is, how about if we use that piece for next year's promotion campaign? Wouldn't it look great on the brochures and Web site and everything?”
“That's a fantastic idea, Cassidy.”
“I'm sure Bridget will like it too.”
So as soon as he's gone, I call Bridget and tell her my idea as well as Ross's reaction.
“Oh, I'm getting another call,” she says quickly.
“Oh my,” I say dramatically, “I wonder who that could be.
“Later.”
Then I hang up and wonder what those two will be doing tonight, although I'm sure it will be very romantic. Probably a quiet table at Petit Ours Noir. I also wonder, judging by the look in Ross's eyes, if there could be a ring involved. Or maybe that's moving too fast. Still, it's obvious they're crazy about each other. Selfishly, I hope that's the case. I recently told Bridget that if they should get married, she has to promise to rent her little house to me.
Shortly before noon a delivery girl comes in with a big vase of red roses and sets them on Marge's desk. I try not to feel envious as I walk by. Marge is at lunch now, but I'm sure she'll be pleased to see that her husband, a guy I never wouldVe guessed was romantic, actually sent her roses.
My plan for the lunch hour is to take a few quick runs, unless its too cold, and then grab a bowl of chili in the cafeteria. Sure, its about the same thing I do every day, but the skling is good exercise, and the chili is better than the canned soup I'll probably have at home. I ride the lift by myself, remembering what Will said about popping up here, and I think how nice it would be if he'd do that today. But by the time I've done three runs, I give up on his making an appearance and go to the cafeteria for my chili.
I can't help but notice how many couples are here today, and I wonder if they've come for a romantic little getaway. Of course, this gives me an idea for next year. Why not have a romantic ski-package promotion? We could partner with one of the better motels in town and offer a discount and maybe even put together a gift basket from the local shops. Excited about my new idea, I finish my chili, then hurry to my office to make some notes.
“These are for you,” says Marge as she brings the vase of red roses into my office and plants them on my desk.
“Really?” I blink. “I thought they were for you.”
> She laughs. “Harv hasn't sent me roses in ages. His idea of Valentines romance is to bring me a heart-shaped pepperoni pizza to eat in front of a good basketball game.”
“Oh.” I'm glad she doesn't stick around to see who sent these. But Marge is like that. She knows how to mind her own business as well as stay on top of things. A real gift. I slip the small card out of the envelope and slowly read, “These roses remind me of you. Stay warm. Your rebel boy.” A thrill of happiness rushes through me. Of course, these are from Will. But red roses? Does he realize the significance? Or was it just a coincidence? And if he sent red roses intentionally, what does that mean to me? Am I ready to take this step?
“Wow,” says Ross as he peeks into my office. “Who sent those?”
I feel my cheeks flush. “A friend,” I say.
“Uh-huh?” He steps into my office now. “A friend?” He studies me. “Would it be a friend from the city? A nice-looking young man who's in need of a haircut?”
“I like his hair.”
Ross laughs. “So it is Will.”
I nod.
“Wait till Bridget hears this.”
“What do you mean?”
“She's certain that you and Will are meant to be.”
“Oh she is?” Okay, I'm trying to think of a way to change the subject since I'm not totally sure how I feel about that possibility yet. Then I remember my romantic getaway package idea, and I shoot it at Ross. “What do you think?”
“I think it's brilliant.”
“I'm going to start working on it now. I mean, it's not like it has to be exclusively for Valentines Day.”
“Of course not.” He nods to my roses. “I need to call Bridget.”
“Big mouth.” I make a face at him, and he laughs.
In the middle of the afternoon, when our UPS usually arrives, Marge brings in something else for me. “You're popular today,” she says as she sets a neady wrapped brown box on my desk. I can tell by the handwritten address that this is not business related, but I start opening it before she's out the door. To my surprise and delight, it's a box of homemade chocolates! The handwritten note on top says, “Made with love for you.” Of course, I know who made them. I eat several before I realize that I must share these before I devour the entire box, which will mean I'll have to spend the entire evening at the fitness center, and I can't think of anything more pathetic than working out alone on Valentine's Day evening.
These Boots Weren't Made for Walking Page 22
