by Laura Briggs
Definitely more attractive than Trevor's beer belly. Although the sight of her office made him cringe. Nothing but straight lines and feng-shui spaces, everything in its place at every second.
This was a woman who organized her coffee by days of the week. And threw his blended brew in the garbage because it "didn't have a valid expiration date."
That was supposed to be okay, but not making a few harmless changes to their business strategy?
Debbie leaned inside his cubicle and tossed him a candy cane. "Merry Christmas from the office cheer brigade," she said. Marc offered her a grin as he reached for one.
"Thanks," he answered. He stuck it in his pencil holder, home to stray sunglasses and half-sharpened pencils of all shades and sizes. "So, you spending Christmas with anybody?"
"My new boyfriend," Deb answered. "We're going to meet his parents for a holiday dinner. I'm actually kind of nervous about this one."
"My wife's dragging me to a cabin in the mountains," Ed groaned. "My sister-in-law and her family rented it so we could spend the holidays together. We're talking temperatures at twenty below and roads iced over for a week."
He caught the candy cane Deb tossed to him from the doorway. "Believe me, you're lucky that you're still in charge of your holidays, Marc. Cruises in the Caribbean, California beaches ... whatever you want."
Marc shrugged. "I don't know. Sometimes I wish for something different. Something a little more like home, you know?" His fingers played with the remaining French fries, twisting them into shapes.
Ed snorted. "Didn't you spend last Christmas at a ski resort?" he asked. "That sounds lucky to me."
"It was nice," Marc answered vaguely. "But it makes you think about stuff you wish you had." With that, he crumpled the fast food bag into a ball and tossed it towards the trash can. Where it bounced off the edge and landed beside a crumpled soda can and empty juice box.
"Whatever," said Debbie. "I just wish I spent the holidays on vacation somewhere nice." With that, she moved on to the next cubicle.
"Well, if you want a cure for the home Christmas blues, come to the cabin with us," offered Ed. "Unless Lisel had found a way for you guys to pursue clients over the holidays."
"Believe me, she hasn't," Marc answered. "I'm pretty sure she likes her holidays far away from the office." His gaze lingered for a moment on his partner as she stapled together perfectly-stacked business forms. "And from certain people in it."
*****
Over a cup of cocoa, Lisel reviewed her latest strategy for luring Levitz and Stacy to sign with Holly Tree Publishing. Right now it was only a rumor that the two roller derby celebrities were interested in switching publishers for their second book about the adventures in their viral videos. But if there was any truth to the rumor, Lisel would be first in line to offer a contract.
She pulled the sofa throw over her knees and gazed at the snow falling outside her living room windows. Flames danced over the fireplace logs, creating a cozy atmosphere for two. But only Lisel was there to enjoy it.
In a couple of days, her neighbors would be stapling lights along the eaves and windows of their homes and hanging wreaths of greenery and sleigh bells. The local Girl Scout troupe formed a caroling group that serenaded homes the week before Christmas.
As usual, her home would be bare except for a fake green garland around the door and the same lighted door wreath as the year before. Struggling with the lights and ornaments while shoveling snow and salting steps—who needs it? Certainly not someone who devoted so many hours to her job. Certainly not someone who lived alone and didn't expect to share the holidays with anyone special.
This year she was planning to spend Christmas sleeping in and going through receipts for her taxes; maybe she would catch a rerun of Miracle on 34th Street on television. This year, she wasn't taking a chance that something would ruin her holiday by enjoying it from the safety of her home, with a lighted Christmas tree and box of chocolates.
"Stop saying I'm cranky about the holidays," she complained, trudging through the snow behind Deb at a local tree lot. Her friend raised her eyebrows.
"You know, normally you love this kind of stuff. I wouldn't have asked you if I knew you were such a Grinch about Christmas this year." She was strolling ahead of Lisel by several feet, zeroing in on potential trees for the office Christmas party.
"I'm not anti-Christmas," she argued back, "just anti-hype. Holidays are blown out of proportion these days. All the parties, the mistletoe, the expensive gifts ..." She let her voice trail off, annoyed by the way her argument was unraveling.
"You mean like little boxes of jewelry that only engaged girls receive?" asked Deb. She inspected the branches of a large fir tree. "I think you're just a humbug this year. You usually love the holidays."
Lisel kicked at a pile of snow, wishing she'd had a meeting or a similar excuse to get out of this assignment. To her, the Christmas party boiled down to a Secret Santa gift exchange and a bowl of spiked punch.
"I love the holidays, really," she answered, defensively. "I just need a little break from them, that's all. I mean the Christmas cruise, the whole sleigh ride in Vermont experience...you know what I mean."
"Wasn't that Vermont thing last year?" Deb checked the price tag on an extra-large tree.
"No, last year was the skiing trip to Elk Run Resort," Lisel answered. "Not exactly Colorado, but nice." She pulled her phone out of her pocket, half-hoping to see a message from work.
Deb let go of the price tag. "You went skiing last Christmas? Seriously?"
"What? I'm not making it up," Lisel's tone was absent as she scrolled through the apps on her phone. "You remember."
"That's weird," Deb answered. "That's what Marc did last Christmas. He told me so this morning."
Lisel's fingers fumbled on the keyboard, accidentally opening a noisy game application.
"He what?" Her face wore a startled expression. "I mean, so what? It's his business if that's what he wanted to do." She tried to sound nonchalant about it as she silenced the screen, but something was wrong with her voice.
"It's just weird, that's all," answered Deb. She motioned for one of the tree lot's workers to join them. "Did he tell you those were his plans last Christmas?"
"Nope. Never mentioned it." Lisel stuffed her phone back in her pocket and gave her coworker a too-wide smile. "Shall we pick up some lights on our way to the office?"
"Sure." Deb gave her a funny look for a moment, then shook her head. "Girl, I think the holidays have rattled your brain."
Lisel shrugged. "I just thought we should get something to decorate this monstrosity if we're going to stuff it in the corner," she answered. "Maybe some tinsel, too." She slipped past Deb and moved towards the parking lot.
Her hands were clammy despite her calm exterior. Why on earth had Marc brought that up? It seemed like a conspiracy, even though she could think of a thousand innocent reasons he might mention his holiday ski vacation. Maybe he was taking another one this year. Maybe he was taking a trip to the moon and wouldn't be back for months. Giving her plenty of time to get past her holiday and get things on track at work.
Snow crunched beneath her boots as she walked, the overhead power lines casting a shadow that resembled the incline of a ski lift. Bells chimed on the tree lot's professional cash register like the jingle of sleigh bells on a resort sleigh.
She closed her eyes to block it out. There was no way she was going to be sucked back into those moments again. There was no way she would ever, ever admit to anyone what happened on that Christmas ski trip.
*****
Lisel slid her bag from her shoulder and surveyed the lodge's interior. Far from the antlers and fir trees she'd expected, the place was warm and sophisticated. Camel sofas in leather and overstuffed armchairs in earth tones, surrounding a massive stone fireplace. Woodland scene canvases gracing every wall, with an antique carved wooden counter greeting guests at the end of a green carpeted walkway.
No, the Elk Run R
esort was the perfect escape from work, she decided. As the clerk offered her a friendly smile.
"Welcome to the lodge, miss..." he began.
"Bishop," she answered. "Lisel Bishop." The clerk's fingers clicked on a hidden keyboard somewhere below the desk.
"Room 212," he answered, "the Elmwood Suite." He pulled the key from a wooden cubby. "Sign here, please; I'll fetch a schedule of upcoming events for you to peruse."
Her pen scratched a signature across the page, a relaxed smile drifting across her features. A week of pure relaxation. Christmas in an enchanted forest of snow, with so many wonderful plans awaiting that she couldn't decide what to do first. Nothing could be better than this.
She heard the sound of a set of bags drop to the floor as another guest joined her at the counter. She glanced to the side with a friendly smile, half-hoping it was a tall, dark, and handsome stranger to make this weekend complete. Her lips froze, however, at the sight of the person next to her. Talk, dark, and handsome, yes. But a stranger, no.
"Howdy, partner." There was a touch of irony in Marc's voice.
There was a bemused expression in place of his usual cocky smile, his suit and tie traded for a heavy coat and scarf.
"What are you doing here?" she squeaked, horrified. "Is this some kind of joke, Marc? Because I swear, I will kill you." The thought flashed through her mind that he had read her itinerary at work, no doubt snooping for ways to undermine her half of their partnership.
"You really think I would come all this way to play a joke on you? We're a hundred miles from home, Lis." He pulled a reservation card out of his pocket and held it up.
Her defiance melted into a look of despair. "How could this happen?" she groaned. Burying her face in her hands on the desk. "I wanted to get away from work, not have a giant reminder stationed next to me."
"Relax, it's a huge building. We'll probably never see each other." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "You can start breathing again."
The clerk returned with a glossy brochure, which he laid in front of Lisel. He glanced at the card in Marc's hand.
"Ah, Mr. Romez," he said. "Your key is right here, if you'll just sign the book. Room 214." He pulled a second key from the cubby. "I'll get you an activities brochure as well."
Lisel met his eyes for a split-second, ready to accuse him of arranging this on purpose. But it was impossible, since she hadn't told anyone where she was staying.
"Thanks," Marc answered, sliding the key into his pocket.
"Well, I'm going to be too busy to see much of you, Mr. Romez," said Lisel. "So I guess we had better say goodbye now."
"Likewise," he answered, with a tight smile. "Just tell me how your book turns out when we get back to the office, okay?" He lifted his bags and walked away before she could reply.
I will NOT be spending this week with a book, you jerk. She stuffed the brochure under her arm as she shouldered her bag. She took the stairs rather than the elevator to avoid meeting him outside his room. If at all possible, she would avoid seeing him for the entire week she stayed here.
"Maybe he'll sprain his ankle the first day on the slopes," she muttered. But her mood lifted slightly at the thought of those white trails surrounded by firs. The evening ride back to the lodge by horse-drawn sleigh, the shuttles that carried guests twenty-five miles to the nearest performance hall for local symphony performances.
She turned the key and opened the door to a spacious suite featuring a wood-carved canopy bed and rustic fireplace. She unzipped her bag on the bed, lifting out her new dress, a stunning plum-colored formal for the symphony concert. Glancing through the glass patio doors, she admired the snowy lawn and the distant walking trails disappearing into the snowy woods beyond it.
Yes, it was going to be a perfect week. She made room to unpack by tossing the glossy brochure onto the bedside table. Where it landed on top of the daily paper, open to the weather page's top story.
"Forecasters Predict Record Snows Possible over Next Twenty-Four Hours."
*****
"Absolutely we're interested." Marc played with a pencil, sketching lines that resembled skiing tracks on the white paper's surface. "We're prepared to tempt you into a deal far better than Tilden House has offered. So, can I call you with the details tomorrow? Great, thanks."
He hung up the phone, feeling satisfied. Levitz was already expressing an interest in their offer; if they moved fast, the publishers would add two celebrity authors to the company's tally.
The trouble would be agreeing on how to reel them in. If he knew anything about Lisel's plans, it included dinner reservations and theater tickets. Not something the skater crowd would find thrilling.
Glancing around the cubicle's doorway, he searched for signs of his partner. Her work space was empty, her computer screen featuring a ball bouncing against the sides of the frame.
Perfect. He slipped inside and sat down in her chair, trying to look casual as he moved the mouse. The screen sprang to life, revealing a password blank.
Rats. She didn't trust other people—most of all, him. He whistled softly as he tapped his fingers against the keyboard, trying to figure out what secret phrase Lisel would choose. Bookreader. Naturelover. His eyes roved around her organized cubicle, taking in the black and white photographs of flowers and trees, the one of a snow-covered mountain peak.
A peak that looked familiar, after a week of gazing at it from his window in the lodge. A faint smile appeared as he remembered. Closing his eyes, he imagined the crystalized snow on the windows, the perfect snow angel visible below. And watching that angel being formed ...
His eyes snapped open. His fingers clicked the keys in a short movement: Snowangel. Crossing his fingers, he hit the enter.
The screen appeared, a field scene of buttercups and daisies. He felt a twinge of disappointment that it wasn't a snowy woodland scene from the forest of Elk Run Resort. But why would he expect her to keep something like that around? It wasn't as if that week meant anything to her.
Moving the mouse, he clicked the folder labeled "Client Appointments." Scrolling to the latest entry, he found a neat column filled out with reservation information for an elite club in town. Another for private seats at a major sports complex. A notation that Levitz enjoyed watching baseball and that Stacy was notorious for partying until dawn.
Once again Lisel was going behind his back to set up the client appointments before they even discussed their strategy. Did she think this was the best way to keep him from shaking things up? Obviously, she hadn't learned anything from their past. Including their most recent client.
Nice. But not good enough, Lisel. With a few keystrokes, he copied the page to his email account, then logged off her computer. It was time to come up with a little strategy of his own before this client opportunity vanished in one dull evening's disaster.
As he slipped out of the cubicle, his eyes caught a glimpse of the mountain photo. Grinning, he reached over and tilted it at an angle, in contrast to the pictures in perfect rows around it.
He wondered how long it would take her to notice and fix it. He wondered if she ever thought about the moments behind the photo anymore.
*****
By three o' clock that afternoon, Elk Run Resort was blanketed in a foot of snow. By six o' clock that night, a blizzard raged outside the resort, slamming against the building with roaring winds. Snow pounded the windows, waking Marc from his afternoon nap.
He checked his watch, his brain navigating fuzzy thoughts about dinner. He crawled out of bed, throwing open the curtains to reveal a sheet of white outside. Tonight was supposed to be the Forest by Moonlight tour of the woods, with torches and thermoses of cocoa. If this was a sample of its weather, he would probably be crossing that one off his itinerary.
Downstairs, the dining room was open, but most of the guests were gathered in clusters outside of it, talking amongst themselves. He caught snatches of conversation about "cancellations" and "invisible roads" as he approached the desk. So
meone else was ahead of him.
"What do you mean there's nothing you can do?" Lisel sounded panicked. "Don't you have snow ploughs or something?" She clutched the desk anxiously as the clerk surveyed her patiently.
"If it were merely the snow, then yes, Miss Bishop," he answered. "But visibility is the question here. Not to mention the declining temperatures. Understand that the lodge is deeply sorry, but we cannot control the weather and forecasters did not anticipate violent weather."
"Well, why didn't they think snow and wind might go together?" Lisel's voice threatened tears in another minute. "Now what are we supposed to do?"
"Excuse me, is there a problem?" Marc leaned across the desk, attracting the clerk's attention away from Lisel.
"The activities of Elk Resort and the surrounding communities are cancelled until further notice, sir," the clerk answered. "Due to unforeseen weather conditions."
"What weather conditions? It's just some extra snow." Marc held up the paper folded on the desk, the headline on snows.
"The 'records snows' have come in the form of a blizzard, sir," said the clerk. "Forecasters now predict the storm will last for at least a day. And the roads and trails will be impassible for days afterwards."
"But what about the ski slopes?" Marc asked. "I mean, can't we at least ski?"
"The lifts will have to remain closed until we can evaluate the damage from the wind and heavy snow. Several of our guides and instructors won't be able to make it here due to the weather."
Marc groaned. He envisioned a week of turkey sandwiches from room services instead of sunny afternoons out on the wooded trails. A Christmas vacation ruined.
"But what about food?" Lisel spoke up again. "Won't we run out of supplies or power or something?"
The clerk smiled. "Our pantry is fully stocked and we have a sizeable generator system, Miss Bishop. We have a live-in building staff and even have a house band on the premises." With that, he withdrew to the office to answer a phone.
