One Walk in Winter

by Georgia Beers

  But she’d only just started her job here. She couldn’t bail yet.

  Hayley lay in the king-size bed and stared at the ceiling. It was Saturday, and while she needed to check in to make sure everything was okay at the front desk, she didn’t really need to work today. Olivia had today covered, and Hayley would work tomorrow so Olivia could have the day off. Apparently, that’s how weekends were done in the hotel business. If they needed a day off during the week, they could work that out together.

  “Lotta hours,” Hayley said quietly to the empty room, then pushed herself out of bed.

  Forty-five minutes later, the elevator doors opened and Hayley exited onto the first-floor lobby level. She could hear the noise before she even turned the corner: the sound of a very busy front desk. Hayley stopped in her tracks. Should she go help? Olivia was working, she knew, and probably had things under control. She toggled between two thoughts in her head.

  One: You’re the manager. Go help.

  Two: It’s your day off, and they do better without you screwing things up.

  Surprising no one, she went with number two and turned on her heel to find the back door.

  The town of Evergreen Hills looked shockingly like the set of a Hallmark Christmas movie, and Hayley’s eyes went wide. She drove down the main drag and took note of all the small shops, stores, restaurants. Hell, there was even an art gallery and an art supply store. She’d ordered a few things online last week because she’d assumed there was no way such a tiny town would have such a place.

  “Huh,” she said to nobody, as she found a parking spot and slid her white BMW into it.

  It was still very cold, much colder than it ever got at home, and Hayley pulled her hat down a bit and zipped her coat higher. But the clouds had drifted away, and blue sky had begun to show, the sun peeking out here and there and leaving the pavement wet while making the snow that had fallen last night sparkle. Hayley grabbed her bag and got out of the car, looking one way, then the other, deciding where to start and which way to stroll. Storefronts were decorated for the holiday and the sidewalks were surprisingly busy. Maybe not such a small town after all?

  The Cinnamon Bun across the street looked promising, a coffee and pastry shop in one, so she made her way to it and opened the door to the most delicious smell of warm cinnamon, so enticing, she stopped in her tracks just inside and simply inhaled.

  “You might as well just order one,” a man said with a smile as he moved around her. “It’s almost impossible to leave until you do.” He was probably in his sixties, almost completely bald, and wore wire-rimmed glasses. He was tall and lanky, his smile kind as he aimed it toward Hayley, then went to the counter and greeted the girl there by name.

  Ten minutes later, she was seated at a small table by the window, sipping a latte and eating the most succulent, fluffy, delicious cinnamon roll she’d ever had the pleasure of experiencing. It was all she could do not to hum in pleasure with every bite.

  By the time she finished, the sun was shining full force in invitation and the street of shops was bustling, which was good, because a large part of Hayley wanted to stay where she was forever and live in the Cinnamon Bun.

  Strolling along what she’d dubbed the “street of shops” turned out to be much more fun and relaxing than she’d even hoped. Every storefront was decked out with lights and garland and big, red bows and menorahs and festive window displays. Christmas music played from what must have been a sort of outdoor public announcement system, as it was the same song from storefront to storefront. She wandered in and around and out of a craft store, a pet supply store—where she looked at toys for Walter, but bought nothing—and a bookstore. Next up was the art supply store, Brushstrokes. She didn’t expect much from such a small place, but she pushed through the door anyway, the smell of paints and canvas wrapping around her like a blanket, comforting her like it always had, and she instantly loved the place.

  “Well, hello there again.” The man behind the counter was the bald, lanky guy from the coffee shop. “Tell me you had a cinnamon roll.”

  “I did.” Hayley smiled. “Thanks for the advice. Do you get a cut of commission for every one they sell?”

  “Oh, I can’t talk about that. I signed a nondisclosure agreement.” He winked at her, then pushed his glasses up his nose with his forefinger. “Help you find something?”

  “I’m just going to wander a bit, if that’s okay.”

  “Absolutely. Let me know if you have questions. I’m Ross Edwards. Owner.”

  “Thanks, Ross. I’m Hayley.”

  He gave her a wave and a nod and went back to doing whatever he’d been doing before she arrived. Three other customers were browsing, one with several brushes in her hand, another picking up tubes of paint and setting them back down, and a third was looking at charcoal pencils of different widths.

  Hayley had been painting seriously since her teens, but aside from the art history courses she’d taken in college for her minor, she’d never actually studied painting. She watched videos all the time on YouTube or other sites where people who weren’t teachers tried to share their knowledge. Mostly, though, she just followed whatever vision was in her head and did her best to duplicate it. She was by no means great, but she wasn’t bad, and she knew that.

  She pulled a couple of canvases off the shelf, three different sizes, then strolled over to the large display of tubes that contained oil paints. Hayley had tried working with different paint types—watercolors, acrylics—but once she’d started to play with oil paint, she doubted she’d go back. There was something about the way it spread on the canvas, the way it felt under her brush, that she just hadn’t found with any other type. She scanned through the tubes, looked at the seven different shades of green, and chose three, then moved on to other colors.

  Ross approached her as she stood in front of the alarming number of brush options. He pointed to a cylinder containing one brand, pulled out a small, angled brush, and said, “May I suggest these if you’re using oils? It’s a fairly new brand, but I’ve gotten a ton of great feedback from customers, and I’ve used them myself. I have to agree. Smooth strokes, no paint clumps, Taklon bristles.” He handed the brush to Hayley.

  She ran her finger over the soft bristles, moved the brush so she held it in her hand like she would if she were painting. Felt the weight of it, the smoothness of the handle, the comfort against her palm. “That’s nice.”

  “No pressure,” Ross said, holding up a hand. “Just a suggestion.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “I haven’t seen you around before. You visiting? Here to ski?”

  “Oh, no. I like my legs to stay unbroken, thank you very much. I’m actually new in town. I work at the Evergreen Resort and Spa?” Hayley phrased it as a question, not sure Ross would know what she was talking about.

  “The Evergreen? Love that place. Split Rail has the most amazing T-bone.” Ross put his fingers to his lips, kissed them, then opened his hand, like an Italian chef giving a sauce his blessing. “That chef works magic.”

  Hayley grinned, feeling inexplicable pride from the compliment. “She does. Her Thanksgiving dinner was out of this world.”

  “Oh, I bet.” Ross walked her over to the counter, then went around behind it to ring up her purchases. “You know, I have a workroom in the back for people who maybe don’t have a lot of space in their house for their art supplies. And we have an artists’ group that meets a couple times a week back there.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Very informal. Different mediums. Just a nice group of like-minded folks.” He pulled a sheet of paper from under the counter and handed it to her. “Here’s this month’s schedule.”

  Hayley took it from him, surprised to find herself actually considering attending. “Thanks,” she said, holding up the paper. “I may pop by.”

  “Great.” Ross bagged her purchases and Hayley let out a small sigh of relief when her credit card cleared. “We have quite a bit of space and some tabletop eas
els, cleaning materials, and the like. So just bring your basics.”

  “That sounds awesome.” Ross held out his hand and Hayley shook it. “Thanks so much, Ross. I’ll see you again soon.”

  Back at her car, Hayley stood and watched the hustle and bustle of the street…that really wasn’t hustle and bustle at all, now that she looked more carefully. It was still busy, but people seemed relaxed. They didn’t hurry places, they wandered. Strolled. Stopped to look in shop windows. Sipped from their cups of coffee or hot chocolate. The sun gave things just enough warmth to allow folks not to run inside to escape the frigid winter temps. And the overall atmosphere—the feel of the place—was one of comfort and invitation.

  When she woke up that morning, Hayley had missed the city badly. Now? She tossed her bag into the car ahead of her and dropped into the driver’s seat.

  “I kinda like it here,” she said quietly. “Huh.”

  * * *

  Saturdays were almost always crazy busy at the Evergreen, but Olivia didn’t mind. Crazy busy kept her crazy busy, and that made the day go by much faster.

  The lobby hummed with the buzz of conversation. Stephanie didn’t work many weekends, so there were two part-timers manning the front desk, but they’d each worked there for a while now—Olivia had hired them herself—and things moved along smoothly. The 4:00 shuttle had just pulled up out front, spilling out the folks who’d spent the day skiing on nearby Clearpeak Mountain. They’d stomped in carrying bags and skis and smelling like snow and the outdoors. The fireplace in the lobby burned bright and warm and several people stopped there to warm up.

  Tessa had sent one of her staff members out with a rolling cart and big silver insulated containers of coffee and hot chocolate, as she did every time a shuttle returned, and guests stood and chatted as they sipped. It looked like cocktail hour before a dinner party, except all the guests wore ski jackets and boots and had rosy, flushed cheeks.

  Olivia oversaw all of it. She made sure the bellhops were taking care of bags of equipment, skis, and poles, that they got where they needed to be. Most folks owned their own stuff, but the Evergreen also had its own stockpile of equipment, and it was important that the two weren’t mixed up. One bellhop went by carrying two pairs of Evergreen skis, and Olivia made a face at the fact that they were obviously not new. She made a mental note to add “new skis” to her list of things they needed to budget for in the coming year. She’d have to leave a note for Hayley.

  As if she’d conjured her up by thinking about her, she caught sight of Hayley off to the side of the front door, eyes wide as she stood and watched guests and bellhops pushing wheeled carts of baggage for people just checking in. She looked…Olivia took in a big breath and blew it out. Yeah. She looked really good in her coat—not her red parka, but a very expensive black puffy one from North Face that Olivia had looked at herself online but knew she could never afford—fur-lined boots, and cute white hat. In her hand was a bag from Brushstrokes, the art supply store in town.

  She just watched. So did Olivia.

  When their eyes met across the lobby, it seemed to take a beat before they realized it, Olivia noticed. Their eye contact held for a second. Two seconds. Three. And then Olivia blinked; Hayley raised a hand and gave her a little wave and half-grin and started across the lobby toward her.

  “Wow,” she said, when she reached Olivia. “Busy today.”

  “Weekends tend to be like this. It won’t be this bad tomorrow, but it will still be busy.” Tomorrow was Olivia’s day off, and she wanted Hayley to be prepared.

  “Got it.”

  “I see you found Brushstrokes. Did you meet Mr. Edwards?” Ross Edwards had taught art at Evergreen Hills High School when Olivia was there. “Super-nice guy.”

  “I did,” Hayley said. “He was great.” She pulled a sheet of paper out of the bag as she continued, “There’s an art group that meets at his shop he told me about. I was surprised.”

  “How come?”

  “Well, it’s a pretty small town…” Hayley let the sentence dangle as if she wasn’t sure where to go with it.

  “Evergreen Hills is actually very popular with artists. Lots of them come here and use it as a sort of retreat so they can work. Painters, sculptors, writers. There are several different groups that get together.”

  “Really?” Hayley looked impressed. “I had no idea.”

  “Well, why would you? You come from the big city where you probably have everything you need within a block or two, am I right?”

  Hayley nodded and somehow seemed to deflate just a bit. “You are.”

  They stood quietly side by side, a subtle sense of awkward floating around them.

  “Well, okay. I’m headed up,” Hayley said, turning away. She stopped suddenly and looked back at Olivia. “Unless you need my help?”

  Olivia shook her head, weirdly wanting Hayley to stay but fighting it for reasons she didn’t want to explore. “Nope. It’s your day off. Enjoy.”

  Hayley nodded once and walked away.

  Olivia watched for longer than necessary, then gave her head a shake when she realized she was doing it. With a quick glance around to make sure there were no impending crises, she pivoted on a heel and headed for Split Rail.

  Tessa and Mike both worked on Saturdays, and maybe that was how the three of them ended up such close friends. Olivia had known Mike since they were kids, but they’d easily let Tessa in to form their threesome, and it felt like it had always been that way.

  The kitchen was like a beehive, buzzing and filled with activity. The line cooks and sous chefs were working hard on prep work. While some guests would wander in this early for happy hour and appetizers, the real dinner rush wouldn’t hit for another two hours or so. It was a good time to catch Tessa, and Olivia found her with no problem.

  “Hey,” Tessa said, approaching Olivia as she stood in a corner out of the way, leaning against the wall. Tessa leaned next to her and folded her arms.

  “Hi. All set for dinner?”

  “Am I ever not?”

  “Not that I’ve ever seen, no. You are a consummate professional.”

  Tessa bumped her with a shoulder. “And don’t you forget it.”

  “You busy tonight?”

  Tessa gazed up at the ceiling for a moment, probably contemplating her social calendar. “Nope. I don’t think so.”

  “Feel like dancing?” Olivia had felt, for several days now, that she really needed to burn off some energy, and going out dancing was her favorite way of doing so.

  Tessa’s eyes went wide. “Are you kidding me? Do I feel like dancing? Does Donald Trump have ridiculous hair? Is chocolate food of the gods? Has it been almost six months since I’ve had sex? Hell yes, I feel like dancing. Is that even a real question?”

  Olivia laughed at her friend’s excitement. “Good. Me too.”

  “Think you can keep up with me?”

  Olivia snorted. “Not a chance. But I can bust my ass trying. Should I invite Mike?”

  “The more the merrier.” One of the sous chefs craned his neck and his gaze landed on Tessa. “Gotta go. Meet you there?”

  “Text me when you’re headed over. I’ll Uber.”

  Olivia left the kitchen feeling much lighter. A night out with her closest friends was always a good way to right her world when she was feeling off-balance. And she’d been feeling very off-balance these past few weeks. She didn’t want to analyze it. She didn’t want to talk it through. No. She wanted to dance.

  There was a little spring in her step as she walked back toward the lobby, smiling at guests.

  Yeah. A night of dancing was just what she needed.

  Chapter Nine

  There had been a surprising number of bars and clubs in Evergreen Hills when Hayley did her internet search. She wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for, but she needed to get out of her room and around other people. Wandering around the small town earlier had been nice. It had distracted her for a while. But it didn’t make up for
the fact that she missed New York terribly, missed the faster pace, the endless sound, the smells of the city. She wanted something loud. Something pumping. She also wanted to drink.

  Club Glitter seemed out of place in the peaceful, slumbery town. Its name was lit up in swooping purple neon across the front of the building, and the music’s bass line could be heard from the street as Hayley thanked her Uber driver and headed for the front door.

  Glitter wasn’t just a state of mind, apparently, it was reality. Everything in the club sparkled. Hayley paid the ridiculously inexpensive cover, got her hand stamped, and headed inside, her heels clicking on the glitter-covered floor. Upon a slightly closer inspection, she realized that everything that glittered did so under a coat of what she guessed was some kind of polyurethane. Thank God, she wouldn’t be going home covered in the stuff and finding it in her clothing for the next five months.

  It was a Saturday night, and it was busy. The dance floor was packed, bodies bopping up and down, arms flailing in the air as house music pumped out of the speakers. Hayley could feel it in the pit of her stomach as she sidled through the crowd and found a spot at the bar, where she asked the broad-shouldered bartender for a vodka tonic. The bar’s surface was also covered in glitter with a clear coat over the top, and the lights from the ceiling made it seem almost as if it was moving, like the glitter was liquid. A very cool effect, though Hayley thought maybe not so cool if you’d had too much to drink. She handed over her credit card and told the bartender to keep her tab open.

  Turning around, she leaned back against the bar and watched the crowd. Part of her wished she had her camera—though she was pretty sure these people wouldn’t appreciate having their photo taken by some stranger lurking in a nightclub. But the colors of the lighting were kind of amazing. Very purple, but with blues and yellows thrown in as the lights in the ceiling tilted and rotated to the beat of the music.