3. Heath
CHAPTER 3
heath
S ince the divorce had been, for all practical purposes, amicable—especially after a year of conflict with Alexa—Juno spent time with me whenever we wanted. For all her flaws, Alexa was a decent mother, even if her values could be a little skewed. She never came between me and my daughter.
According to Wyatt, my brother, Alexa’s easygoing approach to co-parenting was part of her attempt at reconciliation.
“I don’t think so,” I told him over the phone when he called as I was getting ready to pick up Juno for the Aspen Saturday Market, where we often went for lunch and a stroll. “She didn’t quibble over money and signed the papers.”
He grunted. He was, I assumed, working as he talked to me. Wyatt was a carpenter who made expensive designer shit people with too much money bought.
“She did that because she knew you were at the end of your rope, especially since your marriage counselor recommended that divorce was the best option for you two. But having you move to Aspen with her…that was a way to isolate you so she could dig her claws in,” he persisted.
“We were unhappy as fuck,” I reminded him.
“ You were unhappy. She loved her life.”
Wyatt was not a fan of Alexa. They both rubbed each other the wrong way. He found her too manipulative, and Alexa thought Wyatt was a pseudo-intellectual hypocrite who pretended he was so “ damned blue-collar, all the while selling a freaking coffee table for twenty thousand dollars .”
“Regardless of what she wants, I don’t want to be married to her.” I picked up the keys to my Jeep and heard clanging noises from his end. “You working?”
“Just varnish work,” he explained. “It’s a custom piece for some big-money tech bro.”
“Who? Larry Elison? Elon Musk? Jeff Bezos?” I teased. Wyatt had once sold a card table to Bill Gates, so it was a pertinent question.
“Cut it out,” he lamented. “Now, tell me more about that woman who knocked your socks off.”
I chuckled. I had mentioned Bambi to him when we last talked, as I’d just seen her. That was two weeks ago.
“Nothing to say. I haven’t seen her since that one time.”
“Come on,” Wyatt sounded exasperated. “Finally, you’re attracted to a woman for more than sex, and you haven’t sought her out? ”
I got into the Jeep and began the drive to Alexa’s place with Wyatt in my ear via AirPods. “Haven’t had the time. It’s still ski season here, so it’s taken some effort for me to take today off. But I wanted to go to the farmer’s market with Juno since she asked. I’m back at the resort tomorrow.”
The hotel business was a twenty-four-seven job, and as a general manager, I knew how to set up boundaries—but that didn’t mean I worked a regular nine-to-five.
The Royal Ski Resort was now functioning well after the shitshow I’d inherited, and we’d improved on all parameters of guest satisfaction. However, it was still not where I was comfortable delegating to the assistant GM. Maybe by the next ski season, we'll have worked out all of the kinks, but until then, my schedule remained tight with putting out fires besides the regular work that I had to do.
“How long has it been since you were with a woman?” Wyatt mused.
“Long enough,” I replied in good humor.
Wyatt was four years younger than me and was still single, never having fallen in love or been with a woman long enough to call it a relationship. Alexa used to grumble about how he was a manwhore. I hated that term because that wasn’t who Wyatt was. He was single, he enjoyed the company of women, and he was always respectful. Our parents had drummed into us the importance of doing what we felt was right for us and not conforming to societal rules—but definitely having values that centered around integrity and honesty.
They’d been supportive when I told them about my plan to seek a divorce because they, too, had seen the changes in Alexa, though they hadn’t been as vocal about it as Wyatt had been.
My brother enjoyed being single. I wasn’t like him. I liked being part of a couple—at least, I had until Alexa and I grew in such different directions that compromise became nearly impossible. I knew she understood that, which was why I didn’t put much stock in Wyatt’s theory that she was trying to get us back together. She had wanted to move to Aspen to be closer to her parents and sister, preparing for what she said would be a difficult transition after the divorce. I understood that. I respected it.
Wyatt and I talked for a bit longer and made plans for him to come to Aspen soon.
When I got to Alexa’s house, Juno was waiting for me at her mother’s doorstep. She came running as soon as she saw the Jeep.
Once we were driving, she talked a mile a minute—telling me everything that was going on in her life. Many of my friends who had teenage children complained about how they went from cute kids to demon-possessed spawns of Satan—but I couldn’t relate. Juno was still the wonderfully open, happy kid she’d always been. Sure, sometimes I caught traces of her mother in her, especially when she insisted she just had to have a designer bag because everyone did—but that was new and started after we moved to Aspen. I hoped I’d nipped it in the bud, but only time would tell .
“I love this time of year.” Juno snuggled into her jacket, and I grinned at her.
For a native Southern Californian, my daughter had taken to Aspen weather like she’d been born for it. She loved the changing seasons, the snow, and how the late-spring sun cut through the crisp April air, warming the snow that still clung to the surrounding peaks, extending the ski season and our profits.
“Me too, kiddo.” I put an arm around her as we walked to the market from the parking lot. The Aspen Saturday Market wasn’t officially in full swing yet, not until June, but a handful of early vendors had popped up for the shoulder season, selling everything from fresh pastries to handmade candles.
Juno and I strolled past stalls. The smell of roasted coffee mingled with the sweetness of blooming tulips on a flower cart. I glanced down at her—her blonde hair tucked under a knit beanie—and tried not to think about how fast fifteen had snuck up on me.
“So, how are things going, Junebug?”
Moving from sunny San Diego to a small mountain town with more snow than malls hadn’t exactly been her idea of fun, but she’d handled it with grace—even if, for a while, her grades had suffered. Alexa had lost her shit, while I told Juno to take her time settling in and not to worry about how she was doing at school. My daughter was smart, and I knew she’d find her way, which she had.
“Good,” she said solemnly. “I’m ready, though, for school to end. I’m in need of summer break so I can catch up on sleep. ”
“How’s the social network?” I asked as we stopped in front of Hadley’s Candles, and Juno picked up various glasses to sniff.
She shrugged. “Getting better. It’s just different, ya know?”
“Different good or bad?”
She picked up a lavender candle and handed it to Hadley. “I’ll take this, thank you.”
I used my phone to pay for the candle.
“Some good, some not. Back in San Diego, my classmates focused on grades like our lives depended on it. Everyone talked about college applications and where everyone wanted to go. Here, that pressure is considerably less.” She slipped the wrapped candle into the tote bag she’d brought along.
“That’s a good thing, right?”
I hated that kids her age were obsessed and stressed with the college application process. What was supposed to be the start of their adult life was treated like it was the be-all and end-all of their lives. Alexa subscribed to that philosophy and wanted Juno to go to an Ivy League school. I just wanted her to study what inspired her.
Juno wrapped her hand around my arm and leaned in closer. “The not-so-great part is that they have actual mean girls here. Like in the movies, you know? In San Diego, we were all so stressed about grades and studying that no one had time to bully anyone. But here, the mean girls find time.”
“Is someone bullying you?” My heart hammered at the thought.
“Oh, please, I’m almost Aspen royalty, thanks to Grandma and Grandpa,” she chuckled. “The mean girls want to be friends with me.”
Alexa’s parents were well-known in Aspen, since her father had been the mayor. They were still seen as the Old Guard, wealthy, elitist, and pillars of Aspen society. They were very different from Juno’s paternal grandparents.
My father and mother, now retired, had both taught as professors at a small liberal arts college in upstate New York, where I grew up. My brother still lived in the same small town—and even though I’d moved around quite a bit while I was building my career as a hotel man, I had ended up in San Diego for a good decade, and I had thought I’d stay there until I retired, whenever that would be. I had thought that Alexa and I would be together as well—which also didn’t happen.
“What do these mean girls do?” I asked.
She frowned. “They pick on the girls that don't come from money…that kind of thing. It’s disgusting. There are a couple of girls they go after. There’s this trailer park that’s in the same district as our high school, so we have a lot of different socioeconomic statuses, which is nice and so different from San Diego.”
She wasn’t wrong. In San Diego, the classes didn’t mingle.
“How are you handling it?” I asked.
“I’m struggling with it,” she admitted as she slowed to examine a stall selling chocolate-covered pretzels. “But,” she continued, grabbing a bag of candy, “since I am thought of as being the popular former mayor’s granddaughter, I hang out with those girls. They don’t trust me yet, but you know me, we’ll get there.”
I was so proud of her, I wanted to beat my chest. Nah, I didn’t have to worry about Juno turning into her mother. No fucking way.
She handed the bag to the vendor and then looked at it with an arched eyebrow. "If you want some, you get your own. This one is mine.”
“You know the rules, Junebug; you’ve got to pay the snack tax.” I used my phone, again, to pay for the pretzels.
She smirked and held up the bag. “Fine, you can have one . But only because I’m feeling generous.”
“I’ll take it.” I wrapped an arm around her. “Every win with a teenager counts, even if it comes in the form of overpriced chocolate.”
“I think this is more pretzel than chocolate,” Juno thoughtfully said after she took a bite.
We finished eating the pretzels and then grabbed a couple of fresh-pressed juices from a stall near the corner. We were talking and walking when I spotted a familiar face—two, to be exact.
Bambi was standing by the cheese cart with Hillary Simmons.
I knew Hillary from the bank, as she’d been the one who helped when my checkbook went missing. And Bambi? Well, I wanted to get to know her, so I was lucky she was with Hillary. Wasn’t there something about single dads being attractive to women ?
She hadn’t noticed me yet.
She looked gorgeous, I thought, as her dark hair spilled over the collar of her spring jacket when she tilted her head as Hillary talked.
She laughed suddenly.
That soft and shy sound hit me right below the belt, which made me uncomfortable since I was with my kid.
I was about to walk up to the duo when Hillary turned and smiled wide. She waved. “Heath, what a surprise.”
Unfortunately, Sable didn’t seem to share Hillary’s enthusiasm because she stiffened when she saw me, and her smile, if you could call it that, was polite but tight. She was guarded.
“Hillary. Sable. This is my daughter, Juno.” I rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Juno, this is Hillary and Sable. Hillary is the one who saved me when checkbook-gate happened.”
“Hi.” Juno was a ball of charming energy, and I knew no one could resist her. Maybe using your child to impress a lady was a bit devious, but I had to take every advantage possible. Those were the rules!
As predicted, Sable’s eyes softened. “Juno, how nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” Juno gave them her practiced polite smile and then added, “I like your earrings.” She was looking at Sable now, who smiled for real this time.
“Thank you.” Sable touched the small silver hoops. “I love your jacket. It’s bold and unique. ”
My daughter had a knack for unique fashion choices, and her jacket was no exception—a vibrant patchwork of bright wool squares, each stitched together with intricate embroidery that looked like it belonged in a bohemian art gallery rather than a closet.
Juno grinned, running her fingers over one of the patches. “I got this when Daddy and I went to the pueblo at Mesa Verde a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, I know that place,” Hillary chimed. “You went to that little artist market there?”
“Yes.” Juno beamed. “We had such a good time, didn’t we, Daddy?”
I chuckled. “I don’t know about that. You harassed that poor artist to explain every single pattern on your coat before you even tried it on.”
“Yeah, because it’s amazing.” She spun so the jacket flared out. She leaned conspiratorially close to Hillary and Sable, like she was telling them a secret. “The artist, Raven Moonflower, told me her family’s been weaving coats like this forever and that nature inspires these designs. See this one?” She pointed to a bright orange patch with deep red stitching. “It’s supposed to represent the sun rising over the canyon.”
That was Juno. She wasn’t just a kid who wore daring outfits; she was a kid who needed to know the story behind them. It was her way of connecting to a larger world. And honestly, she made me feel lucky just to tag along for the ride.
We chit-chatted for a while when Juno asked Sable what she did .
“Well, I used to work with Hillary,” she informed us. “Now…well?—"
As Sable stumbled on her words, Hillary jumped in, her grin as big as ever. “Sable’s the new owner of The Wildflower Tavern.”
Juno perked up. “A tavern? Is that the one you like, Daddy?”
“Yeah.” Well, then, that was an interesting tidbit to pick up. Bambi was a bar owner. Yeah, I could see that fitting far better than working at a bank in any capacity.
“Well, I hope you’ll continue to like it.” Sable brushed her hair back nervously.
“Are you making changes?” I asked.
Her eyes sparkled with energy, the same kind that I saw in Juno: raw, pure, indomitable.
“She has the best ideas,” Hillary gushed with pride.
“I’m excited. It’s a fresh start,” Sable murmured shyly.
Hillary nudged her again, her voice teasing. “Come on, Sable, where’s your sales pitch? The place looks amazing. You’ll have to check it out, Heath.”
“I’d like that.” I kept my eyes on Sable because I couldn’t look away. She met my gaze briefly, saw my interest, and flushed.
Before I could say more, a couple of locals—a pair of ski instructors who worked at the resort—passed by and stopped to greet me.
After a quick exchange of hellos, one of them quipped, “Don’t let the tourists bug you too much this weekend, Heath. They’re already clogging up the slopes. ”
“Tourists keep the economy moving and the community thriving,” I shot back. “You’d miss them if they were gone.”
“Maybe. But not until June,” the guy laughed as they walked off.
When I turned back, Juno was deep in conversation with Sable about the tavern’s menu, Hillary was sipping her drink, and I was struck by how beautiful Sable was. And damn, I wanted to ask her out. It wasn’t like me to hesitate—I was usually upfront about what I wanted—but this wasn’t San Diego. If I got this wrong, it wouldn’t just be awkward. It’d be town gossip, the kind that could reach Juno.
But my daughter was a mature girl with a good head on her shoulders. If I did date someone and she found out, she’d be okay with it, though I’d endeavor for her not to know unless it was serious. And in all honesty, the way I was still raw after my divorce, it would be a while before I was serious about a woman. However, that didn’t mean I was not going to take my shot when someone was pulling at me as hard as Bambi was.
“I’ll definitely have to check what you’re doing with the place. When are you taking over…officially?” I asked.
Sable laughed, and I was glad the coat I wore covered my dick. This woman was doing a number on me, and she wasn’t even trying.
“I’ve already taken over. But we’ll be working on making some changes this weekend. We’re normally closed on Mondays, but we’ll be closed this Sunday and Monday. So, come on over for a drink on Tuesday, any time after eleven in the morning.”
“I will,” I promised.
I knew that the attraction wasn’t one-sided. I could see it in her eyes that she felt it, too. At least, I hoped I was right about that.
“First round is on me,” she replied huskily.
And just like that, I was hooked.