Chapter 3 Tristan
TRISTAN
Tristan sat in the very back of the rented van, sharing the back bench with Chef and Magnolia.
“Have you got enough room?” Magnolia asked kindly. She was, to be blunt, an overflowing woman, in both girth and personality.
“I promise that I do,” Tristan said. Barely.
Bearly! his bear chortled. He loved puns. I’m a bear! He also wasn’t that bright.
Tristan certainly wasn’t going to complain about what space he had.
He’d been granted an all-expenses-paid vacation to Mountain Crown Chalet on a private jet, with a private room.
And Magnolia was the last person that he would complain about; she was literal royalty, though she never lorded it over anyone in any way, and Chef, her mate, ruled the kitchen with a golden spatula.
They were two of the most beloved people from the resort.
Tristan couldn’t help but feel out of place. Everyone in the van clearly knew each other well, having conversations that referenced events that Tristan hadn’t witnessed, finishing each other's sentences, and sometimes giving each other meaningful, secretive looks.
Tristan was trying very hard to take Travis’s insistence that he come as a compliment rather than a punishment. This was a reward, not an exile. He’d worked hard helping with the rebuilding of the resort and earned a place in… very strange company.
He looked over the seats at the motley crew.
The landscaper Graham was driving, with Breck in the passenger seat giving wildly unhelpful advice.
Behind him, Darla, Alice, and Lydia were gazing out at the gorgeous winter landscapes going by, gossiping about their plans for the coming week.
Conall and Gizelle were in the next bank of seats, Gizelle pressed up against the window as much as her seatbelt would allow.
Wrench sat beside them, looking nearly as uncomfortable as Tristan felt.
Bastian and Saina shared the remaining seat with a pile of luggage that hadn’t fit in the storage space behind the back bench.
Tristan’s small bag was crammed at his feet.
“I could fly, if you don’t have enough room,” Bastian offered over his shoulder.
“I’m fine,” Tristan insisted. The last thing he wanted to do was be an imposition. “And what a view!”
Good view, his bear agreed.
Tristan had never been to Alaska or seen a white Christmas, and it was just like a holiday card, with snow-covered spruce trees and majestic mountains. The sky was slate gray and flakes were starting to fall softly.
Tristan felt like he was driving up into a Hallmark movie. Except that he was the odd man out, and the only one without a mate.
His bear gave a wistful sigh.
Tristan hadn’t even believed in mates before coming to Shifting Sands Resort. It seemed like a fanciful fiction for people who didn’t want to put effort into an actual relationship.
But it was hard to argue with evidence. Every single one of these shifters swore that they’d known from the moment they met that they were meant for each other.
It seemed like a terrific coincidence that so many had met their mates at a single location, and Tristan wondered if it was some sort of magic of the island itself, or if it had to do with the mysterious owner of the resort (or her own, equally mysterious, mate).
Maybe destiny just worked better in a tropical paradise.
Maybe it was all a huge joke and Tristan just didn’t get the punchline.
Despite Magnolia’s thoughtfulness, Tristan found himself squashed against the side of the van every time they cornered, which was more and more frequently as they climbed into the mountains. The road got worse as they went.
Breck’s advice grew more strained and less frequent, and Graham’s grumbles in return were even more clipped. The snow thickened and the clouds seemed to drop down around them.
Just as Tristan worried that he’d be crushed, suffocated, or die in a fiery (snowy?) wreck, they turned into a steep driveway and climbed to a level parking lot in front of a picturesque lodge. It was snowing in earnest now, covering their tracks.
“When I said I’d show you snow, I didn’t exactly mean this much at once,” Conall said apologetically to Gizelle as they all unloaded from the van.
Gizelle didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered. She simply bounced from the van and stood staring up at the sky in wonder until her mate herded her up the steps for the front door, warning her about hypothermia and frostbite.
Tristan stared at the building.
It was a huge log lodge that was not quite Swiss in style, though it had deeply overhanging roofs.
It was three stories, with windows on all sides that looked small after the decadent use of glass at Shifting Sands.
It was Alaska, Tristan reminded himself.
They had to worry about keeping heat in.
There were several private balconies and one long porch across the second floor that served as a roof for a first floor stoop.
The combination lockbox by the front door held a key. It was chilly and dark inside, and no one came to greet them. Tristan knew that Conall had made it clear that it was a private rental, so that no one had to be shy about shifting.
Breck found the light switches and went searching for the heat controls, while Tristan helped carry suitcases and duffel bags from the van, trying not to stare around.
It was all tastefully decorated and covered in twinkling Christmas lights, with cozy trappings of the season everywhere. It even smelled like gingerbread.
Once everything was stacked in the foyer, Breck came back triumphant in his task and the furnaces started creaking and blowing warm air from the floor vents. “Should be toasty in no time,” he said. “You should see the kitchen, Chef. It’s almost as nice as yours!”
Chef was only held back by Magnolia, who said, “I want to pick rooms first, darling!”
They all trooped together and explored the lodge, going floor to floor with Tristan trailing behind.
Wrench and Lydia picked the only first floor suite at once. “I don’t want to have to do the stairs,” Lydia said, resting a hand on her big belly. Wrench looked like he’d fight anyone who challenged him for the room and no one protested.
The second floor had four two-room suites, each of them claiming a corner of the lodge with fabulous views in two directions, with little private covered decks.
There were two suites on the third floor. One of them was the honeymoon suite, which everyone deferred to Conall and Gizelle, as it was Conall’s deep pockets that had paid for the excursion. Breck claimed the other. “None of you want me for a neighbor,” he teased. “Conall’s at least deaf…”
“Not deaf enough,” Conall retorted. Gizelle was clinging to his arm at the time, which gave him the ability to hear everything.
“We’ll want one on the second floor anyway, to be closer to the kitchen,” Magnolia said, not the slightest bit winded by the climb. Tristan let the couples pick first, and took the final room. He left his suitcase unopened to snoop around the remainder of the lodge.
There were notes everywhere in the chalet.
The foyer where they had entered was filled with comfortable stuffed couches and chairs, the walls lined in bookshelves full of games and books. There was a fireplace at the far end, a fire already laid out and ready to light.
The note by the fire invited them to light it and gave directions to a stack of firewood on the porch. There were careful instructions for the flue and a reminder to use the spark screen.
The kitchen was very modern, with tiled walls and chrome appliances, and it was littered with more decrees, sharing details about the oven controls and the icemaker, adjusting the temperature in the freezer (don’t!), and how long to expect water to run before it got hot.
There were three thoroughly-tabbed recipe binders that Chef fell upon with delight.
“Vegetarian! Celiac! It’s divided up by ingredients and has tables for the number of guests! ”
He began singing at once, opening the refrigerators and cross-referencing the recipe books with the carefully labeled provisions.
A dining room lay just beyond the kitchen, and it was log construction like the primary building, but looked much, much older and rougher.
Raw timbers ran overhead. A well-stocked bar looked like it had been salvaged from a fire, and several bottles of wine were laid out.
There was a menu with prices, which would undoubtedly be charged upon their departure.
A note pointed out the ice maker on the counter.
Past the dining room was a short hall that ended in two locked doors. His bear sniffed with interest at one of them in particular, but all Tristan could smell was Pine-Sol.