Chapter 4
The resort does a thing every evening called the Night Walk.
It's in the preview materials and I’ve been looking forward to it.
It’s an optional guided after-hours stroll through the lit resort grounds, seeing the outdoor spaces when the day guests are gone and it's just the lights, the mountains and the Colorado cold. Holly described it as immersive. The preview packet called it atmospheric. Justin, when I asked him, said Anthony actually designed the route for peak experience but also safety. It’s something special they can offer the guests who are staying at the resort above those who come in for the amusement park and day skiing opportunities.
I put on my good coat and don't examine my motivations. I’m not even sure if Anthony is even going to be on the walk. It doesn’t stop me from doing a tad bit more makeup and making sure not a hair is out of place.
There are four of us when we set out, and yes, Anthony is here. It’s just us and two of the travel writers who are here for the preopening. It lasts maybe thirty minutes before the travel writers peel off toward the heated bar that is vibing with a younger local crowd and after work employees.
And then it's just us.
Anthony doesn't suggest we turn back.
I don't either.
We just keep walking, and the path winds through the resort gardens with the lights overhead and the mountains dark beyond them, and the snow has that quality it gets at night where it almost seems to glow from the inside. It’s lit up and absolutely magical.
"How long did the route design take?" I ask.
"Longer than it looks like it would." He's walking beside me, close enough that our sleeves would touch if either of us moved half a step in. He hasn't moved half a step, so I haven’t either. "Most people design night walks for the visuals. I was more interested in where the sounds change."
"The sounds?"
"The wind drops on the east path because of the tree line. You can hear the elk in the lower meadow from the ridge overlook. The hot chocolate station is positioned where you first start to feel the cold from the upper mountain, right when your body starts wanting something warm, there it is."
I stop walking.
Not literally. But something inside me stops.
"You designed it around what people feel," I say. "Not just what they see." Warmth when they're cold, he truly takes care of people.
He looks at me sideways. "That's the whole point. To make people truly feel something.”
This man designs experiences around what people feel and then acts like that's a normal thing to say.
This man is going to be a problem.
The hot chocolate station is exactly where he said it would be, and it is exactly what your body wants at exactly the right moment, and I am starting to understand that Anthony Rossi is someone who pays attention to things other people don't think to pay attention to.
We sit on the bench at the ridge overlook, heated, of course it's heated, he probably specified the exact watt output, with the delicious homemade hot chocolate and for a while we don't talk.
It's not awkward. That's what I notice first. The silence has weight but it's a comfortable weight, the kind that means both people are actually there instead of just filling space.
I can't remember the last time I sat in a silence that felt like company.
"Tell me about the business," he says, eventually. It doesn’t seem like he’s prying, more like he’s actually interested in my life and my business.
"Which part?"
"The part that's keeping you up at night."
That's a very specific thing to ask. I consider deflecting and decide against it. Something about the cold air and the way he's just sitting there like he has all the time in the world makes deflecting feel like more effort than honesty.
"Travel agents," I say, "are becoming what video rental stores were in 2005.
Everyone can feel it. Some people are pivoting hard into corporate travel.
Some are doing destination weddings. I've been leaning into the content side because I genuinely love it, and because the audience I've built actually trusts my recommendations in a way that an algorithm can't replicate.
But —" I wrap both hands around the mug.
"The agency side is slowing down. I lost two long-term clients this year to DIY booking platforms. Not because my service wasn't better.
Because 'better' is harder to justify when 'good enough' costs next to nothing.
These platforms use AI to generate a trip for clients.
You answer a few questions and within seconds the artificial intelligence has the cheapest way to go, a full-on itinerary and even personal testimonies scraped from other sites.
Why pay my fee when you can get all of this for next to nothing or even free? "
He's quiet for a moment. "What's the gap between what the content earns and what you need to be making?"
Not that it sounds hard. Not trying to solve all my problems. Not placating me. What's the gap. I glance up at him and realize how close we are sitting.
We’re close enough I could lean in and kiss him.
I should absolutely not be thinking about kissing him.
"Manageable, right now. Uncomfortable in six months if the trajectory holds.
" I look out into the dark where I know the mountains are looming but I can only barely make out the peaks.
"The platform I've been building is real.
The audience is engaged. I have a hundred thousand followers and thousands who actually reply to my posts, which in travel content means something.
What I don't have is a clear bridge between the content and reliable income that doesn't depend on individual brand deals that can fall through. "
"Luxury resort partnerships," he says.
"That's one version."
"You could do destination content packages. Develop ongoing ambassador relationships instead of one-off campaigns and see how that works."
I look at him. "You've thought about this."
"Yes, after we talked the other day. I've watched Justin build two businesses. I’ve learned the patterns from him and how he’s successfully managed to turn his family business into a multi-billion-dollar revenue stream.
" He picks up his mug. "You're not selling the wrong thing.
You're just pricing it wrong. The algorithm can plan the trip, but it can't be you.
That's the product. You’re the product. You have to figure out how to advertise it as such. "
I've been so worried about what's disappearing that I haven't been thinking clearly about what does sell. What is working.
"When did you become a business consultant?" I ask.
"I'm not. I mean I run a very successful veterinarian clinic and rescue." He pauses, and it's the first time I've seen him search for words. "I also notice when people undervalue themselves. I don’t like you doing that, sweetheart. You’re worth so much."
The wind moves through the pine trees below us. Somewhere down in the dark valley, something, probably an elk, moves through the snow.
"Why did you never get married?" I ask, because apparently, I'm doing honesty tonight, blunt, embarrassing honesty. Why do I sometimes just blurt out exactly what I’m thinking?
He doesn't seem surprised by the question. "Holly tell you I hadn't?"
"Holly is providing what she calls context, even when I don’t ask her about it."
Something moves through his expression, not quite a smile, more rueful than that.
"I spent my twenties building the practice and establishing my nonprofit rescue. Here in Colorado, there are so many animals that need to be rehabilitated. I’ve had literally thousands of animals come through my rescue in the last two decades, large birds of prey, bears, elk, deer, foxes, even big horn sheep.
It’s been very rewarding and as my businesses grew, I became more and more busy.
By the time I had become successful at both, I'd gotten very comfortable with my own company and that of my furry friends.
" He looks towards the mountains. "I've dated.
It never stuck. I was looking for something very specific and not finding it, and I've never been good at pretending otherwise. "
"What were you looking for?"
He looks at me then. Fully. He’s trying to decide how much he can trust me with.
"Someone I can take care of," he says, simply. "Who actually lets me."
The air goes out of me. In the way something you've heard a hundred times landing differently the hundred-and-first time because you're finally ready to hear it.
Someone I can take care of. Who actually lets me.
When did I last let anyone take care of me? How often have I wished for a Daddy to step in and take charge?
He’s a Daddy. He has to be.
I don't say any of what I’m thinking. I look at my hot chocolate and take a sip and listen to the wind.
"That's very specific," I say, finally.
"I'm a specific person."
"I'm noticing that."
He's watching me again. I don’t have to turn to confirm it, I can feel it the way you feel a change in air pressure, something shifts in the quality of the dark beside me.
"What about you?" he asks. "Last relationship?"
"A few years ago. Lasted fourteen months. He was also in travel, which seemed like it would be the thing that made it work and turned out to be the thing that made it not." I think about it. "We both moved through everything at the same speed. I move through life fast. I don’t always stop to think and weigh the consequences before I do things. I can be a bit… impulsive? Not in a bad way but in an exciting way. But, sometimes I need someone who is…” I stop and think about what I’m going to say without giving too much away.
"Is what?"
"Grounded," I say, after a moment. I wanted to say in charge. I wanted to say dominant. I wanted to say a Daddy. But I weigh my words carefully. "Someone who can let me fly while also keeping me grounded." I shake my head. That came out incredibly wrong.
He's quiet for a moment. "Is that what you're looking for? Someone who's grounded?"