Chapter 6
Saturday arrives wrapped in fresh snow and the specific organized chaos of Holly and Justin executing a vision.
It’s definitely chaos. It’s definitely organized.
It’s all the things I love about Holly. I’ve really seen her blossom once she found Justin.
He gives her free reign to express her vision but with the boundaries and safety net she needs.
Their love story is everything I’ve dreamt of.
I’ve noticed the stern way he’s whispered in her ear, how his hand goes to her bottom and squeezes and even a few times where he’s excused them for a few minutes.
I know, because I’m one of her closest friends, exactly what’s happening in those quick escapes.
Controlled chaos. He’s in control but she brings the chaos.
The Christmas preview event is everything Holly described and more.
The resort grounds are transformed with additional lighting, stations for ornament decorating, wreath making and mulled wine, an outdoor market with Colorado artisans selling things I absolutely cannot afford and am absolutely going to buy anyway, a tree lighting ceremony planned for after dark, and a sleigh ride component that involves actual horses and has been causing Justin anxiety since Tuesday.
I've been up since seven writing the draft of my first full resort piece, which is going to go live timed to the grand opening and which I'm genuinely proud of.
The angle I found, showing the place as a living thing, designed around what people feel rather than what they see, came directly from a conversation on a dark ridge with a man who designs walking routes around where the wind drops and the noise shifts.
I haven't told him that yet. He’s inspired me to find the story behind the moments, and to try the best I can to express the emotion and feeling they invoke. AI can’t bring that to life.
The event runs starting at noon and I am caffeinated and professionally present, wearing the dark red sweater that Madison said in the group chat this morning would, and I'm quoting, make a tall veterinarian lose his entire mind.
I told her I was wearing it for the photos. Because it would look good against a Christmas backdrop. Because red, green, and gold, duh.
She sent back a single period.
The ornament station is in the covered outdoor market, warm from heat lamps, surrounded by the smell of pine, cinnamon and mulled wine.
I'm set up with a collection of plain glass ornaments and an array of paint pens and glitter that I'm already mentally photographing from six angles when I feel him before I see him.
I don't know when I started being able to feel him enter a space. Sometime between the mountain road and the ranch, the awareness just became a fact. I know when he is here.
He comes to stand beside me. Close, not touching, but close in the way that's been building all week, in the way that says something without committing to words. He’s driving me nuts.
I want him to make more of a move. I’ve never been a slow burn type of girl but, as I remind myself, it’s only been a few days.
Is it really a slow burn if it’s been less than a week?
What did I expect from him? To throw me in a pile of hay and take me the first day we met? That idea isn’t without merit but…
"You actually came," I say, trying to shoo away the very inappropriate thoughts running loose in my mind.
"You said I should."
"I didn't think you'd listen."
"I generally listen." He looks at the ornament station. Then back at me. Then down at the glitter. With an expression that is the opposite of enthusiasm he says, "This is what you had in mind?"
"Pick one." I push the tray toward him.
He picks one like a man completing a task he has decided to complete, a chore if you will.
With full commitment and absolutely zero joy.
Oh, sweet summer child, when I introduce you to the art of a very creative little who loves to paint, color and throw glitter around like confetti.
I already know, it’s going to be my job to bring the color and chaos into his controlled life.
"What do I do with it?"
"You make it beautiful."
"I'm a wildlife veterinarian."
"And now you're also an ornament artist." I hand him a paint pen. "Here, start with the base color."
He accepts the pen. He looks at it. He looks at the ornament. He makes the expression of a man who is resolved to do something because someone asked him to and he cares about her to do it, even if he might not enjoy it.
He starts painting.
He's meticulous. Of course he is. He does everything with a complete, quiet attention that makes you want to watch him, and he brings that same quality to a three-inch glass ball on a hook, and it's going to be beautiful, and I hate how charmed I am by all of it.
Mine will not be beautiful. Not in the artistic way that sells. It will be colorful and sparkly. But beautiful? Not quite.
"Tell me something I don't know about this place," I say, working on my own ornament.
"About the resort?"
"Or about the mountain, the local area or something the previews don't cover."
He thinks about it as he paints. I can tell he’s actually considering the question as he doesn't just immediately answer.
"There's a ridge trail about two miles east which takes forty minutes to hike.
At the top there's a natural rock shelf where in January you can see the elk migration.
Hundreds of them, moving at dawn. The rock shelf doesn't have a name and I’m pretty positive Justin doesn't know about it. "
"Why doesn't Justin know about it?"
"Because some things should stay quiet. It doesn’t need to be another tourist area."
He just told me something he doesn't tell Justin, one of his best friends.
I feel like I've been handed something careful and specific and meant only for me.
"I want to see it," I say.
"The migration won’t happen until January."
"I'll be back in January." The words come out before I've decided to say them. I hear them land in the air between us and something in his expression shifts, like something he'd been waiting to confirm has been confirmed.
I just told him I'm coming back.
I just told myself I'm coming back.
Okay.
Guess I’m coming back.
The afternoon passes in the warm haze sponsored by mulled wine and Holly being everywhere at once with the specific energy of someone whose event is going perfectly and who is not going to relax until it's over.
I buy three things from the artisan collective and a bottle of something from the wine room and photograph approximately everything.
I grab my second glass of mulled wine and notice he hasn’t had any. “I’ve noticed you don’t drink a lot in the way of alcohol. Is that a personal choice or…?”
“I occasionally will have a glass of good bourbon but for the most part, no. Many of the animals that have come to me have been a result of drunk drivers. If I’m working or driving, I don’t drink.
I don’t want to make a decision that can cost an animal its life with alcohol in my system.
I don’t judge others for drinking, as long as they make responsible choices. ”
“I understand,” I say. He’s responsible down to his bones.
“Now, if I’m at home and not driving, and I’m not on call, which is very rare, there is only one other emergency vet in these parts, I might have a drink or two. I’m not that stuffy.”
I laugh. He’s a bit stuffy. In a way that I like. He walks with me throughout the day, and I’m so glad he is there. After I finish the second large cup of mulled wine, he takes my empty cup and replaces it with a bottle of water.
“Hydrate,” he says. “I’ve seen you drink coffee and wine all day. You need some water.”
How very Daddy of him.
“I don’t especially like water,” I say, testing his reaction.
“I don’t remember asking if you like water, baby girl.” He gives me a quick, almost unnoticeable wink.
Baby girl.
He just called me baby girl.
Before I can think too much about it, he continues. “Water is a necessity for all living creatures. We always make sure our animals have an abundance of clean water. It keeps them healthy. Do you know who else water keeps healthy?”
“Me?” I ask with a small shrug. “Lots of things have water. Coffee, for instance, is made of water.”
“Nothing hydrates you better than pure H2O. Drink the water, Maya Daniels. Finish the bottle before any more alcohol.”
I drink the water. Or at least, I start to drink it.
He does the reindeer display at three. It’s brief and educational and genuinely entertaining. After, he comes back and finds me at the market, and we move through the afternoon together in a way that has become natural enough to be slightly startling when I notice it.
This is the part where I do the inadvisable thing.
It's small. It seems small. Holly has set up a hot cider station near the tree that's going to be lit at dusk, and there's a handwritten sign on it, warm and clear, that says the cider is complimentary for the preview group and guests. I am in the preview group. I pour two cups.
I hand one to Anthony and take a sip of mine and wander approximately ten feet to look at a display of handmade wreaths, and that's when I hear Holly behind me say, very quietly but clearly, "Maya…" in the specific voice of someone who is about to explain something after the fact.
I turn around.
Anthony is looking at the cup. Then at me. Then at the sign, which I read again now with the full context of Holly's voice. She was clueing me into the fact that I’ve made a big mistake but without pointing it out in a way that would embarrass me.
The cider station is labeled complimentary for preview guests. The line below, which I did not read, says the cider cups at the right are alcoholic, a spiked spiced cider for the adults. The cups at the left are non-alcoholic, mulled apple for everyone else.