Chapter 35 Charlie
Chapter thirty-five
Charlie
The morning light sparkles off fresh shoveled snow as Emily and I make our way down the brick-paved street of Aspen's shopping district. After the drama with Olivia and my allergic reaction, we both needed a dose of normalcy—and retail therapy seemed like the perfect medicine.
"I still can't believe I don't have Mom and Dad's gift yet," Emily groans, tugging her beanie lower against the chill. "The exchange is tonight!"
"Because you've spent almost the entire time either skiing or flirting with someone on your phone instead of shopping," I remind her with a grin.
She bumps her shoulder against mine. "Worth it. Not all of us get to go heli-skiing with our hot fake-but-not-fake boyfriend."
I genuinely smile. Last night's conversation with Bash replays in my mind—his admission that he wants to be with me, and my own vulnerable confession in return.
"Speaking of which," Emily continues, "have you wrapped his gift yet?"
I shake my head. "Not yet. I'm still trying to figure out the best way to surprise him with it."
"Another heli-skiing trip is pretty epic," she says. "I can't believe you managed to book that for after New Year's. He's going to flip."
"I hope so." I'm genuinely excited about giving him the gift. The look on his face during our first trip—that pure, unfiltered joy—is something I want to see again.
We duck into a high-end sporting goods store, where Emily immediately gravitates toward a display of designer ski gear.
"What about these for Dad?" She holds up a pair of gloves. "His old ones are looking rough."
I examine the price tag and wince. "Unless you've been secretly saving, these might be out of your budget."
She sighs dramatically. "Why do parents have to be so hard to shop for? Mom already has every sweater known to womankind, and Dad says he doesn't need anything."
"Because they're adults with jobs who buy what they want when they want it," I say. "We need to find something thoughtful that they wouldn't buy themselves."
Three stores later, Emily's enthusiasm is waning. "This is hopeless. I'm just going to get them a gift card to that steakhouse they like."
"Absolutely not. Gift cards are what you give distant cousins, not our parents." I steer her toward another boutique. "Come on, we haven't tried this one."
As we browse through handcrafted items, my phone buzzes with a text. I can't help the smile that spreads across my face when I see Bash's name.
Missing you this morning. Your dad's teaching me some pretty diabolical moves in chess. Save room for lunch?
Bash
Emily peeks over my shoulder. "Look at that dopey grin. Is that lover boy checking in?"
"Maybe," I say, typing back a quick response.
Learning my dad's tricks of the trade already? Moving fast, Montgomery. And yes to lunch. Emily's on a gift-hunting mission.
His reply comes after a few moments.
All the tips and tricks. And tell Emily I already got them something she can put her name on if she's desperate.
Bash
I laugh out loud.
"What?" Emily demands.
"Bash says he got Mom and Dad a gift you can claim if you get desperate."
"That traitor! First, he’s winning cookie competitions and now he’s stealing my gift-giving thunder!" She huffs, but I can see the amusement in her eyes. "Though I might take him up on it if we don't find anything soon. I need caffeine if we're going to continue this hunt."
We step back onto the street, and Emily points to a rustic storefront across the way with a cheerful yellow sign that reads "Perk Up, Buttercup!"
"Coffee break?" she suggests hopefully.
"Lead the way."
The moment we push open the door, warmth and the rich aroma of fresh coffee envelop us.
The café is nothing like the sleek chain stores that populate most shopping districts.
It's cozy and eclectic, with mismatched furniture, local artwork covering every inch of wall space, and shelves filled with handmade goods from regional artisans.
The place buzzes with conversation, mostly locals by the sound of it.
"This is adorable," I murmur, unwinding my scarf.
"Right?" Emily's already making a beeline for a display of pottery near the counter. "Oh my god, Charlie, look at these mugs!"
I join her, admiring the collection of hand-thrown ceramic mugs, each one unique with earthy glazes in blues and greens. "These are beautiful."
"Mom would love these," Emily says, picking up a pair. "They're her colors, and you know how she is about her morning tea ritual."
"And there's that wooden box behind them," I point out. "It looks like... oh, it's a tea chest. That's perfect."
Emily's eyes light up. "Wait, this is genius. The tea chest for Mom, and—" she moves to another shelf, "—these whiskey stones for Dad. He's always complaining about ice diluting his scotch."
I nod, impressed. "See? I knew we'd find something perfect. And they're from local artists, which gives it that thoughtful touch."
"You're a shopping savant," she declares, gathering her finds and heading to the counter.
While she pays, I wander around, examining the artwork.
Most pieces feature Colorado landscapes—mountains and forests captured in every season.
One painting catches my eye: a small watercolor of a snowboarder in mid-air against a pristine backdrop.
The artist has somehow captured the exhilaration of the moment in just a few brushstrokes. It reminds me of Bash.
My phone buzzes again.
Your dad just handed me my ass at chess.
Bash
I type back.
He doesn't like to lose, that's for sure.
A new text pops up.
I see where you get your competitive side from now.
He's taking me to his man cave to select the perfect cigar for tonight!!!
Should I be scared?
Bash
I snort-laugh, drawing Emily's attention. Poor Bash. Dad's notorious cigar ritual involves a 20-minute lecture on tobacco cultivation and proper cutting techniques. It's his way of welcoming men into his inner circle.
Consider yourself officially dad-approved.
"Earth to Charlie," Emily sings, holding up her purchases and two steaming mugs. "Your coffee awaits, but you're too busy sexting to notice."
"I'm not sexting," I protest, accepting the mug she holds out. "Just confirming lunch plans."
"Mmhmm." Emily smirks. "So… how's paradise now… Shortcake?"
I narrow my eyes. "That name is reserved for Bash and Bash only."
"Ooh, territorial. I like it." She laughs, settling into a worn leather armchair by the window. "Seriously though, you two seem good. Like, really good."
I sit across from her, cupping my hands around the warm mug. "We are. It's... different than I expected."
"Different how?"
"Just..." I struggle to find the words. "Easier? Not that relationships should be hard, but with Ethan, it always felt like work. Like I was constantly trying to be enough. With Bash, it's just... I don't know. Natural."
Emily's teasing expression softens. "That's how it should be, Charlie."
"I know," I say quietly. "It scares me a little, how right it feels."
"After what happened with Ethan, I get why you'd be scared. But Bash isn't Ethan."
"No," I agree, smiling despite myself. "He definitely isn't."
"Emily Whitaker?" a voice calls from the counter.
Emily raises her hand. "That's me!"
The woman behind the counter is in her early sixties, with silver-streaked hair and bright, curious eyes. She carries a small paper bag over to our table.
"Here you are, dear. I threw in a little something extra—some of our homemade gingerbread cookies. You look like you could use the sugar boost with all the shopping you two have been doing."
"Thank you," Emily says, surprised. "How did you know we've been shopping?"
"Oh, those bags aren't exactly subtle," the woman laughs, gesturing to our collection of purchases. "I'm Glenda, by the way. I own this little slice of heaven."
"It's a wonderful place," I tell her sincerely. "We've never been in before."
"First time in Aspen?" She asks, though something in her expression suggests she already knows the answer.
"Oh no, we've been coming here for years," Emily explains. "Our family has a place up on Cottonwood Lane."
"The Whitaker house! Of course," Glenda nods knowingly. "Richard and Margaret's girls. I should have recognized you two. And you must be the one dating that handsome snowboarder," she says, turning to me. "The whole town's talking about you two, you know."
I nearly choke on my coffee. "They are?"
"Aspen may be a big city, but it's a small town to us locals, honey. Word travels fast, especially when it involves a former pro athlete." She winks. "Sebastian Montgomery is quite the catch."
Emily shoots me an amused look. "See? You're famous, Shortcake." She giggles.
"I saw you two at The Alpine the other night," Glenda continues. "Couldn't help noticing. The way he looks at you—well, let's just say we don't see that kind of thing every day."
I feel heat crawling up my neck. "Um, thank you?"
"So, what brings you two in today? Besides the obvious need for the best coffee in Colorado?" Glenda asks, seamlessly changing the subject.
"Present hunting," Emily says. "I just found something for our parents, but we're still browsing."
"Well, if you're looking for unique gifts, you should head down to the Winter Market at the end of the street," she suggests. "It's only here through tomorrow—local artisans, food vendors, the works. Much better than those touristy shops on the main strip."
"That sounds perfect," I say, grateful for the recommendation.
"And while you're there," she lowers her voice conspiratorially, "stop by Theo's stand—he makes the most incredible hand-carved wooden boxes. Tell him I sent you, and he'll show you the special ones he keeps under the counter."
Emily's eyes light up. "Ooh, insider tips. I like your style, Glenda."