Chapter 14
Callie
“Wow,” Oliver mutters under his breath. “This place. This scenery. It’s no wonder only a handful of people can afford to come here regularly.”
Stepping out of his car, I’m met with all the reasons I’ve come to love returning to this place over the years.
Birds singing off in the distance, the smell of pine lingering in the crisp air.
The complete and utter lack of noise pollution made even by a town as small as ours.
Aspen Point Lodge has found perfection in its seclusion.
Oliver turns himself in circles trying to take everything in, awe written all over his handsome face.
Brow furrowing, I glance around the parking lot for any sign of the Rutherfords.
“Callie, this place is incredible.” He’s not wrong.
Situated in the mountains a couple hours west of Serenvale Springs, the main hotel is stunning.
With its colonial revival influences, the impressive Aspen Point Lodge truly does command respect from all who visit.
Crisp white paint coats the outside, and columns line the front porch spanning the entire front of the building.
The dark interior contrasts the bright exterior, creating a welcoming feel with its roaring fireplaces and intricate carpets.
But we’re not stopping at the main building.
Opening the trunk, Oliver pulls out a medium suitcase and sets it on the ground before doing the same with my bags. It’s clearly new because a tag fastener is still attached near the handle.
“Really leaning into your love of brown there, Rhodes.” Brows raised, I nod to the case.
Pink tints his cheeks, eyes locking on mine. “I needed a new bag and it’s a great color. Warm,” he says, voice quiet.
“It’s your favorite, like dirt, if I recall.” Of course I recall. My mind is a dang steel trap. I remember everything, and man, is it annoying.
Must be all that broccoli I’ve eaten over the years. You know, once I decided it wasn’t toxic or anything.
Though it would be nice to not remember Alfred Robert Jensen’s great-grandkids in alphabetical order because I happened to look at his obituary one time fourteen years ago.
But I do hope Brandon, Jake, and Kirsten are all doing well and have come to terms with the passing of their great-grandfather.
Oliver says nothing, opting instead to take in the view rather than answering his fake girlfriend’s awkward comment.
“Reception’s this way.” We may not be stopping here, but it’d be nice to not have to walk the rest of the way.
Motioning toward the front door, I reach down to grab my bags, but he beats me to them.
“I don’t think so, Rutherford.” Tossing my glitter-encrusted backpack over his annoyingly broad shoulder, he adjusts the handle of the green roller bag to suit his height.
Planting fists on my hips, I take in the sight before me. Even all bundled up, Oliver Grant Rhodes is still the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own bags.”
“I know,” he nods.
Holding out my hand, I await the massive boulder that is my backpack to hit my palm.
Oliver juts his chin toward the main entrance. “Reception, right? Lead the way, my cocoa connoisseur.”
“No bag?”
Lowering his chin, a tiny smile teases his lips. “No bag. Not if I’m around.”
“This way, then. But I get to carry my new mug,” I say with false sternness.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Biting my lip to keep a stupid grin in check, I take off toward the front door.
Christmas is in full swing at the lodge.
Warm white lights line every door and wrap around every column, fluffy wreaths dot every window in sight, and picturesque trees stand erect on either side of the double door entrance.
The snow-covered mountains in the background are just the star on top of the tree.
As we approach the front doors, the doormen open them like a well-oiled machine, while Oliver whistles under his breath. Though I’m not sure if it’s the doormen, the iron chandelier, or the full-size fireplace surrounded by wooden carvings that elicits the reaction.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Rutherford.” The familiar voice of Thomas Carson comes from behind the massive front desk at the opposite end of the lobby.
“Who’s that?” Oliver whispers.
“One of my favorite people here,” I answer in the same hushed tone, “Mr. Carson. He’s been the General Manager since I can remember.”
A man of sharp style, Mr. Carson is always dressed to impress.
In his late fifties, Thomas has lost some of his native French accent since coming to the States.
But he still makes mean madeleines from scratch and never fails to have some ready in our accommodations when we arrive.
He meets us in the middle of the foyer, arms open in welcome.
“It’s lovely to see you again, Ms. Rutherford.
I can’t believe it’s been eight weeks since you and your family were last here. ”
“It’s only been eight weeks?” Oliver asks.
Mr. Carson chuckles. “And who do we have here? Your significant other, I presume?”
Looping my arm through Oliver’s, I give him an encouraging smile. “Yep. This is my boyfriend, Dr. Oliver Rhodes.” Pride drips from my words while I wish in the deepest recesses of my soul that they were true.
Oliver holds out a hand, which Mr. Carson takes without hesitation. “It’s great to meet you, sir.”
Mr. Carson smiles, his tender-hearted nature reaching his dark eyes. “The pleasure is all mine, Dr. Rhodes. You must be quite the special man. Ms. Rutherford never brings her male friends on family getaways.” His eyes twinkle mischievously as they take in my shock at his admission.
Using my free hand, I rub my forehead and try desperately to avoid looking at Oliver. “I don’t think that’s information that he necessarily needed, Mr. Carson. But thank you for breaking the ice.”
Mr. Carson folds his hands together, ever the proper manager. Supposedly. “My apologies, Ms. Rutherford. I hope the madeleines will make up for it. Fresh from the oven this morning and ready for your arrival.”
Oliver’s brows shoot up. “The chefs make madeleines?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “Not the pastry chefs here, though I’m sure we could request them. But Mr. Carson makes them himself.”
“From scratch,” he amends, holding up a finger. “My grandmother’s recipe.”
“I should have known Oliver would find someone to discuss baking with.” John McNalley says from behind us.
Oliver breaks out into a grin. “Hey man.” They proceed to do that weird clap hugging thing that men do.
“Fancy running into you here. Hey Callie, how are you?” John pulls me into a hug.
“Good, thanks. What’re you doing here?”
John casts a glance toward Oliver. “I’m surprised it never came up. Cici and I have been coming to Aspen Point the past couple of Christmases. Rindy and Jo are coming up on Christmas morning.”
My brows dip in confusion as I look at the empty space beside him. “Um, does she have her invisibility suit on?”
John chuckles in response. “She loves the big tree over by the fireplace, so she’s busy counting ornaments while I get us checked in.” He points to the far end of the lobby where Cici dances from foot to foot, mostly concealed by the giant tree while singing and counting perfectly in order.
Talk about a proud teacher moment.
John looks between Oliver and I. “Ollie mentioned your family comes up here every year, but we didn’t see you here last Christmas.”
“Apparently, they stay here pretty regularly,” Oliver amends. He sends a sly look my way. One I’m used to from anyone and everyone growing up.
People who know the truth about my family’s affiliation with Aspen Point Lodge.
Mr. Carson clears his throat. “Ms. Rutherford’s family doesn’t stay in the main building, sir. The Rutherfords stay in the residences when they’re on campus.”
Oliver rears his head back. “Really?” Definitely forgot to mention that one.
John whistles, brows raised. “Schmancy.”
Stilted laughter chokes its way out. “Well, you know. With nine people, it’s just easier, staying somewhere off the beaten path.”
“Dr. McNalley,” Mr. Carson frowns, and I know he’s about to deliver the blow I’ve been trying to avoid. “The Rutherford family owns Aspen Point Lodge.”
John’s jaw drops just like a cartoon, gaze bouncing between Oliver and myself.
Oliver freezes, ratcheting so that he’s facing me entirely.
And my face feels like it’s fresh out of the oven.
“So it’s a good thing we don’t have to bother everyone else here while we stay in a different area,” I offer, turning to Oliver. “Speaking of, why don’t you give Mr. Carson your car key and he can have it pulled around so it’s right where we’ll be?”
My boyfriend blinks at me like he no longer understands the words coming out of my mouth.
“Oliver,” I say a little louder.
That seems to do the trick, snapping him out of whatever state of confusion he was hanging out in. Reaching into his coat pocket, Oliver produces his key, dropping it into Mr. Carson’s waiting palm.
“Very good, Dr. Rhodes,” Carson nods before turning to me. “Ms. Rutherford, I feel I should prepare you.”
“You’re never making madeleines again?”
The man chuckles, getting those narrow shoulders involved and everything. “No, dear. I think my grandmother would roll over in her grave, if that were the case.”
John takes the opportunity to grab Cici and check in, leaving us alone with Mr. Carson, the good news sharer.
I can’t decide if I want the man to spit out whatever it is, or keep us here long enough that Oliver forgets the lovely information Mr. Carson decided to impart on my fake boyfriend and his friend only moments ago.
But the longer I keep my gaze away from Oliver, the warmer my face gets under his blatant stare.
“Then I’m sure I’ll survive whatever it may be.” Let’s get this over with.
“Well,” Carson adjusts his already perfect tie, “your mother mentioned you were bringing a guest with romantic intent.”
Only in my dreams. “Okay.”