Chapter 37
CALEB
L ennon’s hand tightens around mine, almost cutting off the circulation.
I glance over, hiding a grin. We’re on our way to Aspen for Thanksgiving. This is the first time we’ve ever been on plane together, and it turns out Lennon is a nervous flier. Or maybe she’s more anxious about arriving. “It’s going to be fine, Len.”
“I know,” Lennon says quickly. Her grip loosens, so it feels like we’re holding hands instead of her hanging onto me for dear life.
“You do?”
“Yes!”
“We can back out.”
“You’ve been saying that for weeks. And we’re already in the air, Caleb. If I was going to back out—which I’m not—I couldn’t anymore.”
“They’re not going to say anything.”
They’d better not. I made it very clear to my mother—to both my parents—that there were conditions for accepting their Thanksgiving invitation.
Lennon gives me a small smile, then turns back to her laptop. She’s been typing one-handed for the past hour, working on the essay for the journalism grant she’s applying for.
I’m glad she is. It makes me feel a little less guilty about everything she gave up to come here. I know it was about a lot more than me, but I doubt she would have ever applied to Clarkson, let alone transferred, if this wasn’t where I was.
That comes with some responsibility for her to be happy, it feels like.
And if that happiness doesn’t include Landry, if it’s a fancy job at an important newspaper, then that’s great.
But I’m not convinced it is. The happiest I’ve seen Lennon was walking around the east pasture with Dusty following her. Wild, windblown hair and grass-stained jeans.
I want her to have choices. I just don’t want her to choose something because it’s an option now she didn’t have before.
* * *
When we land in Colorado an hour later, I have to surreptitiously shake my arm for five minutes to get the blood flowing again. We hit some turbulence mid-flight that had Lennon’s grip tightening again. Then as soon as the skies quieted, she fell asleep on my shoulder.
Lennon stirs as the plane fills with activity, everyone standing and opening the overhead bins or turning on their phones to make calls.
Once it’s finally our turn to disembark the plane, we follow the exit signs through the airport.
I’ve only been here once before, and it wasn’t half as packed then it is today.
We pass a long stretch of gates and then the baggage claim.
I’m grateful Lennon’s a light packer. We didn’t have to check a bag, so we bypass the huge crowd waiting for the belt to begin moving and another one watching the luggage spin.
Lots of people brought snow sports equipment, clogging up the chute with bulk other than suitcases.
It’s a shock to step outside. Kentucky hasn’t fully transitioned to winter yet, temperatures still hovering above freezing.
I didn’t check the weather here before we left, but I wasn’t expecting it to be this cold.
There’s even snow on the ground, cleared away from the sidewalk and road in white piles that suggest it fell recently.
I was only expecting the artificial kind.
“Wow,” Lennon breathes. Her attention is focused on the towering, snowy peaks that make up the distant landscape.
“Just wait until you see the view from the top of one,” I tell her.
“Wouldn’t that require skiing down from the top afterward?”
I give her a duh look, and she laughs. “Yeah, no . Hard pass.”
A long line of cars is waiting to pick up new arrivals. I guide Lennon over to a black SUV, climbing inside the warm car as the driver loads our two suitcases into the trunk.
When he asks where we’re headed, I have to look up the chalet’s address on my phone to relay it to him.
Lennon’s eyes are wide as she takes in the downtown section we drive through. It’s approaching dusk. The lights lining the street are just turning on, casting a golden glow over the shops and restaurants and condos.
The awestruck expression on Lennon’s face makes me second-guess what I was thinking earlier. Maybe this is what she wants. New experiences. Different places.
She looks even more stunned when we arrive at the five thousand square foot property.
The chalet was a twenty-five-year anniversary gift from my father to my mother.
Less romantic and more of an acknowledgment he’s not the easiest person to get along with.
Now that I’m not living at home and hardly see them, I never know exactly what the state of my parents’ relationship is.
Since this is the most ostentatious of the luxurious properties my parents own, I’m guessing not great.
Lennon isn’t the only one taken aback by the sight of the chalet. Our driver doesn’t attempt to school his amazed expression when he reaches the top of the winding driveway.
The chalet is meant to blend in with the mountain it’s built on. It might succeed, if seven-bedroom, seven-bathroom mansions just popped out of rock formations like magic.
Lennon gives me a Seriously? look as we climb out of the car and grab our bags. I pay the driver and then we head toward the front door.
“It’s bigger than I remember,” I tell her.
She snorts.
I’ve only been here once before, and it was a short trip. I register the exterior like it’s the first time I’m seeing it.
The stone and wood construction is covered by a black metal roof barely visible beneath a dusting of snow.
Floor to ceiling windows serve the dual purpose of exposing the interior and providing a sweeping view of the surrounding scenery.
Tall, proud pines stand between the columns that flank the front door.
Lennon stops once she reaches the front porch, looking off to the right. I pause when I reach her.
This is one part of the chalet I didn’t forget. The front side overlooks the town below where we started from. If you look out from any other angle of the house, all you can see is snow-dusted mountains and evergreens.
No civilization, just wilderness.
Whoever the real estate agent was who pocketed the heavy commission on this property had the whole location, location, location line in spades. The house itself is gorgeous. The view is stall-your-breath stunning.
“Wow. I didn’t realize we were up this high,” Lennon says, surveying the drop below.
We’re not looking up at the peaks; it feels like we’re part of one of them.
“Yeah, the view is nice,” I agree.
Lennon laughs. “Nice?”
“Come on. The house is not too bad either,” I tell her.
I open the front door and gesture for Lennon to enter first.
The layout is mostly open. The kitchen, living room, and dining room all meld together as soon as you pass through the entryway.
Lennon stops in place as soon as we do. The far wall is completely composed of windows made from glass squares framed by black wood.
It has the effect of appearing as though the wall is covered by a photograph collage of the same breathtaking view we were admiring outside, pieced together in perfect scale.
“You’re here!”
I turn to see my mother descending the staircase that curls around the far side of the gourmet kitchen.
“I sent you our flight number so you’d know exactly when we were arriving,” I reply.
Based on her tone, you’d think we dropped out of the sky unexpectedly, rather than the fact that the only reason we’re here is repeated badgering. It doesn’t bode well for the rest of this visit.
“Right.” My mother lets out a nervous laugh. “Well, come on in and get settled. The other guests should be arriving shortly.”
“Other guests?” I ask, flatly.
“The St. Jameses are staying with us for a few days.”
I close my eyes briefly, so, so tempted to just walk back out the front door. I should have known she was incapable of not pulling this kind of shit. It shouldn’t even matter that she doesn’t know how persistent Sophie has been and she’s only hoping throwing us together will spark interest.
“Why?”
Another nervous laugh, paired with a hair pat. “I was talking with Eloise, and she said they didn’t have any plans. So I thought it would be nice to include them.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were including them? Or better, ask me before you did?” I pretend to think about it. “I think I know why. Because you knew I wouldn’t come.” I shake my head. “The manipulation is getting really old, Mom.”
I’m not harboring any delusions my mother invited Sophie and her family for any reason besides a distraction from getting to know Lennon and another attempt to shove me in Sophie’s direction.
“There’s plenty of room, Caleb. It looks like this place could sleep twenty.”
Lennon surprises me by speaking. After the way she reacted to learning Sophie was at Mayfair with me, I figured she’d be just as upset about this development.
But when I look over, her expression is pleading. Silently asking me not to make more of a scene.
I exhale, and my mother jumps on the pause. “Let me show you to your rooms.”
“We’re staying in the same room, Mom.” I drop the words with a clear note of finality. I don’t care if it makes my mother uncomfortable or messes with her wholesome family mindset. “Which one?” I ask.
“First one on the right.”
I nod. “We’ll go get unpacked.”
I head for the stairs without another word. Five minutes here, and I already need a breather.
The house is silent aside from the crackling of wood in the fireplace, some soft jazz playing from invisible speakers, and Lennon’s footsteps following me.
As soon as we enter the bedroom, I start pacing the room and ranting. “Unbelievable! I can’t believe she—”
“You’re overreacting,” Lennon tells me, lifting her suitcase on the bed and unzipping it.
I turn toward her, surprised. “I’m overreacting? You realize this means Sophie will be here?”
“So? You told me not to worry about her. So…I’m not worried. She can show up and flirt with you all she wants.”
I study her. Lennon looks truly unbothered. “She still should have told me.”