Chapter 4 Nicole
The moment Nicole left the airport in Burlington, Vermont, she inhaled crisp, pine-laced air, marveling that something could be both familiar and jarring. It smelled like mountains, felt a little like home, but…everything was different.
Like the Salt Lake Valley, Burlington was surrounded by mountains, but instead of the jagged, majestic drama of the Rockies, Vermont pleased the eye with more moderate slopes.
To the east, the Green Mountains rose gently against the horizon, the distinctive profile of Camel’s Hump easy to see as she stepped through the terminal doors. To the west, the beautiful Adirondacks stood layered against the sky, hugged by Lake Champlain.
She totally understood why Dad had moved to Vermont after the divorce, and it wasn’t just because his always adventurous parents had come back East to retire in their golden years. It had an earthy mountain atmosphere with beautiful views, with the added touch of quaint New England ambiance.
It was close to his heart, but not the mountain home where he’d grown up. And, deep down, Nicole hoped that little fact would help her on her own “Operation Sleigh Bells.” Only her mission would be a whole lot more challenging than Benny’s had been.
“Hey, Nic!”
She turned at the sound of her father’s voice, spotting him in the arrival waiting lanes. He waved, opening the driver’s door of his white Tacoma.
“Stay there,” she called. “I’m coming.”
Shouldering her tote and dragging her rolling bag, she navigated the traffic and kept her eyes on her father who, as always, looked great. Jack Kessler was a handsome sixty-year-old, tall and broad, carrying off the puffer jacket and baseball cap with the ease of a man half his age.
His hair had turned mostly silver over the ten years since he’d left Utah, and a lifetime of skiing had made him fit and strong.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite ski bum who doesn’t ski,” he said, reaching out his arms to hug her.
Good heavens, that didn’t take long. Nicole rolled her eyes, but he didn’t see it as they hugged. “Got that one out of the way,” she said. “Can we stop now?”
He chuckled as he gave her a squeeze, and she was reminded that his bear hugs always made her feel about eight years old again. Parting, he smiled, searching her face with eyes the same espresso brown that she saw in the mirror every morning.
She favored him in so many ways—her coloring, her attitude, and, yes, her skiing skills.
So, she should forgive the ski comments.
She could have been a great competitive skier, like her father, but one cold and tragic day in January nineteen years ago changed all that.
And the guilt for the role he’d played in that accident by pushing her too hard and too fast was never far from the surface for him.
After he tossed her bags in the back, she climbed into the truck.
The cab was warm, country music playing low.
With some small talk about Thanksgiving and the weather and those first awkward moments of reunion behind them, they pulled away from the airport and headed into the quaint city of Burlington.
The road was flanked by snowy pines and colonial-style homes, all decorated for Christmas with the first of the evening lights starting to twinkle. As they drove and chatted, she let her mind wrap around the request she’d been forming the entire two flights it took to get here.
When would she ask? How? What would he say? It was either completely out of the question or…yeah, he’d help save Snowberry Lodge.
She’d have to wait for the perfect moment.
“You look good, Nic,” Jack said, drumming the steering wheel with one hand as he glanced at her. “How’s Utah treating you? Heard you guys got a nice little Thanksgiving dump of powder.”
“It was not little,” she replied. “And there was more on Friday. Base is looking good for Deer Valley.”
“Since when do you care about base snow depth at DV?” No surprise, his voice sounded hopeful.
She shot him a look from the passenger seat. “Since I sell ski gear and there has to be snow in order for people to buy it.”
“Fair enough,” he conceded.
“How’s Grammy?” she asked, easing back to more pleasant subjects. And nothing was more pleasant than Jack’s hilarious and wonderful eighty-five-year-old mom.
“Still winning at poker and cheating at bingo.” He smiled fondly. “She’d love to see you.”
“Sign me up for bingo, please. But how do you cheat?”
“She’ll tell you, if she’s not busy flirting with all the new arrivals at Pinecrest Village, where she is the unofficial mayor and actually has her own squad.”
Nicole gave a soft hoot. “Oh, I love that woman.”
“Brace yourself. She’s hosting a special Christmas Day brunch with a winter wonderland theme, and has roped me into being the ‘guest’ speaker.”
She laughed. “You can show old Olympics tapes.”
“God help us,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. “And how’s old Red doing?”
“Cantankerous as ever,” she said, always surprised that he asked about anyone at Snowberry before inquiring about Mom.
Nicole rested her head back, feeling the weight of the upcoming conversation pressing on her chest.
“And how’s Copper?” Jack asked, thankfully buying her a few more minutes.
Nicole sighed dramatically. “Still a drama king, and the love of my life.” At his look, she added, “Literally, so don’t ask if I’m dating because the answer is no.”
He just smiled as they rode in silence for a bit. “You hungry?” he asked as they got deeper into Burlington, where he lived.
“Starving,” she admitted. “Plane peanuts only go so far and my layover in Chicago was frantic.”
“Oh, good. I know the perfect place to take you.”
As they drove there, she took in the New England Christmas card surroundings—brick buildings with wreaths in every window, a gentle snowfall dancing between gas lamps, and a sweet, slow pace that she really liked.
They pulled into a little café called The Maple Crate, where the windows were fogged up and the smell of coffee practically punched her in the face as soon as the door opened.
Inside, the tables and chairs were mismatched but charming. They settled into a booth with a window view and ordered dinner—Dad chose the maple-glazed meatloaf, but Nicole never could resist a chicken pot pie.
Despite the late hour, they both had coffee, taking a moment to enjoy the warmth of the place.
“So,” Jack said after fixing his coffee and taking a sip. “How are things at the lodge?”
Nicole stirred her cream, knowing this was her opening. Where should she start?
“What?” he pressed. “Not good?”
“How can you read me so well?”
He smiled and took a sip. “You’re a younger, better-looking version of me. And your expressions are transparent, just like your mother.”
Finally, a mention of Mom. She gave him a hard look. “You haven’t asked about her, you know.”
He swallowed visibly. “How is she?” The question held no harsh tone, no resentment, just genuine curiosity and a little sadness.
“She’s okay,” she said.
He studied her, his dark gaze piercing hers as a frown pulled. “Are you sure? Is something wrong with her? Is that why you seem…off?”
Oh, yes, the door was wide open and now was the time to step through it. “She’s worried—we all are—about how bad business is at the lodge.”
“Really?” He inched back, clearly not expecting that answer. “At this time of year? I figured you were booming. And the ski shed, too? I know that’s your baby and you do such a great job there, Nic.”
“I’m making my numbers, but the lodge has been hit hard. The Grand Hyatt is open and thriving, right smack up against the DV expanded lift lines. It’s new and gorgeous, running all kinds of deals, with a spa, and lessons, and blah blah blah.”
“But Snowberry has Santa!” He chuckled. “Red’s always a big draw.”
“It’s not enough, Dad. Room nights are just way down. We’re not full for Christmas, which has never happened before. We’ve turned the third-floor suite into storage. Mom is working herself into the ground, and Aunt MJ’s pretending like everything’s fine. But it’s not.”
Jack’s face shifted slowly—laughter lines relaxing, gaze narrowing. He didn’t speak right away but looked at her with an edge of worry in his eyes.
“There’s more,” Nicole added.
“She’s seeing someone,” he said, dropping the statement like a thud.
“What? No.” And why did he seem so concerned? Was that what worried him?
“I thought that’s where you were going,” he said, “when you said there was more.”
“Well, there is, but not—”
Their food came then, and while they thanked the waiter, her head whirred with the fact that he thought Mom had met someone—and didn’t like it. For some reason, that gave her an insane amount of hope. If he cared that much…he might care enough to come back.
“Just tell me, Nic,” he insisted as they picked up their silverware.
She took a deep breath of buttery crust and warm chicken. “Mom delayed the tax payment, thinking December would cover it. But…”
“Taxes have gone up?”
She lifted one brow. “Are you kidding? On twenty-five acres zoned for retail and guest accommodations? Mountain views and about ten physical buildings, if you count Starling House, the lodge, stables, and the ski shed, plus—”
“How much?”
She groaned. “A ton. December could cover it if we were packed at full price, but, like Mom says, it’s all going to hit us again next year.” She felt her shoulders sink. “She’s kind of pushing MJ to sell.”
He stared at her, and she braced for the natural reaction—shock, dismay, and a long lecture about why that would be the dumbest thing ever.
“Oh, poor Cindy,” he whispered under his breath. “That has got to shatter her heart.”
The response surprised her—and touched her in an old, old wound. The same wound that was opened when she found her mother looking through pictures of her early years with Jack.
They might have divorced, but they cared deeply for each other.
“Yeah,” she said gruffly. “She’s pretty wrecked.”
With misery etched on every feature, he looked down at his food.