Chapter 8 Cindy
The morning started like any other at Snowberry Lodge—except, of course, for the part where Cindy’s ex-husband had arrived on the property two days ago and casually strolled into her life again like it hadn’t been a decade since he left.
She sat at the organized chaos that was her desk, peering over a spreadsheet splayed across the computer screen. She clutched a pen in one hand and a coffee cup in the other.
Something was sidetracking her concentration, though. Was it the aroma of MJ’s cinnamon pecan waffles wafting from the kitchen around the corner, or the fact that Jack was back? Both were equally distracting. And…tempting.
Sighing audibly, she leaned back and closed her eyes, letting all the emotions hit her. Jack Kessler—the only man she’d ever really loved, the man she’d married, shared a life with, had a child with, and divorced after twenty years—was currently in Cabin One.
She could hardly believe it, and she had no idea which of her feelings to grab onto and lasso into submission. Shock at the sight of him? Age-old anger at how their marriage crumbled for reasons she could barely remember? Frustration that she needed him to get out of her financial bind?
Nah, none of those really bothered her.
It was a different kind of emotion that gripped her throat and made it hard to swallow coffee…and the truth. The ache in her heart when she looked at him, the memories, the laughter, the nights, and unity that came with sharing a last name and a bed for twenty long years.
The last thing she needed was to fall back in love with Jack. Or acknowledge that she’d never fallen out of love with him, despite telling everyone—including herself—that she had.
But the first thing she needed? She squinted at the bottom line on the spreadsheet. December income and, like it or not, Jack could most certainly help with that.
She’d been stunned that Nicole had extended the invitation, but they’d all agreed to do whatever they could to make these numbers work.
The idea was brilliant because Jack created magic in the form of Christmas sleigh rides, and those sleigh rides brought in good money, plenty of attention, and booked rooms.
So, Jack? Well, yeah. It was tough, but if it helped with the goal of a solid December, she’d grin and bear it. In fact, she should be as nice to him as possible, considering the magnitude of the favor he was doing for them.
She tapped her finger against the mug and let her gaze slide to the window…in the direction of the closest cabin on the property, where Jack was right now.
She felt pulled to visit him, but surely he’d be over here for breakfast soon. In the meantime, she had to make sense of the numbers and be prepared for her next conversation with Henry Lassiter.
If she went ahead and decided to give Henry a very small percentage of the business, it would take them through the next couple of years and the renovations they so desperately needed to do.
If that fell through, they still had to pay that tax bill. Everyone was doing their share to solve that problem. Jack would do sleigh rides, Red had agreed to put that Santa suit on for one more year, Gracie was talking up the lodge, Nic was running a huge sale, and MJ was—
“You’re doing that thing again.”
She whipped around. MJ was standing in her doorway, pointing at her with a spatula, her blue eyes twinkling.
“What thing?” Cindy’s gaze dropped over her sister’s slightly splattered apron with the Snowberry Lodge logo embroidered on the front.
“The thing where you stare at a spreadsheet like it’s going to transform into different numbers if you glare hard enough.”
Cindy groaned. “Is it that obvious?”
MJ shrugged. “I know you better than anyone. Which is why I saved enough batter to make you two waffles. You want?”
“More than life itself.” She pushed up, then hesitated. “Did Jack come in for breakfast yet?”
“It’s seven in the morning. Have you met Jack Kessler?”
She nodded, then cocked her head. “But he’s on East Coast time, so I bet he’s up. Why don’t you make those waffles for him, and I’ll take them over. I’ve had two people message us about sleigh rides, so we really should talk about a schedule. Also, we’re not paying him, so let’s feed him well.”
“Good call.”
Cindy followed her sister into the sun-warmed kitchen, leaning against the counter to watch MJ pour the batter into the waffle iron. Their few guests were in the dining area, chatting and enjoying a spectacular breakfast.
“So? Dare I ask the obvious?” MJ looked up with a sly smile.
“Does he want extra syrup?”
MJ laughed. “Come on, little sister. Truth. How do you feel about this surprise guest?”
Cindy hesitated, taking a sip of the cold coffee she brought with her, then putting the cup in the sink. The move bought her a little time to gather her thoughts.
“It was a shock,” she said. “And weird, though not in a bad way. A good weird, if that makes sense. Almost like he never left, which is just bizarre.” Of course, it had been Christmastime when they’d said their official goodbye.
She’d seen him a few times after that—when Nic graduated from college, and he’d come after Mom passed away. But it was that last Christmas that haunted her memories, a time so much like this one.
“He looks good,” MJ mused.
“Mmm.” Had Jack ever not looked good? She remembered the day he’d come in to interview for a job at Snowberry—also during the holidays—and her father hired him to run the sleighs.
He’d been off the skiing circuit for a year after getting injured and needed a little supplemental income until he could heal enough to give ski lessons.
She’d heard of him, of course—everyone in Park City knew Flying Jack—but she’d never met him until that day. She’d walked into the very office that she’d just left, and Red introduced her to their new sleigh driver.
It might not have been love at first sight, but it was a big, bad, juicy crush that she was happy to say went both ways.
“So how does that make you feel?” MJ pressed, oblivious to Cindy’s little march down memory lane.
She sighed. “I don’t know what to feel, MJ. I haven’t seen him in years, and now he’s back, talking about sleigh rides and laughing with Nicole like nothing has changed. It’s strange.”
“Do you think you’ll spend time together or just sort of exist around each other?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t hate him, you know. I’ve long ago forgiven him for his choice.”
“Does he know that?” MJ asked.
“I guess.” Cindy lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe Nicole has told him but, honestly, I don’t know.”
“You should tell him.”
She studied her sister’s precise moves as she sliced up some fruit and deftly poured syrup into a small white pitcher.
“Maybe,” Cindy said, unconvinced. “But why?”
“Because…” MJ grabbed a wooden tray and set up a breakfast serving with silverware, a glass of juice, a steaming cup of coffee, that syrup, a pat of butter, and a little tiny flower in a vase. “He should know that.”
“Why?” Cindy asked again.
Lifting the waffle iron to reveal perfectly golden, fluffy waffles, she used tongs to place them at a playful angle on a plate, garnished with the sliced fruit, then tapped her powdered sugar like snow all over them.
“Because I think there’s still something there.”
Cindy choked. “Excuse me?”
“I watched him at dinner last night, and the night he got here. He looked at you, only you, then you some more.” She finished the tray and swept her hand over it like a proud magician. “I dare the Grand Stinking Hyatt to do better,” she said.
“They can’t.” Cindy stepped to the mudroom to get her jacket. “He really…looked at me?”
“Gazed, I would say. With longing and…another word that begins with L and rhymes with…glove.”
“Shut up.” Cindy slipped into the sleeves. “I’ll take breakfast to him and hope he considers it payment for his services.”
“You can always add a hug,” she said. “I don’t think he’d mind.”
Cindy rolled her eyes and reached for the tray. “This looks so good, MJ.”
Her sister leaned in, and Cindy waited for another comment about how no other hotel could rival her work.
“Ten years doesn’t erase the kind of love you two had,” she whispered, making Cindy startle at the statement. “I mean it, Cin. In its day, it was a beautiful thing. Almost as good as George and me.”
Could she be right? “Ten years and one big divorce most certainly does erase it,” she said in her most pragmatic voice, hoping to stomp out the hope that crawled up her chest.
She couldn’t fall for Jack again. She couldn’t.
“Thanks for the waffles,” she said. “And the really lame advice.”
MJ snorted a laugh and put a stainless-steel cloche on top of the waffles. “Quick, go before they get cold. He’ll want the butter to melt when he slathers it on.”
“The butter, yes,” Cindy said, walking to the door, then looking over her shoulder. “But not me.”
Her boots slid a little on the snow as Cindy made the walk to Cabin One, which sat on the crest of a hill about a hundred yards from the back of the lodge.
Despite being the smallest of their “studio” cabins with just a bedroom, living area and kitchenette, it had always been one of her favorites.
It didn’t have the mountain view that some of the others had, but it was cozy and rustic.
It had a quaint porch that was a dream in the summer and a stone fireplace that dominated the room and made for delightful winter sleeping.
This close to Christmas, the wooden railing was trimmed in garlands and lights, the planks dusted with fresh snow. As she approached, she felt her heart rate pick up.
Dang it, Cin. Why are you nervous? It was Jack, for heaven’s sake.
Yeah. That’s why she was nervous.
She knocked twice before the door creaked open.
He was barefoot in plaid sleep pants and a white T-shirt, mug in hand, hair tousled and eyes sleepy.
“Hey,” he said, voice gravelly from sleep, then his gaze dropped to the tray. “Room service? I don’t remember Snowberry offering that.”