7. Elisa
seven
Elisa
The morning sun is both brilliant and blinding against the snow. After days of relentless winter, the brightness feels almost obscene. I stand at the window, coffee mug warming my hands, watching as the world begins to thaw.
"Roads should be clear by tomorrow morning," Jace says from behind me. "Highway patrol just radioed."
My stomach drops at the words I've been simultaneously hoping for and dreading. "That's... good."
Five days. Five days of snowbound isolation that have somehow shifted everything I thought I knew about myself.
"I should help you get things in order before I leave," I say, turning to face him. "It's the least I can do after you've put up with me all this time."
The smile that touches his lips sends warmth through my chest. "Put up with you, huh?"
"You know what I mean." I feel my cheeks flush, remembering exactly how little "putting up with" has been involved. My body still hums from last night's tenderness, so different from our first desperate encounter in the workshop.
We spend the morning in companionable silence, organizing tools and supplies that were hastily used during the storm. I'm surprised by how easily we move around each other now, anticipating needs, passing items without asking. It's a dance we've somehow learned in less than a week.
"What's this?" I ask, finding a folder of drawings tucked beneath a workbench. The pages inside take my breath away—architectural renderings of an expanded Darkmore Lodge, custom furniture designs, and what appears to be plans for a larger workshop space.
Jace glances over, something like embarrassment crossing his features. "Just some ideas I've been working on. The lodge owners are considering an expansion."
I flip through the pages, my former architectural aspirations stirring. "Jace, these are incredible. The integration with the existing structure, the way you've maintained the character while creating something entirely new..." I look up at him. "This is professional-level work."
He shrugs, but I can see my words have pleased him. "Engineering background helps."
"This is more than engineering. This is vision." I continue examining the drawings, noting the attention to detail, the thoughtful flow of spaces. "You could be doing this on a much larger scale, you know."
"Not interested in larger scale," he says, returning to his organization. "I like building things with my own hands, seeing them used in real life. Not just designing for someone else to execute."
The statement hangs between us, highlighting the fundamental difference in our worlds. I build events that last a day; he creates things meant to endure generations.
My phone buzzes, Victoria Harrington's name flashing on the screen. With a deep breath, I answer, bracing for complaints about my extended absence.
"Elisa, darling!" Her voice is unexpectedly warm. "I've been looking at the concept drawings and the Darkmore Lodge photos you sent. Absolutely divine! And those design concepts you included—the natural wood elements and custom furnishings? It's exactly the elevated rustic elegance we're looking for."
I freeze, confused. The design concepts she's referring to were rough sketches I'd made during the storm, influenced by Jace's work—ideas I hadn't even realized I was incorporating until my pen was moving across the page.
"The Chapmans secured that trite Banff venue, so we'll be the only ones with this authentic mountain aesthetic. I've already spoken to Charles at Alpine Catering about incorporating local ingredients."
As she continues enthusiastically, I catch Jace watching me with curiosity. I give him a thumbs-up, still processing this unexpected turn.
"So you're pleased with the direction?" I finally manage to ask.
"Pleased? I'm ecstatic! This will be the event of the season. We need to secure Darkmore immediately. When do you return to Toronto?"
"Tomorrow," I say, the word sticking in my throat. "My flight leaves from Calgary at 2 PM."
"Perfect. We'll meet the following morning to finalize everything."
After ending the call, I stand in stunned silence.
"Good news?" Jace asks, wiping his hands on a rag.
"Victoria loves the venue and the design concepts I drew up." I shake my head, still processing.
A small smile plays at his lips. "Is that a problem?"
"No, it's..." I gesture helplessly. "It's actually perfect. She's thrilled. It could mean a huge boost for my business."
"Congratulations," he says, genuine warmth in his voice. "You deserve it."
I look around the workshop, at the projects in various stages of completion, at the man who created them. "I wouldn't have come up with any of it without this place. Without you."
Something shifts in his expression, a sudden guardedness. "You'd have figured something out. You're good at what you do."
"That's not what I mean." I set the phone down, needing him to understand. "Being here, seeing how you work, how you live—it's changed something in me, Jace."
He turns away slightly, focusing intently on arranging tools. "Storm fever. Happens when people get isolated together."
The dismissal stings more than it should. "Is that all this has been to you?"
"You know it's not." His voice is low, tight. "But let's be realistic, Elisa. Tomorrow you go back to Toronto, to your business, your clients, your life. And I stay here."
"It doesn't have to be that black and white."
He faces me fully now, his expression serious. "Doesn't it? You planning to give up your career and move to the mountains? Because I'm not moving to the city."
"I'm not asking you to," I say, frustration building. "But there are options between all or nothing."
"Like what? Weekend visits until we both get tired of the distance? Me sitting in your sleek Toronto apartment feeling like a fish out of water? You here, going stir-crazy when you can't get a decent latte or cellular reception?"
"You're not even willing to try?" The hurt in my voice is unmistakable.
His jaw tightens. "I've tried that road before. It doesn't work."
"I'm not Caroline," I snap, then immediately regret bringing up his ex.
Silence falls between us, heavy and charged. Finally, he speaks, his voice deliberately calm.
"No, you're not. You're someone with a life completely incompatible with mine. We had a good time, Elisa. Let's not complicate it with impossible expectations."
The words land like blows. I straighten my shoulders, professionalism my only defense. "You're right. I should pack."
The rest of the day passes in painful politeness. We speak only when necessary, orbiting each other like cautious planets. That night, I sleep in the guest room for the first time in days, staring at the ceiling, listening to him moving around in the workshop below.
By morning, the roads are clear as predicted. We load my suitcase into his truck in silence, the beauty of the sun-drenched snow a cruel contrast to the heaviness in my chest.
The drive to the airport is excruciating. Two hours of stunning mountain scenery and deafening silence. I rehearse speeches in my head—passionate arguments, dignified farewells—but say nothing.
Twenty minutes from the airport, Jace finally speaks.
"I found something of yours." He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the wooden coaster I'd made, complete with its "mistake" that revealed the deeper grain. "Thought you might want it."
I take it, running my fingers over the smooth surface, the beautiful imperfection. "You finished it."
"Added some oil to bring out the grain." His eyes remain on the road. "Thought it might remind you that not everything has to be perfect to be valuable."
Something breaks loose in my chest. "I don't want to leave."
The words hang in the air between us. I see his hands tighten on the steering wheel.
"You have to," he says quietly. "Your life is there."
"What if I want a different life?" I turn in my seat to face him properly. "What if meeting you has made me question everything I thought I wanted?"
He pulls the truck to the shoulder of the road with a sharp turn, puts it in park, and finally looks at me. "Don't say things you don't mean, Elisa."
"I mean it." My voice is steady despite the pounding of my heart. "I'm not saying I want to abandon everything and move to your cabin tomorrow. But this week has shown me possibilities I never considered."
"What possibilities?" His voice is guarded, but I see hope flicker in his eyes.
"Victoria wants an authentic mountain wedding. What if I specialize in that? What if I become the connection between your world and mine? Mountain destination weddings featuring local craftsmen, local beauty."
He's watching me carefully now. "You'd get tired of the commute."
"Maybe. Or maybe I'd find a way to split my time. To have both worlds." I take a deep breath. "Unless you don't want me in your world at all."
"Christ, Elisa." His voice breaks slightly. He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I haven't wanted anything like I want you in my world. That's what terrifies me."
The confession opens something between us—a door we'd both been afraid to approach.
"I'm falling for you," I whisper. "Fast and hard and completely unexpectedly. And it scares me too."
He reaches across the console, taking my hand in his. "I tried so hard not to feel this. Told myself it was just proximity, just the storm."
"And?"
"And I knew I was lying before you'd been in my cabin for twenty-four hours." His thumb traces circles on my palm. "I don't want you to leave, but I don't want you to stay for the wrong reasons either."
"What if we just... try?" I suggest, hope building. "I have meetings in Toronto I can't miss. But I could come back next weekend. And we could talk, really talk, about what might be possible."
For the first time since the argument, I see him smile—that rare, transformative expression that reaches his eyes. "I could show you the property I bought up on the ridge. Been thinking of building something there."
"A new cabin?"
"Something bigger. A home and a proper workshop." His eyes hold mine. "Always planned it for just me, but..." He trails off, the implication clear.
"I'd like to see it," I say, my heart feeling too large for my chest. "Maybe offer some design input."
"Might need an expert opinion," he says, and I hear the future in his voice. Not certainty, not yet, but possibility. A blueprint waiting to be refined.
He leans across the console and kisses me—not goodbye, but the start of something new. Something we'll build together, adapting to the grain as we go.
"You're going to miss your flight," he murmurs against my lips.
I smile, pulling him closer. "There's always another flight."
For once in my life, the plan can wait… just one more day.