8. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Rachel
I t couldn’t have been a better day for a photoshoot. With a partly cloudy forecast and yesterday’s still-fresh snow coating the ground, it looked like a winter wonderland outside, and the cloud coverage helped diffuse the light—making it perfect for photography.
Back at my old job, before I was in a managerial position, I had more opportunities to get my boots on the ground, so to speak. While we had a media team in our department that handled photo and video, if they were wrapped up on another project, they’d send me to the flagship resort twenty minutes away from the corporate office to work in their stead. In turn, I’d gotten rather close to the resort staff, learned the place inside and out, and gotten fairly talented behind a camera. We used a lot of the photos I’d take for social media posts and email marketing campaigns but saved the media team for our print and television promotional materials.
It was one of the few opportunities I got to be creative. So long as you followed the shot list, you could get experimental in the process—something the corporate environment sucked out of what should have been an otherwise creative job. Even if they always had something negative to say about anything, no matter how perfect of a job I did, at least I could enjoy it in the moment.
As we started in the lobby, I asked, “Do we have social media accounts for the lodge yet?”
“I have the old ones from the previous owner. They gave me the passwords, but I haven’t touched them. Here, I’ll send you the info.”
While he did, I focused on some of the lobby details, straying a bit from the shot list once I’d captured everything and was satisfied with at least two of each key feature. I captured the elk horn chandelier, the photos we’d hung on the walls, and vintage skis displayed alongside highlights from ski tournaments hosted here in the 80s.
This place had really come a long way in a few short months.
“Have you posted anything on socials yet? Any sort of announcements?”
“Not yet. I barely post on my own. Social media’s never really been my thing.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “I’d wager you never wanted to be famous in the first place.”
“Tch. What gave it away?”
“It would be easier to say what didn’t give it away.” I held the camera out to him. “Want to take a look?”
He accepted the camera, looking through a few silently. He nodded as he handed it back to me. “Looking good. And you’re right. I really enjoyed hitting the slopes as a kid. Didn’t matter if it was on skis or a snowboard. Then, I sort of just fell into it.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got me. I’ve got no problem with social media. It’s a tool, that’s all.”
His expression was hard to read; it was like there was more he wanted to say, but he simultaneously didn’t want to talk about it. “That’s a good way of looking at it.”
Sensing he would appreciate a change in topic, I asked, “Want to grab the exterior shots while the weather’s still nice? I think it’s supposed to snow again later.”
He perked up again. “Good thinking. I’ll grab the tripod.”
“Thanks!”
Juniper tucked it under his arm as we made our way out front, looking for the perfect position to get the first batch of pictures. Once we got set up, I gave myself a moment to appreciate how breathtaking this place was. I tried to make a point of this every day, at least once, to not take it for granted.
“What got you into marketing, anyway?” Juniper asked.
“I’m awful at math and wanted something that wouldn’t require numbers. Since I always had my nose in a book, I figured writing would be pretty fun, and then one thing led to another.”
“It suits you. You’re great at it, I can tell.”
Pride surged within me thanks to the rare compliment from Juniper. “Thanks.”
From where we stood, some bushes would call the foreground of the pictures home. Instead of flowers blooming, winter left behind some icicles dangling from them in thick chunks. The snow completely coated the ground, and our footsteps were hardly visible from the slight incline to the lodge. The mountain peaks behind us poked out over the roof, and as if the view couldn’t get any better, some gondolas zipped on by.
“Perfect,” I declared. I started snapping away, getting some both with and without the gondolas in the shot. After I took a few photos of the lodge from the outside, I stopped to look at what I’d gotten thus far to make sure the lighting was okay. With the sun tucked behind a cloud, its rays weren’t creating any weird sun flares, but I also wanted to make sure it wasn’t dark beyond editing repair.
“Oh, God. Hold on,” I said. “I gotta get rid of this icicle in the frame.”
I stepped away from the tripod and started walking to the icicle in question which hung from a bush. Maybe it was my dirty mind amplified by my realization I wanted to kiss Juniper this morning, but the icicle didn’t match the others that decorated the bush with their long, white points. This one had a rounded tip with two smaller, rounded balls of ice at the base near the tree, the remnants of icicles that never fully formed.
It looked like an ice penis, and it was the star of the last four photos I took. Never mind the beautiful wooden architecture of the lodge—no, the only thing anyone would talk about if they saw these pictures was the phallic icicle in the frame. Comments left by Generation Z on Instagram asking why the tree was so hung flooded my mind, a premonition of what was to come if I used any of these on social. While I would love for the lodge to go viral and be a smashing success, that wasn’t the marketing plan I had in mind.
“Why?” Juniper asked. “The bush looks pretty with all the icicles.”
“Yeah, but there’s one in particular that’s distracting,” I said.
“What’s distracting about an icicle? There’s, like, ten on the bush.”
Out of fear of sounding unprofessional, I kept my mouth shut. Hearing my exasperation as I spoke, I said, “Just trust me.”
I snapped the icicle off the bush, ready to toss it behind me once I reached the tripod again. But after taking only a few steps forward, I lost my footing and fell flat on my ass. The dick icicle—dickcicle?—flew out of my hand, landing in the snow, right at Juniper’s feet. When he looked down at it, he stifled a laugh and covered his mouth with his hand.
As I stood, I winced, more from embarrassment than any pain. My ego was more bruised than anything else, though I was sure there’d be a nice purple mark on my left butt cheek in the morning. On my walk of shame back to the tripod, I wiped the snow off the back of my pants.
“You okay?” Juniper asked, still holding back some laughter.
“I might steal some of your meds later, but yeah, I’m fine,” I said.
He finally released his laughter. Juniper, with his cheeks now flushed, sounded so carefree I wasn’t entirely convinced it was even him standing next to me. “God, all that over the forbidden dildo over there.”
Well, he said it, not me.
I let myself laugh with him. “Not the forbidden dildo!”
“I’m sorry,” he said as he shifted his weight and cracked his hip, “that was crude.”
“No, no, I mean, it’s why I got it out of the shot.”
“Fuck, I can imagine the comment section now.”
“Right?”
As if to make matters worse, I also imagined what other sorts of crude things might come out of Juniper’s mouth. With his dry wit, there was no way that didn’t translate into—
I stopped myself. No way was I about to let a fucking dickcicle, of all things, derail me like this.
It was just an icicle, and it was just a dick joke.
“Sorry,” Juniper said, still laughing. It had reduced to more of a continual chuckle, a softer sound than I was used to from him. “This is way funnier than it should be.”
“I gotta say,” I said as I resumed taking photos, “I like this side of you, Juniper.”
“You say that like all sides of me aren’t likable.”
“No, no, not like that. You seem genuinely happy, that’s all.”
He sobered at that, the laughter still ringing in my ears but no longer floating through the breeze. I hoped I didn’t fuck it up.
“Some days are harder than others,” Juniper admitted, “but being here and doing this, really doing this? I love it.”
I looked away from the viewfinder and smiled at him. “Me, too.”
I shouldn’t have ignored my sore throat this morning.
After enjoying some lentil soup for dinner, hoping the broth would soothe my throat, the warmth that spread through me didn’t seem to stop. My body couldn’t decide if it was sweltering hot or a personified icicle (not to be confused with a dickcicle).
Ibuprofen only helped for about ten minutes.
Between the fever and my sore rear, sleep didn’t come easily. My face felt like it was on fire and my clothes stuck to my body with my sweat, but I couldn’t control my teeth chattering. It was bad enough I didn’t even feel residual pain in my butt from when I’d fallen yesterday.
I texted Juniper since my throat was too sore to consider calling.
[Rachel: Hey, sorry for the last-minute notice. I came down with a fever last night and still feelin’ it today. Probably best if I hole up! I’ll take advantage of it to work on editing these pictures we got this afternoon.]
[Juniper: Are you okay?]
[Juniper: Don’t worry about the photos.]
[Rachel: Yeah, just a nasty cold. I’ll be fine, promise!]
[Juniper: Do you have anything to take for it?]
[Rachel: I’ve got ibuprofen and plenty of tea to get me by.]
Juniper didn’t reply after that, so I set my phone back down to try to get some sleep. But I felt so cold, as if the very snow and ice outside were in my veins, that it was hard to get comfortable enough to rest properly.
When I finally did sleep, my fever dream was so bizarre I felt at least partially lucid through it. In my medicine-influenced mind, Juniper sat in my old boss’s chair behind his desk at the corporate office in Orlando, both of us in nothing but our undergarments. The blinds were open, letting natural light into the white and gray space as I rolled my hips against his lap, desperate for us to ditch the last bits of fabric separating us. Juniper’s lips were frigid against my own, but so soft I didn’t mind the chill, especially with the way the sun warmed our skin from the windows of the corner office.
A knock at my door made me stir. A look at my phone’s clock showed it had only been about ten minutes since I texted Juniper. I wrapped a blanket around myself as I got out of bed, trying to ignore the way I shook with every movement and the growing pressure between my legs.
It was a fever dream. That’s all.
When I opened the door, there was Sasquatch, a bag in his mouth by the handle. Despite the delivery, he wasn’t wearing his vest.
“Hey, Sasquatch!” Speaking made me cough. I kneeled down to scratch the Newfoundland between the ears and take the bag from him. As I looked inside, Sasquatch pushed past my legs and into my room, jumping on the bed.
I laughed as I closed the door behind me, returning to bed. I pulled out the supplies: a zinc nasal spray and a decongestant, a thermometer, some loose-wrapped cough drops, and a few packets of vitamin-C drink powder. After I took everything, Sasquatch curled up by my side. His long, brown fur felt soft to the touch, an instant source of comfort.
Thanks for the goodie bag. That was very kind of you.
Juniper: Don’t thank me. It was Squatch’s idea.
He’s still here, btw
Juniper: He’s off the clock right now. And also a great cuddle buddy if you need one. I’ll call if I need him. He’ll let you know if he wants out.
I owe you one!
Juniper: Don’t mention it. I need my best employee in tip-top shape, that’s all.
Rachel: Aren’t I your only employee…?
Juniper: Yes, and also my favorite. Even if it is by default.
Juniper: Best to not discuss semantics when sleep-deprived.
Even now, he had to have the last word, but this time, it brought a smile to my lips that was as out of my control as my shivering. After still failing to sleep for another hour, I gave up. Sasquatch lifted his head once he realized I was getting up.
“Your dad will never admit it,” I said as I grabbed the camera, the USB cable that came with it, and my laptop. I left both on my bed and then moved to the backdoor. “But he’s really a big softy, isn’t he?”
Sasquatch stuck his tongue out in response, panting with what looked like a smile. If dogs could smile, that’s certainly what Sasquatch was doing. I gestured to the back door, and he bounded over, accepting my bathroom offer. The cold air hit me like a blast when I opened the door, but since my fever had me feeling hot, it was a welcome sensation. While Sasquatch did his thing, I grabbed a small dish from the kitchen, filled it with water, and left it on the floor for him. Once he was back in, I closed the door, glad to keep the cold air outside where it belonged.
As much as I loved it, a proper winter was definitely an adjustment—and not one I was about to dive headfirst into while I was feeling like this.
The weather reminded me a lot of Juniper. Absolutely beautiful to behold, but the cold would sting and burn anyone who got too close or lingered for too long. But for those who dared to stick around, they’d adapt. Their skin may be dry and calloused like my very fingers, but there was something about being embraced by the cold rather than devoured that made me appreciate it even more.
I liked to think that maybe I brought a little Florida sunshine with me. Perhaps it was why we worked so well together: my rays helped him thaw, and his chill ensured that things never got so warm it was suffocating.