8. Aspen
ASPEN
Blake carries my bags, and I follow, my portfolio in hand.
He opens the front door, and we step inside.
A gorgeous, original tile is underfoot, and a chandelier covered in plastic hangs overhead.
The entrance hall is grand, but half of it is covered with protective sheeting.
There’s a mobile scaffolding unit that allows whoever is filling and sanding and painting the walls to work safely, and equipment is stacked in every corner.
“Do you have contractors working here at the moment?” I ask, wondering about all the equipment and the amount of work that clearly needs to be done.
He shrugs. “On and off.”
I gaze at the size of the entrance hall alone. “You can’t manage this place on your own.”
“There’s a local guy who lives in a cabin on the grounds who helps with a lot of the manual labor, too. You might see him around from time to time, but don’t pay him too much attention. He’s not much of a talker, more one of these end of the world, live in a bunker types.”
I raise my eyebrows. “He’s a prepper?”
“Yeah, I guess you could call him that. He does some work for me to tide him over, but he’s not interested in a career or anything like that. He just does what he needs to survive.”
I imagine a haggard old man wandering the grounds and wonder what I’ll say if I bump into him.
“I’ll try to stay out of his way.”
“Probably for the best.” Blake glances around. “You handy with a paintbrush? You must be, if you’re an artist.”
I bite my lower lip. I don’t know why talking about my art always makes me anxious, but it does. “I draw in pencil, not paint, but I can certainly give it a shot. I mean, I’d appreciate being able to pay my way here, even if it’s in kind.”
He throws me a grin. “I scratch your back, you scratch mine kind of thing?”
My cheeks warm, and I remind myself that he’s only talking about decorating. “Yeah, something like that.”
Blake keeps walking, leading me deeper into the building.
“Levi should be around here somewhere,” he says.
Adrenaline surges through me at the idea of meeting his son.
I’d almost forgotten about him. I definitely wish it was just me and Blake here, but I guess that probably wouldn’t be a good idea either.
I might be imagining these moments of sparks and tension flying between us, or it’s wishful thinking on my part, but hopefully the son will act like a buffer between us.
I don’t want to do anything to make my life even messier than it already is.
Blake has given me a huge opportunity by offering me somewhere amazing to live, and I don’t want to screw this up.
“Oh, right.” I can’t think of anything else to say.
Blake stops short then faces me. He seems suddenly uncomfortable. “Listen, Levi is somewhat… unsociable. He really doesn’t like people at all, which is why it suits him to live out here. He won’t be friendly, but it’s not as though it’s anything personal. He’s like that with everyone.”
I’m suddenly even more nervous at the prospect of meeting Blake’s son.
“Oo-kay.” I draw out the word with uncertainty.
Blake keeps going, as though he’s trying to make excuses for his son before he’s even done anything. “He tends to say what he’s thinking, too, so again, please don’t read too much into it. Once he realizes you’re here to stay, he’ll leave you alone. You probably won’t even know he’s here.”
“Sure,” I reply, still not knowing what to say.
I hope his son isn’t going to cause problems.
Blake forces a smile. “I’ll show you to your room so you can freshen up.”
He heads toward the staircase, which divides off midway in opposite directions.
He chooses the stairs to the left, and they wind up to the second floor.
There’s a long corridor ahead of us, with a number of doors leading off it.
I assume these are all bedrooms and would have been guestrooms when the hotel was open to the public.
I wonder if one of them is Blake’s room, and if Levi’s bedroom is here, too.
A couple of other seemingly endless corridors lead off the main one. This place is like a rabbit warren. I hope I don’t get lost.
Blake stops outside a door at the end. I notice the number pinned to the wood.
113
My gaze locks on the thirteen part of the number.
Unlucky for some.
He uses an old-fashioned key with a large wooden fob to unlock it, then opens the door.
I hesitate, bite my lower lip, and glance back down the corridor. “Which one is your room?”
Am I being inappropriate by asking where his bedroom is? It’s not that I plan on visiting it or anything, but the thought of sleeping in this great big—mostly empty—hotel without knowing how to find anyone else gives me the shivers.
He gives me a warm smile, as though sensing my nerves and trying to put them to rest. “It’s the first door you come to when you turn down this corridor.”
“Does it have a room number?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, but you won’t miss it.”
“Because it doesn’t have a number on it,” I realize.
“Exactly.”
I guess it would be strange for him to have a number on his bedroom door. This is his home, after all. The numbered doors are for when they have guests, which is what I am.
I wonder which bedroom is his son’s. Not that I need to know. It’s not like I plan on paying him a visit.
Blake enters my new room, carrying my bag with him.
I follow him in.
The room is gorgeous, with high ceilings and wooden flooring, which is partly covered in a woven rug.
Tall, sash windows look out onto the breathtaking views of the mountains.
It’s minimally furnished, with just a metal framed double bed, the head pushed against the wall, and a small nightstand holding a single lamp.
There’s a dresser and an occasional chair with a blanket draped over the back in the corner.
The only thing that’s remotely feminine, other than the rug, is a carved, ornate oval mirror hung on the wall directly opposite the bed.
The walls are completely bare of any artwork.
I wonder if it would be too presumptuous to hang my own work.
Blake did say I could make this place my own, but I’m still not completely comfortable with that.
He could easily change his mind and decide this isn’t working out and ask me to leave.
I guess I’m worried that if I allow myself to relax too much, that’s exactly what will happen.
“Here we are.” He drops my bag at the foot of the bed and turns to face me. “This is all yours. There’s a bathroom attached, so you’ll have your privacy. You’ll find clean towels already in there, and the sheets are fresh, too.”
I prop my folder against the dresser. “Thank you, Blake. This is amazing.” I notice one thing missing that I’ll need. “Can I also get a glass for some water? I always need to have a glass of water next to my bed.”
“Of course. Make yourself at home,” he replies. “I know you haven’t got much with you, but you’re welcome to do whatever you want to put your own stamp on the place.”
I assume that means he’ll be fine with me hanging my artwork, but I don’t mention anything for now.
“I really can’t thank you enough.”
Having my own room again feels like such a luxury.
My own space, where I don’t have to apologize for simply existing.
For the past month, I’ve been constantly conscious of taking up too much space.
I’ve tried to make myself and my belongings as small as possible so I didn’t annoy whoever has allowed me to stay in their home.
Other than Tobias, I had a couple of old neighbors and colleagues who allowed me to sleep on their couches from time to time.
But I’ve been shrinking with every passing day, until I feared I might be at the point of vanishing altogether.
“You can stay as long as you like, Pen. I mean that. If it’s a day or a year, that’s fine with me. I want you to treat this place as your home.”
Tears burn my eyes, but still I don’t cry. “Thank you, Blake. I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”
He pulls me in for another hug, and I allow myself to press my face against his chest and inhale him. Was he always this tactile? I don’t remember him being so, but I guess things are different now. I’ve just lost my dad and ended up homeless. Does he realize I’m in need of a hug more than ever?
My palms press against the back of his shirt, absorbing the heat of his skin. All I keep thinking is ‘he’s so big.’ At five feet seven, I’m not exactly short, but he towers above me. I want to trace every inch of him, wonder over him like someone would a sculpture.
Yes, maybe that’s what this is about. It’s not that I’m attracted to my father’s best friend. It’s that I’m simply wowed by his good looks. I’ve always been a visual person. Beauty fascinates me, whether that’s a lovely flower, or view, or person.
He releases me, and I wilt in disappointment. I’d have been happy staying that way for hours.
“I’ll let you get settled in,” he says, heading to the door. “If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen downstairs. You must be hungry, so I’ll rustle up something to eat.”
“Okay, I’m sure I’ll find it.”
I hope I will. This building is vast, and I can’t imagine the number of different rooms it must have.
“Come down whenever you’re ready.”
I watch him leave then let out a sigh of pleasure.
Remembering my cell phone, I take it from my jacket pocket and check the screen.
There’s a single bar of signal, but no sign of any messages from Tobias checking if I’ve made it okay, or apologizing for his behavior.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I consider messaging him instead, letting him know I’m safe, but think ‘fuck it.’ He doesn’t deserve to know anything.
I put my phone away and turn a slow circle in the room that’s now mine.
Holding back my excitement, I check out the bathroom—modern and clean, with a roll top bath and a separate shower, and sure enough, there are several fresh, fluffy towels—and then I go to the tall window to stare out at the view again.
My room is at the front of the hotel, so I get an elevated view of what I’d seen when I’d first arrived.
My gaze is drawn to the overgrown box maze.
Something about it captures my attention, sparking the artist inside me.
It’s mystical and old-worldly, and I half expect to see maidens in flowing gowns running through it.
A flash of movement catches my eye.
I frown and press my face closer to the glass. Was that a person winding their way between the hedges? No, it couldn’t have been—Blake said it was too overgrown for anyone to get through.
Above the maze, a couple of ravens dive bomb each other, fighting over something one of them has in its beak. The bird drops what its holding, and the two take off in a flapping of sleek black feathers.