Chapter 7 Grayson
grayson
There's something to be said about a leisurely drive. I remember my grandpa doing it when I was young and was always confused about why he was driving just to drive. Once I asked him where he went, and I was baffled by his answer: he said he went to three states just that day to see the sights and picked up some syrup because he passed a road-side stand. Granted, we lived in New England, which made all of that possible. But still. I didn’t get it.
Then I became an adult and realized how relaxing it could be just to hit the road.
Yes, I’m on my way to the mountains for work, but this three-hour drive has been just about me, the road, the podcast I found that goes further in depth to some of the greatest sports stories of all time, and my car snacks.
Yes, there are snacks that are only allowed for road trips. And Nerd Clusters are those snacks.
Oh, and thinking a time or two about Kat. Okay, more than two. The woman has altered my psyche in some way. It hasn’t even been two days since I last saw her, but I can’t get her out of my head. Our text exchange from earlier doesn’t help that.
Grayson
Hope you have a good trip. Safe travels today.
Kat
Thanks. Not on the road yet. Packing to be gone for multiple days is never easy.
Understandable. Probably one of those things guys have easier than women.
Yes. Because we have to do panty math.
Panty math?
Yes. It’s the precise calculation of how many pairs to take, multiplied by the days there, divided by what type we need. And for the ten days I’ll be gone, my total needs to be no less than twenty-five, but now I have to divide those up by style.
Ten days and twenty-five pairs? I hate to get personal, but do you plan on shitting yourself every day you’re there?
Look, you never know. I never have, but you have to be prepared for anything.
I…I had no idea.
And I haven’t even told you about the math of deciding what cut and style of underwear to bring. You have to have some for comfort, some for certain kinds of dresses, the list goes on.
Dresses, you say? What kind are we talking? I’m a big fan (especially the vision of you in one).
All different styles. Mostly the kind I have a feeling you’d rather see on the floor
You’re killing me, woman.
I’ll make sure to send you a picture whenever I wear one.
Is that my Christmas present?
Oh no. That will come after the new year. But the dress (and the underwear) will be involved.
Yup, you’re going to be the death of me.
But what a way to go, am I right?
She is right. But as much as I’d love to think about her and her underwear, right now, my GPS signals that I’m about five miles away from the Timberline Inn. Meaning it’s time to focus. Game plan. End my year with a win.
When I emailed the owner, Howard, yesterday, he got back to me immediately and couldn’t wait to meet me.
He said that he and his son were excited for the opportunity to sit down and chat before the new year.
However, he explained that he was going to be gone all weekend, so he hoped it would be okay if we meet Monday.
Which is fine by me. That gives me a few days to scope out the hotel, restaurant, bar, really anything I can get a feel for, before putting together my pitch to him.
The more I feel like I know the product, the more I’m going to be able to wow him.
And if all goes well, I’ll be on my plane to Connecticut on Tuesday with a final win in the column to close out the year.
The one thing he was vague about was specifically what he wanted a media strategy about.
But as I pull up, I’m sure it can’t be the exterior, or even the overall building.
It’s a good-sized hotel—I’d guess about two hundred rooms. But it’s the facade that’s blowing me away.
The combination of brick and wood gives it a rustic feel.
Add on the expertly placed Christmas lights and lit garlands and it’s the perfect holiday getaway.
That’s not even mentioning the thirty-foot Christmas tree lit up in the center of the grounds, which is the first thing you see when you pull up.
Yeah…I’m going to be able to work with this. It’s also the perfect place to kick off my holiday vacation.
I’m only more confident in this thought as I walk into the lobby.
I know it’s called an inn, but from the second you step inside, it’s like you’re transported to a ski lodge in Aspen, with the wood, the warmth, the fireplaces, and soft lighting.
It’s gorgeous. This is the absolutely perfect place to spend the holidays, or really, any time of the year.
Families. Couples looking for getaways. Every place I look, something else catches my eye.
It’s why I’m not paying attention to my surroundings, and why I feel myself running into someone from behind.
“Oh my God, I'm so sor—” I turn around to apologize but the words can't leave my mouth. “Kat?”
I drop my backpack. My mouth is hanging open. Shocked doesn’t even begin to describe my reaction. And judging by Kat’s brown eyes also popping out of her head, she’s just as surprised to see me.
“Grayson? What are you doing here? I thought you were going to Connecticut?”
I can’t stop blinking, like at some point it’s going to help, because this isn’t happening. “Pitstop for work before I head up north. What about you? I thought you also had a business trip?”
“I am. This is where I’m staying.”
I let out a laugh, because what are the fucking odds? I mean, this part of Tennessee isn’t exactly desolate. The Smokys bring in a ton of tourism revenue with both chain and locally owned businesses, but still, the odds of us being here, at the same place at the same time, are staggeringly low.
“Okay, let’s start this again,” I say as I open my arms and take a deep breath. “Hey, you.”
Her smile eases the awkwardness of the situation as she steps into my hold. “Hey, you.”
We stand there for a few minutes, and I know I said this weekend was all business, but I can’t help but now think that a little pleasure might be woven in.
“Have you checked in yet?” I ask as we step back from each other.
“No. Just pulled in a few minutes ago.”
“Well, then, let’s do it,” I say as I pick up my bag, and being the gentleman I am, grab onto her suitcase and roll it to the check-in desk. “This is a pretty big suitcase. All of this, and all that panty math, for a trip to the mountains? Isn’t that pretty outdoorsy?”
She laughs at my joke, and if I’m not mistaken the tiniest bit of a blush creeps on her cheeks. “No. After I’m done here, I’m on my way to St. Lucia. Christmas on a beach. What could be better?”
I laugh because, again, what are the odds? “My boss just told me that I should take a beach vacation and actually recommended I go there.”
“I’ll make sure to let you know how it is. In case you’d want to go there in the future.”
“Please do.”
We share a look that screams “we’re about to see each other naked again really soon,” when the front desk attendant calls up the next guest.
“Welcome to the Timberline Inn,” she says cheerfully while also dawning reindeer ears. “Are the two of you checking in?”
We share a smile before Kat shakes her head. “No. We just happen to know each other. We’re single reservations.”
She’s right. But if I have my way, neither of us are sleeping alone until we have to go our separate ways.
“Wonderful.” The attendant asks for Kat’s ID and credit card, and as she’s doing that, something in the distance catches my attention.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, leaving my bags next to Kat as I make my way to the area so expansive that even calling it a “great room” feels like an injustice.
Every space I walk into is more impressive than the last. Here there’s a massive Christmas tree that takes up every vertical inch from floor to raised ceiling.
The soft, white lights give the room a certain glow that you can only get at Christmastime.
But what got my attention was the tinkling of a piano.
I'd hoped as I walked in that it was somebody actually playing and not just piped-in sound, or worse, one of those auto-play ones. But no, there's a man, probably in his fifties, smiling away as he plays a Christmas carol on a grand piano. There are kids dancing and singing around him, as well as adults just sitting and taking in the atmosphere. And then there’s me out of habit, moving my fingers against the air as if I’m the one pressing the keys.
It’s been a while since I’ve played. A year? The last time I was in Connecticut? It had to have been. Maybe if I can sweet talk Howard, he’ll let me tickle the ivories before I head off.
“Perfect timing,” the attendant says as I walk back to the desk. “Name, please?”
“Grayson Ross,” I say pulling out my credit card and license. “I booked yesterday.”
“Great.” She starts to type away, but with every click and clack of the keyboard, I watch her face get more and more worried.
“Mr. Ross?” She swallows hard before continuing. “I’m so very sorry about this.”
“Sorry about what?”
She takes a breath and squares her shoulders, likely preparing for me to freak out for whatever she’s about to say.
“I need to start by explaining that our hotel has been going through renovations for the past year and a half.
Through that time, we've closed off different areas so we can keep some capacity while also making the changes that our owner has wanted to implement.”
“Sounds like smart business to me.”
“Well, usually, yes. Unfortunately something must have glitched in the system, because the room that you're staying in is still under renovation and not available.”
“Oh.” The way she was freaking out, I was expecting a lot worse. “That’s no trouble. I just booked the first one that came up. Whatever room you have is fine with me.”
“That’s the next problem,” she says, her eyes getting more scared. “There are no rooms available.”