Chapter 16
VAL
As soft light brushed across my face, I slowly climbed the layers of sleep until I reached wakefulness and cracked my eyes open.
Glancing at the empty armchair at the foot of my bed, a pillow and a blanket draped over it that hadn’t been there before—and I bolted upright, last night’s events rushing back to me.
Had Nolan really slept in that chair all night just because I’d asked him to stay?
It was way too early in the morning for that kind of thinking.
Dragging myself to the closet to retrieve my standard uniform of jeans and a sweater, I lingered over the new clothes hanging from the rack.
Clothes weren’t something I ever thought about much.
My style could be described as comfortable utilitarian, sometimes in a bright color.
But now that I had such a wide array of options, I wanted to try something new.
Ten minutes later, I walked into the kitchen wearing a burgundy blouse that hugged my waist, black jeans with gold zippers on the front pockets—impractical as pockets but flashy and fun—and a pair of sturdy black combat boots.
Nolan stood behind the center island scrolling on his phone, dressed in form-fitting navy slacks and a white button-down, his light brown hair perfectly coiffed.
When I entered, he looked up and froze, coffee cup halfway to his lips.
I lifted my chin as his eyes roved over me.
Twice.
“I never thought I’d be grateful for Cressida’s shopping sprees,” he said, a vein of heat in his voice.
My reply lodged in my throat and by the time I recovered, he’d already returned his attention to his phone.
I poured a much-needed cup of coffee from the carafe and after a few sips, I worked up the courage to speak.
“Thank you. For last night. You didn’t—did you sleep there? In the chair?”
Nolan’s thumb paused on his phone screen but he didn’t look at me. “I wanted you to feel safe.” He resumed scrolling as if he hadn’t just dropped a revelatory bomb on me.
“Well, I appreciate it,” I said, keeping my voice professional. Even though inside, I was jumping up and down. But my next words grounded us. “Hopefully it won’t happen again. I’d hate to keep disturbing you.”
A muscle in his cheek fluttered as he picked up on the echo of what he’d said to me after our cooking lesson. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.” And just like that, we were back where we’d started—tense, at odds, only spending time together because we were forced to.
It was for the best—I couldn’t get used to the idea of him being my protector or being there for me when I needed him. He was not mine to have, and I needed to remind us both of that.
Changing the subject, I said, “I thought we’d take a tour of my favorite part of the resort, Briar Manor.” Strictly skipping over my actual favorite part—my greenhouse. Showing him my pet project felt too intimate, especially with him being Captain Moody-and-Broody this morning.
Nolan nodded, eyes still on his phone, and gestured to the fridge. “Have some breakfast and we can go.” It riled me up that he wouldn’t look at me, and that made me feel extra weird. Grabbing a yogurt and a banana, I ate them in the bathroom while I finished getting ready.
Fifteen minutes and an icily silent car ride later, Stan dropped us off at Briar Manor.
Located at the foothills of the farthest mountain, it was the most remote part of the resort.
With its facade of cobbled river rocks, Briar Manor had an eclectic feel distinct from the rest of Hale’s Peak that reminded me of a castle in the Scottish Highlands.
As we entered the lobby, Nolan finally slid his phone into his pocket and looked around.
Soaring stone archways, wood beam ceilings, and wrought iron chandeliers greeted us.
A towering Christmas tree dominated the space, and evergreen garlands with bows of gold and crimson twisted around every surface.
A thin red rug covered the floors and a roaring fireplace carved out the far wall, bracketed by well-loved armchairs.
Behind the front desk, a sweeping grand staircase poured into the lobby.
Leading us upstairs, I wound through the dim halls lined with sconces.
Even though I kept my eyes carefully forward, all my attention was focused on Nolan’s scorching presence beside me.
Stopping at a set of double doors with ornate brass handles, my heart hiccuped in my chest. “Welcome to the library,” I said and pushed them open.
Nolan stopped at the threshold and surveyed the space in silence.
Floor-to-ceiling windows conquered the opposite wall, overlooking the evergreen trees and snowcapped mountains.
Solid oak bookshelves lined the stone walls, stuffed with ancient tomes.
To the left, a spiral staircase led to the balcony that ran the perimeter of the room.
I smiled at the familiar books that had given me a plethora of worlds to escape into during the heights of my anxiety. Behind me, Nolan trailed his fingers along the spines with a reverent touch.
Unsure of what was going through his mind, I rushed to fill the silence.
“When the gardening and snowboarding don’t help my anxiety, I come here to drown myself in other people’s words.
It’s the only way I can quiet the ones in my own mind.
” I cut myself off, embarrassed by my oversharing, but Nolan didn’t seem to mind.
After a moment, he took a ragged breath as he dragged a hand through his hair. “My mother loved this lodge. She’s the one who insisted on maintaining the original architecture, especially here in the library.”
Oh mierda. “I’m sorry if bringing you here was the wrong thing. I—I didn’t know about your mother.”
A brief flash of a smile like the sun through the clouds passed across his face, then vanished.
“It’s all right. I like it here too. I just needed to be reminded of it.
” As his eyes wandered around the room, capturing every detail, I wondered what memories he was reliving, what keepsakes hid between the pages of these books.
But then his attention snapped back to me. “Is your greenhouse nearby?”
My mouth went dry and I cleared my throat. “How do you know about that?”
“Frankie mentioned it when she was working the bar one night. I’d like to see it, if that’s all right with you.” The barest hint of uncertainty colored his tone. It was that small sliver of vulnerability that had me nodding my acquiescence and leading us back outside across the snowy grounds.
Nestled close to the tree line, my iron and glass greenhouse beckoned to us.
As we walked inside the warm air, the verdant scent of growing things enveloped us in a humid hug.
While Nolan weaved among the beds of tomatoes, zucchini, broccoli, and butter lettuce, I knelt to inspect a row of peas to give myself something to do besides fidget, but as the silent seconds ticked by, I gave in to the urge to fill them.
“During my first week at Hale’s Peak five years ago, I found it hidden in the trees, reclaimed by the forest,” I explained.
“Mr. Huxby had planned to tear it down, but I convinced him to let me use it instead. There’s just enough space to grow some seasonal vegetables for the restaurant and for Rocco when he visits.
It isn’t much but…” But it’s mine, I had been about to say.
But claiming ownership, even over this small victory, made something in my stomach twist. Because rather than seeing the small win for what it was and celebrating it, I only saw the mountain of unfinished tasks and how far away I was from my true dream of a fully-functioning farming cooperative that could supply year-round food for the entire area.
“It’s peaceful here,” I continued, “surrounded by all of this life in the wintry weather. I feel like I’m in a different world.
A world where I can do anything I want.” I hadn’t meant to say the last part, but allowing Nolan here into the heart of my dreams had unlocked a secret door inside of me.
With him listening with quiet reverence, it was easy to say these things to him.
“Do you like it?” I asked, echoing his words from last night.
I’d brought him to my favorite place, to my safe haven, and I so desperately wanted him to like it. To accept it. To accept me.
When he finally looked at me, a wash of agony painted across his face, quickly replaced by a raw, uncharacteristic look that I didn’t know what to name. “This greenhouse belonged to my mother,” he said, his voice rough.
My heart lurched in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I had no idea. I shouldn’t have—”
“Stop,” he said. “She would have wanted someone to continue her work here. I’m happy that it’s you.”
And that had my jumbled-up insides flitting into a frenzy. As a charged silence floated between us, I felt my face heating and turned back to my plants.
“What got you interested in farming?” he asked, watching me work with an assessing expression.
Pulling a few pesky weeds from my pristine rows, I explained, “I spent summers at my abuela’s ranch and she taught me the importance of growing our own food.
The Medfords—they run the community center in town—have been family friends since I was a child.
So when I started working here, I also pitched in with the weekly craft fairs and farmers markets.
It’s what gave me the idea to revamp the greenhouse and use it to feed the guests.
My ultimate goal is to build a local network of farms supplying seasonal produce.
It could make a small but meaningful dent in getting trucks off the roads, not to mention local food is more nutrient dense and has a longer shelf life. ”