Chapter 3 #2
“Our pleasure, sir. The vehicle is just outside in the VIP pickup area.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a set of keys with the distinctive BMW fob. “All the paperwork is in the glove compartment, as requested. Would you like me to show you the features?”
“That won’t be necessary,” I reply, taking the keys. “I’m familiar with the model.”
Olivia is watching the exchange with growing suspicion. “You arranged for a rental delivery? That seems excessive.”
I don’t correct her misunderstanding. “It saves time.”
Mark smiles again, this time directing it at Olivia. “The X7 is one of our finest vehicles. I’m sure you’ll both enjoy it.”
We follow Mark outside with our luggage to where a sleek midnight blue car gleams in the winter sunlight, its metallic paint catching the light.
“Here you are, sir,” Mark says, gesturing to the vehicle with a hint of pride.
“As requested, we’ve included the winter package with heated seats, steering wheel, and all-weather tires.
Perfect for mountain driving this time of year. ”
As I load our luggage into the car with some help from Mark, I hear Olivia comment, “It’s certainly elaborate for a rental.”
I close the trunk and walk around to open the passenger door for her. “Only the best for my girlfriend.” She rolls her eyes but gets in, running her hand appreciatively over the leather interior.
As I slide into the driver’s seat, she gives me a surprised look. “You’re driving?” She sounds genuinely baffled. In New York, I never drive. Always a car service, always a chauffeur.
“Small town, small roads.” I adjust the mirrors with practiced precision. “I actually enjoy driving when I’m not in Manhattan traffic.”
“Huh.” She studies me like I’ve revealed some new, unexpected dimension. “I didn’t know that about you.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Olivia,” I say, starting the engine and nodding at Mark, who walks away. “That’s what this whole month is for.”
She shakes her head slightly, then turns toward the window. As we navigate out of the airport and onto the highway, silence settles between us for several minutes. Finally, Olivia clears her throat.
“We should get our stories straight before we arrive,” she says, her voice touched by nerves.
I study her. “What have you told your parents?”
“Not much,” she admits. “I messaged my dad last night to tell him not to pick me up at the airport, and that I’d be bringing my... boyfriend.” She stumbles slightly over the word. “He had questions, but I told him I would tell him when I see them.”
I consider her words. “We started dating a month after you broke up.”
“A month?” She frowns. “Isn’t that fast?”
I glance at her amused. “You want your ex to know he was worth mourning? Or that you were able to bounce back quickly?”
“You make a good point,” Olivia gives me a reluctant smile. “Alright. Who asked wh—?”
“I pursued you,” I don’t let her finish her question, my eyes on the road. “I’ve been in love with you for years, and as soon as you became single, I asked you out.”
She goes still, and after a moment, clears her throat. “That’s, uh, very well thought out.”
When I sneak a glance, her cheeks are tinted with a soft pink.
“Yes, well. He might have cheated, but it will burn him to know that you had a suitor in the shadows, especially one better than him in every conceivable way.” This time I look at her intentionally, my voice serious: “I can reassure you my penis is in perfect condition.”
For a moment, she stares at me stunned, then a bright red color floods her face. “Mr. Castellano!”
I blink at her mortified expression before turning my gaze back to the road. “What? You said his lower part wasn’t functioning.”
“I never—I wouldn’t— I didn’t say that!” She covers her face, the words strangled.
“You said his penis was not very good, and you didn’t want to fight for it,” I point out.
“Please stop saying ‘penis,’” she moans, and I hide my grin. “I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was saying.”
Deciding to stop teasing her, I murmur, “Alright. But you can boast about it. You have my permission.”
“Alexander, stop!” She shrinks into her seat.
We drive for a while in silence while she gathers herself, and then she looks at me with trepidation in her eyes. “My dad will ask you what your intentions are. He’s old-fashioned that way. You don’t have to—”
“Marriage.”
Olivia freezes. “What?”
“That’s what I’ll tell him.” I give her a small smile. “He’ll be satisfied with that right?”
“Yeah,” she says slowly, her eyes pinned on my face. I can see the wariness in them when I look over.
She’s so easy to rattle outside of work.
She turns to look out the window as the mountains rise around us. “One more thing. My family has a lot of Christmas traditions. Caroling, tree decorating, cookie exchanges. They’ll expect you to participate.”
“I’m an excellent caroler,” I say with a completely straight face.
She turns to me, eyes wide, before catching my expression. “You’re joking.”
“Am I?”
“You have to be. You? Singing ‘Jingle Bells’ with strangers?”
“I contain multitudes, Olivia.”
She laughs, the sound bright and genuine, before catching herself. “Just... try not to look so serious when you’re decorating a gingerbread house, okay?”
“I’ll do my best to look appropriately festive,” I promise, finding myself pleased at having made her laugh.
The car climbs higher into the mountains, the road winding through passages carved into the rock itself.
I catch glimpses of Olivia’s face as she stares out the window, her expression a fascinating contradiction.
There’s unmistakable delight in her eyes as she takes in the familiar landscape, but also a nervous energy in the way she taps her fingers against her thigh.
Snow blankets the landscape on either side, pristine and untouched. Icicles hang from bare branches, glittering in the midday sun like crystal chandeliers.
“It’s beautiful,” I finally comment, breaking the silence.
“Wait until you see Silverbell Hollow at Christmas.” Her voice softens with genuine affection. “Every lamppost has silver bells that chime when the wind blows. The town square has this massive tree—forty feet tall at least—and they hang thousands of ornaments on it.”
“You sound like you’ve missed it.”
“Parts of it.” She smiles, a warm, unguarded expression I’ve rarely seen before. “They do this thing called the Festival of Lights where everyone puts candles in paper bags all along Main Street. As a kid, I thought it was magical.”
“Was it hard?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the winding road. “Leaving all this behind for New York?”
She turns to me, surprise evident in her expression. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. You clearly love this place.”
She’s quiet for a moment, considering. “I love my hometown. Always have. But there was always this itch under my skin, you know? This feeling that I was meant for something more.” She looks back out at the landscape.
“I wanted to build something of my own, prove I could make it somewhere bigger than a town of eight thousand people.”
“And is it what you dreamed of? Your life in New York?”
She looks at me, like she’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of test. “If I hadn’t met you, if you hadn’t taken a chance on me...” She hesitates. “I might not be as happy. I’ve learned a lot working for you—with you.”
“But you miss your family.”
“Of course I do. Ideally, I’d visit more than once a year, but—” She shrugs. “Life gets busy.”
I nod, satisfied with her answer. There’s more honesty in it than I expected.
“Then why did you stay with Chase for so long?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it. “If you wanted to be in New York and he was here...”
She sighs, staring out at the trees. “I don’t know,” she finally admits. “We were together for so long that it just made sense. I thought eventually he’d want the same things I did.”
“Do you still have feelings for him?”
Her fingers fidget with the hem of her sweater. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?” I press, keeping my tone neutral despite the unexpected irritation I feel at her answer.
“We were together since high school,” she says. “You don’t just switch those feelings off like a light.” I let that settle between us, the implications of it, and what it means for the days to come.
“The road gets steep just ahead,” she says, clearly uncomfortable with subject. “You should downshift.”
“I know how to drive in the mountains.”
“Of course you do,” she replies dryly. “Is there anything you don’t excel at?”
“Making small talk at parties.”
She snorts. “That’s true. You always look like you’re plotting an escape.”
“Not plotting. Executing. There’s a difference.”
“And what are you plotting or executing now?” she asks, eyeing me suspiciously.
I cast her a sideways glance. “Just focusing on the road.”
“Sure you are.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “We’ll be there soon,” she adds, sitting up straighter as we crest a hill. “Just over this ridge.”
Suddenly the valley opens before us, and I see Silverbell Hollow in all its glory.
Nestled between protective mountains, the town looks like it belongs in another century—a cluster of historic buildings with a church spire rising in the center, wisps of smoke curling from chimneys, the whole scene dusted with snow.
Christmas lights twinkle even in daylight, and I can make out the massive tree she mentioned, standing tall in what must be the town square.
“Welcome to Silverbell Hollow,” Olivia says, and there’s a mix of pride and apprehension in her voice. “Population eight thousand, five hundred. Give or take.”
I slow the car as we begin our descent into the valley, taking in every detail. “It’s like something from a painting.”
“Wait until you see Main Street,” she says, a genuine smile tugging at her lips.