Chapter Five #3
“You weren’t doing anything for me. You weren’t entertaining me, helping me, fixing something, or making my life easier. You were unconscious and wearing pants I ruined in the dryer.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
Lucky smiled, but his eyes stayed on mine.
“I still wanted you there.”
The laugh disappeared.
My eyes burned unexpectedly.
“That doesn’t solve anything.”
“I know.”
“You’re not supposed to be this reasonable while I’m having a difficult moment.”
“I can try to be worse.”
“Please don’t.”
He opened one arm.
I moved into it without thinking about whether I was supposed to.
Lucky held me against his chest while I stared at the fire.
After a minute, I said, “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’re very good at taking care of people. Fixing things. Feeding people. Making sure everybody is warm and safe and has the correct number of waffles.”
“Two was the correct number.”
“Debatable.”
“I have evidence.”
I tilted my head back to look at him.
“Does it ever bother you when people only see that part?”
Lucky thought for a moment.
“Sometimes.”
He looked toward the windows.
“I like the work. I like fixing something that was broken when I walked in. I like knowing people are comfortable because I did my job. None of that bothers me.”
“But.”
His mouth curved faintly.
“You started this. You don’t get to complain about my but.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Some guests learn my name. Some don’t. Most are decent. But there are times when somebody remembers the hot water came back and never really notices the person who got it running.”
I understood that too well.
Lucky continued, “That’s fine when it’s work. I’m paid to make sure the hot water works.”
He looked down at me.
“It wouldn’t be fine with somebody I loved.”
My heart gave one hard beat.
Lucky didn’t seem interested in pretending he hadn’t said it.
Neither was I.
“I like being useful,” he said. “I just don’t want usefulness to be the only reason somebody wants me around.”
“It isn’t.”
The answer came before I could shape it into anything safer.
Lucky’s gaze held mine.
I reached up and touched his beard.
“I like the way you think. I like that you chose this place because it suits you instead of because you were afraid to leave. I like your family photos. I like that you can sit in silence without acting as though something has gone wrong.”
His mouth started to curve.
“And,” I added, “your sexual skill set has made a very strong supporting argument.”
He laughed, full and warm, and pulled me onto his lap.
“That was almost romantic.”
“I was being extremely romantic.”
“You were doing great until the supporting argument.”
“I believe in comprehensive evaluation.”
Lucky kissed me.
The humor stayed in it for the first few seconds.
Then his palm moved beneath the back of my sweater and the kiss deepened, slower than the shower, slower than the night before.
I slid my fingers into his hair.
When we finally separated, I stayed across his lap.
“My job isn’t going away.”
“Good.”
The speed of his answer surprised me.
“You didn’t even hesitate.”
“Why would I?”
“Because my job is the reason I live in Missoula. It’s the reason I travel. It’s the reason I can’t promise I’ll be on this mountain every night at six.”
Lucky’s hands rested comfortably at my waist.
“I knew what you did before I kissed you.”
“That is irritatingly logical.”
“I’ve been consistent.”
I studied him.
“I don’t want to do television halfway.”
“I don’t think you should.”
“And I don’t know how to do it fully without letting it eat every available hour.”
“That sounds like the part you have to figure out.”
I leaned back slightly.
“Delegation is literally part of my job.”
“I know.”
“I assign responsibility all day long.”
“You’ve mentioned that.”
“Then I get nervous and start taking it back.”
Lucky’s thumb moved once against my side.
“Do you think caring about the work requires doing every part yourself?”
“No. Of course not.” That one was easy.
I pictured my set. Department heads. Producers. People I trusted enough to hire and then occasionally failed to trust enough to leave alone.
“I think I’ve been treating vigilance like commitment.”
Lucky said, “You’re allowed to care a lot.”
“I do.”
“I know.”
I looked toward the windows.
“I don’t know what any of this looks like when the road opens.”
“Neither do I.”
I turned back to him.
“You’re alarmingly calm about that.”
“We’ve known each other three days.”
“Thank you for the reminder. Very romantic.”
Lucky smiled. “You want me to pretend we have the next year organized?”
“No.”
“Good, because I don’t.”
I laughed.
His expression softened.
“I know I want more than this weekend.”
The words settled into me.
“I do too.”
“We can know that without knowing every other part tonight.”
I kissed him because I did not have a better answer.
Bear eventually got up from the rug, circled twice, and dropped his entire body against my shins as if adding seventy-five pounds to the conversation would improve it.
I looked down.
“You are unusually committed to this relationship.”
Lucky’s chest moved with a quiet laugh beneath my shoulder.
“He likes your socks.”
“That is significantly less flattering.”
We stayed on the couch until the fire needed another log.
The plates remained on the kitchen counter.
Later, I kissed Lucky beside the kitchen island while he filled our water glasses. I kissed him again in the hallway because waiting until the bedroom felt unnecessarily formal.
By the time we reached the bed, I had stopped wondering whether the evening needed one more conversation, one more conclusion, one more piece of evidence that whatever was happening between us made sense.
I wanted his mouth.
I wanted his arms around me.
I wanted to wake up with him again.
For that night, wanting those things was enough.
Morning returned the mountain in sharp white and blue.
The storm clouds had moved on, leaving pale sky above the pines and sunlight bright enough against the snow to force me to squint when I crossed the great room.
Lucky was still in the bedroom pulling on socks while Bear followed me out and immediately inspected the rear door.
“Not yet,” I told him. “Your outdoor department is getting dressed.”
Bear sat.
My phone was on the kitchen island where I had left it the night before.
I picked it up.
The first thing on the screen was a Fire Mountain Resort update.
Crews had been working the lower road since early morning. The route toward Upper Ridge was improving, but guest traffic remained restricted until staff completed the shaded sections and confirmed conditions.
It wasn’t open yet, but it was no longer simply closed.
I read the update twice.
Yesterday, those words would have meant progress.
This morning, they meant departure had entered the building.
Lucky came into the great room wearing his T-shirt and sweats from the night before.
“What does it say?”
“They’re clearing upward. Upper Ridge is still restricted.”
He nodded.
“So we wait for the next update.”
That was simple and reasonable.
The phone rang in my hand.
Glenn Sutter.
Lucky saw the name on the screen because I had told him about Glenn the night before.
He didn’t ask whether I wanted to answer.
He just walked toward Bear and reached for the leash hanging near the entry.
“I’ll take him out.”
“You don’t have to leave.”
“I know.”
He kissed my temple on the way past.
The door closed behind them.
I answered the call.
“Morning, Glenn.”
“Morning. Still snowed in?”
“Less than yesterday. The resort is clearing the internal roads now.”
“Good. Don’t drive until they tell you to.”
“I wasn’t planning to challenge the Property Manager’s professional authority on road conditions.”
There was a pause.
“Property Manager?”
I closed my eyes.
“Not relevant to the production.”
“I see your four-day break was restorative.”
“You are on very thin ice, metaphorically and possibly literally.”
Glenn laughed.
The familiar sound eased something in me I hadn’t known was tight.
Then his tone shifted.
“I called because we’re moving again.”
I leaned one hip against the island.
“How bad?”
“It isn’t bad.”
“That sounded suspiciously rehearsed.”
“It sounded like an answer you weren’t prepared to hear.”
I went quiet.
Glenn continued.
“The talent situation has cooled down. People are talking to each other instead of through lawyers, assistants, and increasingly hostile email chains. We have enough cooperation to move forward.”
“And the schedule?”
“Adjusted, not destroyed. The location problem is handled too.”
“By whom?”
“A competent group of adults you helped hire.”
I exhaled through my nose.
“I walked into that.”
“You sprinted.”
I could picture Glenn behind his desk, glasses halfway down his nose, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“What else?”
“A few things changed. Some things got solved differently than you would’ve solved them.”
That was harder.
“Did they work?”
“Yes.”
I rubbed my thumb along the edge of my phone.
“Then good.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“I’m not a monster.”
“I never said you were.”
“No. You only exiled me to the mountains.”
“I sent you away from a set that needed room to breathe, and you needed room too.”
I looked toward the closed front door and thought about the snow, Lucky’s house, and the man currently outside with a dog who had eaten my underwear three days ago and somehow rearranged the entire emotional landscape of my life.
“I may have been a little busy while I was gone.”
“So I gathered from the mysterious Property Manager.”
“Glenn.”
“I’m done.”
“You’d better be.”
His voice became serious again.
“I want you back when the resort clears you to travel safely.”
There it was: not punishment, not dismissal, but a return.
“When?”
“As soon as you can get back without doing anything stupid on a mountain road. We can work around the travel time.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Your job.”
I frowned.
“That is not a useful answer.”
“It’s the answer.”
I pushed away from the island and walked toward the windows.