6. Tyler
TYLER
The elevator doors open on the main floor, and we step out into the bustling lobby.
The resort is alive with evening activity, guests dressed in varying degrees of finery making their way toward the restaurant and lounge areas.
I mentally categorize the crowd: 'tech money' in casual luxury, 'old money' in understated classics, and 'new money' wearing price tags practically visible from space.
"There you are!" a voice calls, and I turn to see Olivia approaching, Edward in tow.
She is dressed more formally than the occasion called for, in a glittering cocktail dress that caught the light with every movement.
"I was beginning to think you two might skip the mixer.
" She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.
Ginger tenses beside me, and I move closer to her side.
"Wouldn't miss it," I say smoothly. "Especially since I'm introducing Ginger to the Crystal Peak social scene."
Olivia's eyes gleam with interest as she looks between us. "So it's true! Everyone's been talking about the mysterious woman who captured Tyler Reed's attention."
I feel Ginger stiffen further and place a gentle hand on her back. "I wouldn't believe everything you hear in the rumor mill, Olivia," I caution.
"Oh, of course not," she agrees, though her expression remains avid. "That's why I want the truth straight from the source! How did you two meet? When did this start? Ginger, you must tell me everything. Miss ‘ we're not even close, I barely know him’ . ”
"Actually," Edward interrupts, placing a restraining hand on his wife's arm, "I think we should let them get settled before the interrogation begins, don't you, dear?"
I shoot him a grateful look. Edward has always been the more sensitive of the pair.
"Fine," Olivia sighs dramatically. "But I expect details later!"
"We'll see you inside," Edward says, steering her away with an apologetic glance over his shoulder.
When they were out of earshot, Ginger lets out a breath. "Is she always that intense?"
"That was her being restrained," I admit. "Are you sure you want to go through with this? We can still back out."
She squares her shoulders, a determined glint in her eye. "And miss watching the resort gossips have collective aneurysms? Not a chance. Besides," she adds with a sidelong glance, "I promised Karl dinner, and I never back out on promises to him."
"That's admirable," I say sincerely.
She shrug, but I catch the hint of pride in her expression. "It's not admirable, it's just... being a parent. You do the same for Julian, I'm sure."
"I try," I say, thinking of the times business had pulled me away from important moments. "Not always successfully."
Something in my tone must have revealed more than I intended, because Ginger gave me a searching look. But before she could respond, Julian tugs at my sleeve.
"Dad, can we sit with the other kids?" he asks, pointing to a table in the corner where several children around their age were already gathered.
I glance at Ginger, who nods. "That's fine, but stay where we can see you," she instructs Karl, who was already edging toward the kid table.
"And actual food, not just dessert," I add to Julian, who rolls his eyes with the practiced expertise of an eight-year-old.
"We know, we know," they chorus, before dashing off.
"Well," I say, turning back to Ginger. "Looks like it's just us adults now."
"Terrifying," she deadpans.
"Shall we?" I offer my arm in an exaggerated gallant gesture.
To my surprise, she takes it, her fingers light on my sleeve. "Let's give them something to talk about," she murmurs, a mischievous glint in her eye that I found unexpectedly appealing.
As we enter the restaurant proper, conversations dim, heads turn in our direction. I feel Ginger's grip tighten on my arm.
"Just smile," I advise under my breath. "They're more afraid of you than you are of them."
"I thought that was bears," she whispers back.
"Same principle. Don’t play dead or run away."
She stifles a laugh as we made our way to an empty table, every eye in the place following our progress. I pull out her chair for her, earning a raised eyebrow.
"My mother raised a gentleman," I explain quietly as I took my own seat.
"Mine raised a skeptic," she reply, a hint of something deeper flickering in her eyes. "But I appreciate the gesture."
"So," I say, keeping my voice casual but loud enough for nearby tables to catch. "What made you choose Crystal Peak for vacation?"
She meets my eyes, a flicker of understanding passing between us as she leans forward. "Karl's teacher recommended it. Said it had the best kids' program in the Rockies." She takes a sip of her water. "Though I'm starting to think there were other attractions she failed to mention."
"The breathtaking views, obviously," I reply with a straight face.
"Obviously," she agrees, the corner of her mouth quirking upward. "The mountains aren't bad either."
I nearly choke on my drink, not expecting the subtle flirtation. "Well played, Ms. Lawson."
"I have my moments," she says with a small shrug that somehow managed to be both modest and confident.
What started as a calculated performance for our audience shifts into something more genuine.
I find myself genuinely interested in her stories about Karl's science fair disasters and her deadpan commentary on resort fashion.
She asks questions about the business that went beyond polite small talk, challenging my answers with thoughtful counterpoints that had me reconsidering positions I'd held for years.
No pretense, no agenda—just conversation flowing with surprising ease between two people who'd agreed to pretend to enjoy each other's company, only to find they actually did.
By the end of the meal we were deep in conversation about our favorite movies, arguing good-naturedly about the merits of classic films versus modern blockbusters.
"I can't believe you've never seen 'The Princess Bride,'" I say, shocked.
"Single motherhood doesn't leave a lot of time for movie marathons," she defends with a small smile.
"We're fixing this oversight. Tomorrow night, movie night at our suite."
She studies me for a moment, her expression turning thoughtful. "The boys would enjoy that too," she said.
"Of course," I agree, though a small part of me was disappointed at the reminder that this wasn't a real date. "Family movie night it is."
"Speaking of the boys," she says, glancing toward the kids' table. "I think our sons are plotting something."
As if on cue, the boys approach our table, barely containing their excitement.
"Dad," Julian begins, "can Karl sleep in my room tonight? I want to show him my new game."
"Please?" they ask in unison, deploying identical puppy-dog expressions.
Ginger and I exchange glances. "Regular bedtime rules still apply," she says with a nod.
"Yes!" they exclaim, high-fiving before racing back to the kids' table.
"Masterfully executed," Ginger says, watching them go. "We never stood a chance."
Our eyes meet across the table, a moment of shared parental understanding passing between us. For a second, I forget we were pretending, that this wasn't a family dinner. It felt...right.
Ginger seems to sense the shift, because she looks away. Across the room, Olivia is watching us with undisguised interest. I meet her gaze, then deliberately reach across the table to take Ginger's hand in mine.
"We have an audience," I explain quietly. "Might as well give them what they're expecting."
"Right," she say, her fingers curling around mine. "The show must go on."
But as dessert arrived and conversation resumed, neither of us quite manage to let go. And somehow, that didn't feel like pretending at all.