11. Ginger
GINGER
"Mom, do we have to leave? Can't we stay here forever?"
I look up from the suitcase I was organizing to see Karl sprawling dramatically across the bed, arms and legs flung wide, the very picture of vacation-ending despair.
"Forever is a long time," I point out, keeping my tone light despite my own reluctance to leave. "What about your friends? And Whiskers?"
"We could bring them here," he suggests hopefully, rolling onto his stomach and propping his chin on his hands. "Whiskers would love the snow."
"I'm pretty sure Whiskers, being a cat who hisses at falling leaves, would not appreciate being buried in several feet of snow," I counter, folding one of his sweaters with practiced efficiency.
"Besides, we're not leaving for three more days.
Let's enjoy the time we have left instead of mourning it in advance, okay? "
Karl sighs with all the existential weight an eight-year-old could muster. "Fine. But I still think Whiskers would like the fireplace."
"That we can agree on," I concede. "Now, please round up all your toys from Julian's room. I refuse to pay extra baggage fees for forgotten action figures."
As Karl shuffles off to collect his belongings, I sink onto the edge of the bed, my own emotions about leaving more complicated than I cared to admit.
I run my fingers over the cashmere sweater I'd worn to the resort's New Year's celebration.
Tyler had twirled me across the dance floor, his feet narrowly missing mine with each enthusiastic step.
Just yesterday, he'd battled me for control of the coffee maker, wielding a spatula like a sword until I'd surrendered, laughing until my sides ached.
Now his laugh echoed in my memory—that full-throated sound that started deep in his chest and spilled out unfiltered, the one that made my pulse quicken and my cheeks warm without permission.
The same laugh I'd find myself straining to hear after we left this mountain.
I'd fled to this resort clutching my newly printed bank statements, desperate to escape Mark's sudden reappearance and the parade of "long-lost friends" flooding my inbox.
Now I find myself folding Tyler's t-shirt that had somehow migrated into my laundry, breathing in his sandalwood scent, my stomach fluttering when my phone chimes with his text.
Out of the frying pan, straight into a fire I'd lit myself. I snort at the cosmic joke of it all.
I need to focus on packing, not on memories I can't take home. A knock on the bedroom door jolts me from my melancholy thoughts.
"Come in," I call, expecting Karl with an armful of misplaced toys.
Instead, Tyler pokes his head in, his expression hesitant. "Hey, is this a bad time?"
"No, just trying to convince Karl that we can't become permanent resort fixtures," I say, gesturing for him to enter. "What's up?"
He steps inside but hovers by the door, hands jammed so deep in his pockets the fabric strained at the seams. His right foot taps a staccato rhythm against the hardwood until he catches me watching, then stops. His gaze pinballs around the room before settling on my face.
"I was wondering if you had plans tonight," he says, trying for casual and missing by a mile.
"Beyond failed packing attempts and listening to Karl's elaborate scheme to smuggle Julian home in his luggage? No, not really." I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly aware of how disheveled I must look after wrestling with suitcases.
He smiles at that, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "In that case, would you like to have dinner with me? Just the two of us."
I blink, my hand freezing mid-air. "Like... "
"A date,” he says simply. "A real one."
My pulse thunders in my ears as my breath catches somewhere between my lungs and throat. I press my palm against my collarbone, as if I could calm the sudden riot beneath it. "What about the boys?"
"I've already arranged for them to attend the resort's pizza and movie night. They were, predictably, thrilled at the prospect of unlimited cheese and minimal adult supervision."
I laugh, buying myself time to process his request. A real date. Not a fake couple appearance, not a family outing with the kids, but an actual, intentional date between two adults who might be interested in more than pretending.
"Why now?" The question tumbles out before I could catch it. I gesture toward the half-packed suitcase. "We're leaving in three days."
Tyler's smile falters, the corners of his eyes tightening.
He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to the floor.
"That's exactly why." His voice drops to a whisper.
"Last night I couldn't sleep, just staring at the ceiling, counting down hours instead of sheep.
" He looks up, meeting my eyes. "We've been dancing around.
.. whatever this is between us. I don't want to leave with regrets, with things left unsaid. "
"And what things would those be?" I challenge, needing clarity.
He takes a deep breath, then meet my eyes.
"That I like you, Ginger. Not as a convenient fake girlfriend or as Karl's mom, but as you.
I like your terrible skiing and your coffee addiction and the way you laugh without holding back.
I like that you see me as Tyler, not as a bank account with a pulse. "
I stare at him, my lips parting but no sound emerging.
My carefully constructed spreadsheet of possibilities—the one I'd been mentally updating since we'd started this charade—contained no column for raw, unfiltered truth.
My fingers tremble as I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
The three feet of space between us crackles like the air before a lightning strike.
"If you don't feel the same way, that's completely okay," he continues, mistaking my silence for rejection. "We can pretend this conversation never happened, follow through with our original plan, and part as friends. No pressure, no expectations."
"Tyler," I manage, the words barely audible even to my own ears. "I want to see where this goes."
His eyes widen, pupils dilating as his breath catches. "You do?"
"Despite my better judgment," I confirm, the corner of my mouth twitching upward.
"You construct sandwiches with the precision of a neurosurgeon and then demand standing ovations.
You've memorized the channel guide and still refuse to surrender the remote.
" I tick each offense on my fingers. "And last movie night, you recited every line from 'The Princess Bride' before the actors could, then looked around expecting applause. "
"I should get some kind of award," he defends automatically, a familiar spark returning to his eyes.
"See? Arrogant," I tease. "But yes, I like you. More than I should, considering our circumstances."
Relief and something like joy washes over his face. "So... dinner? Tonight? Seven o'clock?"
I nod, a smile tugging at my lips despite my lingering reservations. “Seven o'clock."
"Great," he grins, backing toward the door like he was afraid I might change my mind if he lingers. "Wear something nice. Not that you don't always look nice, but, you know, date nice. Not that your regular clothes aren't date appropriate—"
"Tyler," I interrupt his adorable floundering. "I understand the dress code. Now please leave before you hurt yourself."
He laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out. "Right. See you at seven”