12. Ginger
GINGER
After he left, I flop back on the bed, the mattress bouncing beneath me.
I press my palms against my cheeks, which burn beneath my fingers.
My reflection in the ceiling mirror reveals a woman I don't recognize—eyes too bright, smile too wide, a flush spreading from my neck to my hairline.
My stomach swoops and dives like I'd crested the first hill of a roller coaster.
I catch myself kicking my feet against the mattress like Karl did when I told him we were getting ice cream.
A real date. I bury my face in a pillow to muffle a sound that was half-laugh, half-groan.
"Mom?" Karl's voice drifts in from the doorway. "Why are you laughing at the ceiling?"
I sit up, composing my expression. "Just thinking about something funny Julian's dad said."
He rolls his eyes with dramatic flair. "Mom. I'm almost eight. Julian and I figured it out."
"Figured what out?" I ask weakly, stalling for time.
"That you and Tyler were pretend dating to stop people from bothering you," he explains with exaggerated patience. "Julian heard his dad talking to his great aunt Martha lady about it."
I stare at my son, utterly blindsided. All this time, we'd been so careful—or so I'd thought—to shield the boys from our deception, and they'd known all along.
Heat creeps up my neck as I realize our Oscar-worthy performances had been more "elementary school play" than "Hollywood blockbuster.
" Two children had seen through us without breaking a sweat, while we'd congratulated ourselves on our brilliant acting. The irony isn't lost on me.
"Why didn't you say anything?" I manage, pulling myself to a sitting position.
Karl shrug, already losing interest in the conversation as he sorts through the pile of toys he'd gathered. "It was funny watching you guys pretend. Like bad actors in a school play."
"We weren't that bad," I protest automatically.
His skeptical look spoke volumes.
"Okay, maybe we were," I concede. "But to answer your question... I don't know what Tyler and I are doing. We're figuring it out."
"Grown-ups are so complicated," Karl sighs, as if the weight of adult idiocy was too much to bear. "If you like someone, you tell them. That's what I did with Zoe in my class."
"And how did that work out for you?"
"She said she doesn't like boys yet, but she'll put me on the waiting list," he reports matter-of-factly. "Which is better than a no."
I bite back a laugh. "That's... optimistic of you."
"Yup," he agrees cheerfully. "So, are you going on a real date with Tyler?"
"Yes," I admit. "Tonight."
"Cool. Can I have extra dessert at the movie night?"
And just like that, my dramatic romantic revelation is reduced to a bargaining chip for additional sugar consumption. The resilience of children never ceases to amaze me.
"One extra dessert," I negotiate, holding up a single finger. "And you have to promise not to stay up all night with Julian again."
"Deal." He sticks his hand out with such businesslike solemnity that I have to shake it.
As Karl returns to the living room, presumably to inform Julian of their successful intelligence operation, I turn my attention to the more pressing issue at hand: what does one wear on a first real date with a man you've been pretend-dating?
I yank the blue dress over my head, tossing it onto the growing pile on the bed. Too casual. The red dress screamed 'trying too hard' with all the subtlety of a neon sign. The black one gave funeral director vibes—not the 'I'm interested but casual about it' message I was aiming for.
I fumble with the zipper of the emerald green dress—the one I'd stuffed in my suitcase at the last minute with a dismissive "as if"—and shimmy it over my hips. The silky fabric whispers against my skin as it settles into place.
Twenty minutes later, I step back from the mirror.
The green fabric catches the light as I turn, clinging in some places, skimming in others.
The color transforms my muddy hazel eyes into something clearer, more defined.
I wrestle my unruly hair into submission with the resort's fancy diffuser, the waves now framing my face instead of attacking it.
My makeup remains subtle—just enough concealer to hide the evidence of a mascara mishap, a touch of blush, a swipe of tinted lip balm.
"Not bad for an ex-soccer mom turned millionaire," I murmur to my reflection, attempting to quell the butterflies that had taken up permanent residence in my stomach.
A loud knock on the bedroom door makes me jump, my nerves already stretched thin with anticipation.
"Mom? Tyler's out here," Karl calls, his voice carrying a hint of mischief. "He looks super fancy. Did you tell him to dress up?"
"I'll be right out," I reply, taking a final steadying breath before opening the door.
Tyler is chatting with the boys, his back to me as I enter. He'd swapped his usual casual attire for a tailored charcoal suit that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, his normally tousled hair tamed into a more deliberate style.
Julian spots me first, his eyes widening. "Whoa, Ginger! You look like a princess!"
Tyler turn, his glass of water freezing halfway to his lips.
His eyes darken, tracking slowly from my face to my dress and back again, as if cataloging every detail.
His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.
The glass lowers, forgotten, to the side table.
A flush creeps up from his collar as his lips curve upward, the smile spreading until it reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners.
My knees wobble beneath me, and I grip the doorframe for support, my fingers pressing into the wood.
"You look beautiful," he says simply.
"Thank you," I manage, fighting the urge to fidget under his gaze. "You clean up pretty well yourself."
"I try," he shrugs, though the effect was somewhat undermined by the slight color in his cheeks.
Was Tyler Reed blushing? The man who negotiated million-dollar deals without breaking a sweat, flustered by a compliment? It is oddly endearing.
"The car's waiting downstairs," he says, offering his arm. "Boys, the resort staff will be here in about fifteen minutes to escort you to movie night."
"We know, Dad," Julian says with exaggerated patience. "We're not babies."
"Remember our deal," I remind Karl pointedly.
"One extra dessert, no all-night video games," he recites dutifully. "Got it."
"And we'll have our phones if you need us," Tyler adds.
"They'll be fine," I assure him, tugging at his arm. "Let's go before they stage a rebellion against the overprotective parent regime."
Once in the elevator, an awkward silence falls between us—the first in weeks. It is strange how planning to be honest had made us both nervous, when pretending had become second nature.
"So," I venture, desperate to break the tension. "Where are we going?"
"That's a surprise," Tyler replies, a hint of mischief in his smile. "But I think you'll like it."
"Now I'm concerned," I tease. "Your idea of a good surprise could be anything from a five-star restaurant to extreme snowshoeing."
"I'd never subject you to extreme sports on a first date," he promises solemnly. "I've seen you ski, remember?"
I swat his arm, laughing despite myself. "Rude! I'll have you know I've improved significantly. I only fell twice yesterday."
"A new personal record," he acknowledges, his eyes warm with humor. "Truly impressive."
The elevator doors open, and Tyler guides me not toward the main lobby but down a service corridor I hadn't noticed before.
"Are you kidnapping me?" I ask, only half-joking. "Because I should warn you, I've seen every episode of 'Criminal Minds' and I know at least three ways to escape from zip ties."
"That's both impressive and mildly concerning," he chuckles. "But no, this is just a shortcut."
The corridor ended at a discreet door, which Tyler opens to reveal the crisp evening air and a waiting black SUV.
"Your chariot," he says with a slight bow.
"Very mysterious," I note, sliding into the heated interior as he held the door. "Should I be preparing an alibi?"
"Your trust is overwhelming," Tyler deadpans as he joins me. "Driver, we're ready."
The SUV pulls away from the resort, and I watch through the window as we wound through snow-covered mountain roads, the last rays of sunset painting the landscape in pink and gold.
After about fifteen minutes, we turn onto a narrow path I hadn't noticed on previous outings, climbing higher into the mountains.
"Seriously, where are we going?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
"Patience," Tyler advises, though his smile suggests he was enjoying my suspense.
The SUV slows, pulling into a small clearing. Through the window, I can make out what appears to be a rustic cabin, warm light glowing from its windows, surrounded by towering pines laden with snow.
"What is this place?" I ask as we exit the vehicle, the cold mountain air nipping at my exposed skin.
"Crystal Peak's best-kept secret," Tyler explains, offering his hand to steady me as we navigate the snowy path to the cabin door. "The original homestead cabin from when the resort was first built. They maintain it for... special occasions."
The way he says ‘special occasions’ sends a flutter through my stomach. "And being an owner has nothing to do with your access to it?"
"Owner's privilege," he admits with a sheepish grin. "But I would have brought you here regardless. It's my favorite spot on the mountain."