12. Ginger #2
He opens the door, revealing an interior that takes my breath away.
The rustic log walls are illuminated by hundreds of tiny lights strung across the ceiling, creating the impression of a starlit sky indoors.
A fire crackles in a stone hearth, casting dancing shadows across a small table set for two in the center of the room.
Through large windows, the view stretches across the valley below, the resort's lights twinkling in the distance.
"Tyler," I breath, momentarily speechless. "This is... incredible."
"Too much?" he asks, a rare note of uncertainty in his voice.
I shake my head, touched by the effort he'd put into this evening. "It's perfect. Though I'm starting to think I've severely underestimated what constitutes a 'first date' in your world."
"This isn't about impressing you with fancy settings," he says, helping me remove my coat. "It's about privacy. A chance to talk without an audience for once."
The significance of that isn't lost on me. Our entire relationship has been performed under the watchful eyes of the resort community. Tonight was the first time we are truly alone, with no pretense, no audience, no script to follow.
"I appreciate that," I says softly.
A discreet cough draws my attention to a corner of the cabin I hadn't noticed, where a server stands beside a small bar area.
"Mr. Reed, Ms. Lawson, would you care for a drink before dinner?"
"Champagne?" Tyler suggests, raising an eyebrow in question.
"Perfect," I agree, moving toward the windows to admire the view while Tyler spoke quietly with the server. The landscape is breathtaking—pristine snow stretching to the tree line, stars beginning to emerge in the deepening twilight, the silence so complete it seemed to have physical presence.
"Quite a view, isn't it?" Tyler says, joining me with two flutes of champagne.
"It's magical," I admit, accepting the glass. "I've never seen anything like it."
"I discovered this place about three years ago, during a particularly difficult period," he says, his gaze fixed on the vista before us.
"The resort was struggling, my marriage was falling apart, and I was stretched so thin I couldn't remember what day it was.
I hiked up here one evening to escape it all for a few hours. "
I am touched by his willingness to share something so personal. "What happened?"
"I sat on that very hearth," he nods toward the fireplace, "watched the sunset over those mountains, and made the decision to end my marriage. To stop pretending everything was fine when it had been broken for a long time."
"That must have been difficult," I say quietly, studying his profile in the firelight.
"Best decision I ever made," he replies, turning to face me.
"Sometimes you have to let go of what isn't working to make room for what might.
" The intensity in his eyes made me acutely aware of how close we were standing.
I caught the subtle scent of his cologne and found myself leaning imperceptibly closer.
The weight of his words hang between us, laden with implication. I take a sip of champagne to steady myself.
"Are we still talking about your marriage?" I ask, aiming for lightness but not quite succeeding.
His eyes held mine, serious despite his slight smile. "I think we're talking about a lot of things."
Before I can respond, the server announces that dinner was ready. We move to the table, where a first course of delicate winter salad awaits us.
As we eat, conversation flows more easily, returning to the comfortable rapport we'd developed. We swap stories about the boys, laugh over resort gossip, debate the merits of various sci-fi movies, and relax into the evening.
"So," Tyler says as dessert is served—a decadent chocolate soufflé that made me momentarily reconsider my stance on public displays of affection—"our sons informed me earlier that they've known about our arrangement all along."
I nearly choke on my wine. "Karl told me the same thing this afternoon! Apparently, Julian overheard you discussing it with Aunt Martha?"
Tyler wince. "I'm going to have to work on my clandestine conversation skills. Or invest in better soundproofing."
"To be fair, children have supernatural hearing when it comes to things they're not supposed to know," I point out. "It's some kind of evolutionary advantage."
"Julian seemed quite pleased with himself for figuring it out," Tyler chuckles. "Said they've been watching us 'get less fake' for weeks."
I smile, swirling the wine in my glass as I consider the unexpected wisdom of children. The ruby liquid catches the firelight, reminding me of how much had changed since that first awkward handshake in the resort lobby.
"'Get less fake,'" I repeat, amused by the phrasing. "Is that what we've been doing?"
His expression growing more serious, "I hope so. At least on my end."
He slides his spoon into the soufflé, the chocolate center flowing out in a rich river.
"You have to try this," he insists, offering me the first bite.
The moment shifts the air between us charged with something beyond our conversation about the boys.
The clink of silverware and distant crackle of the fire faded as the world narrowed to just us, this table, this moment.
I parted my lips as he guides the spoon toward me, his eyes never leaving mine.
The warm chocolate melts on my tongue, but it was the heat in Tyler's gaze that sends warmth spreading through my body.
A smudge of chocolate remains on my lower lip, and before I can reach for my napkin, Tyler's thumb sweeps across it, lingering at the corner of my mouth.
He brought his thumb to his own lips, the gesture so intimate that I forget to breathe.
I took a deep breath, deciding it was time for complete honesty.
The chocolate's lingering sweetness on my tongue contrasts with the bittersweet truth I need to share. I set down my spoon, abandoning the pretense of dessert when what we were really consuming was each other's truths.
"I came to this resort running away from something," I begin, tracing the rim of my wine glass.
"Not just Mark's renewed interest in my suddenly valuable existence, but from the whole.
.. lottery thing. It changed everything overnight.
People who wouldn't have given me the time of day were calling me their 'dear friend Ginger'. It was disorienting."
"I can imagine," Tyler nod. "Money has a way of warping relationships."
"Then I met you," I continue, gathering courage. "And our fake relationship gave me space to breathe, to figure out who I wanted to be in this new reality. But somewhere along the way..."
"It stopped feeling fake," he finishes when I trail off.
I nod, my heart racing. "At least for me."
"For me too," Tyler says softly, reaching across the table to take my hand.
"Much to my surprise. After Amy, I'd convinced myself I was better off alone.
Safer. Then this beautiful woman came along with terrible skiing and a fierce protectiveness of kids, and ‘safer' seemed a lot less appealing than 'happier. '"
His thumb traces circles on my palm, each gentle movement sending ripples of warmth up my arm. The confession hangs between us like the crystal chandelier above—delicate, intricate, and catching every fragment of light in the room. Relief and something dangerously close to joy bubbles up inside me.
I laugh, blinking back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm me. "We're quite the pair, aren't we? Both running from something, both hiding behind a convenient lie, both falling for each other anyway."
"Falling, huh?" Tyler's voice was light, but his eyes are intensely focused on mine.
"Figuratively speaking," I backpedal, suddenly self-conscious. "I didn't mean—"
"I did," he interrupts. "I'm falling for you, Ginger Lawson. And it terrifies me, because you live in Boston and I live in New York, and we're both single parents with complicated lives, and we're leaving this mountain in three days. But I can't pretend I'm not feeling this."
The raw honesty in his voice steals my breath. "I'm falling for you too," I admit, the words both frightening and freeing. "And you're right—it's complicated and impractical and a disaster waiting to happen. But it's also the most real thing I've felt in years."
Tyler stands, tugging me to my feet and pulling me close. For a breathless moment, we look at each other, all pretense stripped away.
"May I kiss you?" he asks, his voice low. "For real this time. No audience, no performance. Just us."
“Yes,” I whisper, already leaning toward him.
His lips meet mine in a kiss that starts gentle but deepens as suppressed feelings break free.
My arms wind around his neck, his hands splay across my back, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.
Unlike our previous kisses—performed for show, careful and constrained—this was honest, hungry, a conversation without words.
When we break apart, both breathing heavily, I see my own wonder reflected in his eyes.
"Well," I manage, trying to slow my racing heart. "That was..."
"Yeah," he agree, looking slightly dazed. "It really was."
His hands remain at my waist, thumbs tracing small circles against the silk of my dress.
I can feel the heat of his touch through the thin fabric, making my skin tingle beneath.
The slight stubble on his jaw catches the firelight as he leans down to place a feather-light kiss on the sensitive spot below my ear.
I shiver, my fingers instinctively tightening on his shoulders, drawing a low, appreciative hum from his throat that vibrates against my skin.
We stand there, wrapped in each other's arms, grinning like teenagers who'd snuck away from prom, until a discreet cough reminds us we aren't entirely alone.