16. Ginger
GINGER
"Speaking of youth," I say, turning to face him. "A helicopter, Tyler? Really?"
He has the grace to look sheepish. "Too much? I thought it would be a memorable way to end our time here."
"It's not that," I assure him, moving closer. "It's just... you're setting a pretty high bar for when you visit Boston. I don't have private helicopters at my disposal."
"I don't need grand gestures when I visit you," he says, his hands settling at my waist. "Just you. Maybe a decent cup of coffee. Lower your standards, Lawson."
I snort. "You say that now, but wait until you see my apartment. The bathroom door sticks unless you hip-check it just right, and my kitchen counters are approximately the size of a pizza box. A stark contrast to your Manhattan palace, I'm sure."
"Lower your standards, Lawson," he teases, pulling me closer. "I survived business trips to hostels in Southeast Asia. I think I can handle a sticky bathroom door."
I laugh, looping my arms around his neck. "Coffee I can provide. And as for me... well, that's a given."
"Then I have everything I need," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss me softly.
What started as a gentle meeting of lips quickly deepened, three weeks of growing attraction and one night of confirmed chemistry turning the temperature up rapidly. I press closer, one hand tangling in his hair, the other gripping his shoulder as his arms tightened around me.
"Door," I gasp between kisses. "The boys could come back..."
Tyler reaches back with one hand, never breaking contact, and pushes the door shut before walking me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed.
"Better?" he asks, his voice rough.
"Much," I agree, pulling him down with me onto the mattress. The comforter feels cool and soft against my back, contrasting with the warmth of Tyler's body. Outside, I can hear the faint sounds of laughter and ski lifts, but in here, our breathing was the only sound that mattered.
"Though we should be responsible adults and finish packing..." I say, even as I breathe in his dangerously familiar scent—expensive cologne mingled with mountain air that was becoming my new favorite addiction.
"Mmm," he murmur against my neck. "Or we could be irresponsible adults for the next hour or so."
"Tempting," I admit, my body already responding to his touch. "But I don't want to explain to Karl why his favorite t-shirt got left behind because I was... distracted."
He lifts his head, eyes dancing with mischief. "What a terribly responsible thing to say while horizontal on a bed with a man's hand under your shirt."
I burst out laughing, the tension of the moment breaking. "Welcome to dating a single mom. We multitask—packing lists and make-out sessions, all in the same thought."
Tyler collapses beside me, chuckling. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
We lay there for a moment, sides touching, staring at the mirrored ceiling in comfortable silence. Through the open window, the crisp mountain air carries the scent of pine and the distant whisper of skiers on the slopes.
"I'm going to miss this," I confess softly. "Being here with you. The simplicity of it."
"Me too," he agrees, finding my hand and lacing our fingers together. "But we'll make it work, Ginger. Boston and New York aren't that far apart."
"Three hours and fifteen minutes by train," I supply. "I looked it up last night."
He turns his head to look at me, a smile playing at his lips. "You did research?"
"I like to be prepared," I defend, feeling heat rise in my cheeks. "Long-distance relationships are challenging enough without adding kids, careers, and complicated ex-spouses to the mix."
"Always the pragmatist," he teases, though his eyes remained warm. "One of the many things I adore about you."
The casual use of "adore" sends a flutter through my chest that I try desperately to ignore. Too soon, my practical brain warned. Too much, too fast.
Tyler props himself up on one elbow, his expression growing more serious. "Ginger, look at me."
I meet his gaze, afraid of what I might see there—or worse, what he might see in mine.
"I know this won't be easy," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "But I think we've got something worth the effort. And I'm willing to put in that effort."
His words resonate with something deep inside me—the part that has calculated train schedules and memorized flight times not just out of practicality, but out of hope.
Because despite all my fears, I'd already been planning for a future that included him.
My anxiety hadn't stopped me from making those plans; it had convinced me they might not work.
But looking at Tyler now, I can almost believe they would.
"I'm scared," I admit in a whisper. "It would be so easy for someone to get hurt. Especially the boys."
"I know," he says softly. "I'm scared too. But sometimes the things most worth doing are the ones that terrify us."
"When did you get so wise?" I ask, trying to lighten the moment.
"Around the same time I started falling for a lottery winner with a penchant for disaster skiing," he replies with a crooked smile.
I laugh despite myself. "What a pair we make."
"A perfect one, I'd say," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss me again, this time with a sweetness that made my heart ache.
When we finally part, I sighed, reality reasserting itself. "I really do need to finish packing."
"I know," he nods, sitting up. "And I should check on dinner reservations for tonight. I thought we could do something special, the four of us."
"That sounds perfect," I agree, allowing him to pull me to a sitting position. "One last Crystal Peak family dinner."
The word "family" slips out before I could catch it, hanging in the air between us. Tyler's smile widens, but mercifully, he doesn't comment on it.
"Seven o'clock at The Summit," he says instead. "They've got a special table reserved for us with a view of the entire valley."
"Of course they do," I roll my eyes affectionately. "Nothing but the best for Tyler Reed and his entourage."
"You're not my entourage," he corrects, standing and pulling me to my feet. "You're my partner. There's a difference."
Partner. The words ripple through me, sending equal waves of comfort and terror. It had been so long since I'd been anyone's anything other than "mom."
"Partner," I repeated, tasting the word carefully. "I like the sound of that. A lot, actually."
"Good," he says simply, pressing a final kiss to my forehead. "Because so do I."
With that, he leaves me to my packing, the door closing behind him. I stand for a moment, touching my fingers to where his lips had been, a smile spreading across my face despite my practical nature.
Partner. It was a good word. Solid. Real. And maybe what I'd been looking for without even realizing it.
The practical voice in my head hasn't disappeared—it is still there, cataloging potential complications and scheduling conflicts—but it had become a planning tool rather than a warning system.
My uncertainty is transforming into preparation, fear into anticipation.
The distance between Boston and New York hadn't changed, but my perception of it had shifted from an insurmountable barrier to a manageable challenge.
Three hours and fifteen minutes by train. We can make that work. We will make that work. Because what we'd found here on this mountain was too precious to leave behind when we descended back to reality.
Tomorrow, a helicopter ride to the literal top of the world. The day after, separate planes to separate cities. But today, right now, we have this—a plan, a purpose, a partnership forming.
And for the first time in forever, I felt like I was where I was meant to be.