18. Tyler
TYLER
"That was amazing," Ginger declares as Jean-Luc clears the dessert plates. "Possibly the best meal I've ever had."
"Jean-Luc is a culinary genius," I agree. "The resort tried to promote him to executive chef, but he prefers the solitude up here."
"Smart man," Ginger repeats her earlier assessment. "Though I might risk the helicopter ride again just for another shot at that soufflé."
"I'm sure that could be arranged," I smile, enjoying the way her eyes lit up at the suggestion of future visits.
"Can we go outside again?" Julian asks, already fidgeting in his chair now that the meal was complete.
I check my watch. "We have about 30 minutes before the helicopter returns," I confirm. "But stay close to the cabin this time."
"And no more snow down each other's backs," Ginger adds with a stern look at Karl, who appeared suspiciously innocent. "I don't want anyone getting the chills on the flight back."
"Yes, Mom," Karl sighs, though the effect was somewhat undermined by the chocolate smudge still adorning his cheek.
As the boys don their outdoor gear once more, Jean-Luc approaches with a fresh pot of coffee and two delicate cups.
"For digestion," he explains, filling each cup with precision. "A special blend I import from Colombia."
"Thank you," Ginger smiles warmly. "For everything. This has been an incredible experience."
"My pleasure, madame," Jean-Luc nods, setting the pot on a warmer. "It is not often I get to serve guests who so clearly appreciate good food and good company."
Once he had discreetly withdrawn again, Ginger and I move to the window seat with our coffee, watching the boys now engaged in what appeared to be an elaborate game involving snow angels and some form of tag.
"I can't believe we leave tomorrow," Ginger sighs, leaning against me. "Part of me feels like we just got here."
"And another part feels like we've been here forever," I add, understanding the strange time-warp quality of vacation. "In the best possible way."
"Exactly," she nods. "Like we've known each other much longer."
"Well, when you start with a room mix-up and proceed directly to fake dating, it does accelerate the getting-to-know-you phase," I tease.
She laughs, the sound wistful. "True. We didn't follow the conventional dating timeline."
"When have either of us done anything conventionally?" I point out. "You win the lottery and flee to a ski resort. I pretend to date a complete stranger to avoid unwanted attention. We're not following anyone's rulebook here."
"Thank God for that," she says softly, turning to face me more. "I've spent too much of my life trying to follow rules that never seemed to work for me anyway."
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my hand lingering on her cheek. "Here's to breaking the rules, then."
"To breaking the rules," she agrees, leaning in to kiss me.
The moment was perfect—the majestic mountains stretching endlessly before us, the warmth of the cabin cocooning us against the alpine chill, the taste of coffee and chocolate on her lips, the knowledge that our sons were happily playing outside.
I want to freeze time, to capture this feeling and preserve it against the uncertainties and complications we'd face back in the real world.
"I think I'm falling in love with you," I say when we parted, the words escaping before my usual risk assessment. My heart hammers against my ribs as I continue, "I know it's fast, and God knows it's complicated, but it's the truest thing I've felt in years."
Ginger's eyes widen, her breath catching visibly. For a terrifying moment, I think I'd overplayed my hand, pushed too far too soon. My mouth goes dry as I wait, watching the emotions play across her face.
Then her expression softens, a smile spreading across her face.
"I think I'm falling in love with you too," she admits, her voice a whisper.
"And you're right—it is fast and it is complicated.
But it also feels... inevitable, somehow.
Like we were always headed here, from that first moment at the reception desk. "
Relief and joy floods through me, so intense I have to laugh. "That's quite the upgrade from 'the guy who stole my suite,'" I observe.
"Well, you're still the guy who stole my suite," she clarifies with a mischievous grin. "But you're also the guy who taught me to ski, introduced me to helicopter travel, and somehow made me believe in second chances. So I might forgive the initial real estate theft."
"Generous of you," I murmur, pulling her close again. "And for the record, I never stole your suite. It was a booking error beyond my control."
"Sure it was," she tease. "Next you'll claim you didn't orchestrate the whole fake dating scheme to get close to me."
"Would that have worked?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Because I could retroactively take credit if it improves my standing."
She laughs, swatting my arm lightly. "You're impossible."
"And yet, you're falling in love with me anyway," I point out, unable to keep the wonder from my voice.
"Against my better judgment," she confirms, her eyes warm with affection.
A shout from outside draws our attention back to the window, where the boys appeared to be having some form of snow angel competition, each trying to create the most elaborate design.
"We should tell them," Ginger says, following my gaze. "About the... falling part."
I consider this, watching Julian demonstrate what appeared to be a snow angel with wings and a tail. "Not yet," I decide. "Let's wait until we've had some time to navigate the logistics first. Make sure we can make this work in practice before we add that level of emotional investment for them."
She nods, looking relieved. "I agree. They're already excited about visits and video calls. Let's get that established before we introduce the 'L' word."
"Speaking of visits," I begin, an idea forming. "What if we aim for two weeks from now? You and Karl come to New York for a weekend. I can show you the city, take the boys to that dinosaur museum they're obsessed with, maybe catch a show if there's something kid-appropriate playing."
Her face lights up at the suggestion. "I'd like that. And it gives us all something concrete to look forward to after we leave tomorrow."
"Yep," I nodded. "A light at the end of the separation tunnel."
"Two weeks," she repeats, as if committing it to memory. "That's doable."
The distant sound of helicopter rotors signal our ride was approaching, bringing our mountain-top idyll to its natural conclusion.
"We should round up the snow monsters," Ginger sighs, though she made no immediate move to leave our window seat.
"One minute more," I say, pulling her close for another kiss, this one lingering and filled with promise. "Just to tide me over until New York."
When we call the boys in, their protests were token at best, their excitement about the helicopter ride home overriding any disappointment about ending their snow games.
As we thank Jean-Luc and don our coats for the short walk to the landing pad, I catch Ginger looking around the cabin with a wistful expression.
"We'll come back," I promise, taking her hand. "Maybe make it an annual tradition."
Her smile was like sunrise breaking over the mountains. "I'd like that. A lot."
The helicopter ride back is filled with the boys' excited chatter about their snow fort engineering, their plans for future architectural improvements, and Julian's detailed explanation to Karl about how helicopters worked (mostly incorrect, but delivered with such conviction I didn't have the heart to correct him).
"SEE, THE SPINNING PART ON TOP CREATES A FORCE FIELD," Julian explains, gesturing dramatically upward. "THAT'S WHAT KEEPS US FROM FALLING. AND THE PILOT HAS TO BALANCE THE AIR BUBBLES IN THAT ROUND THING—" he points to the attitude indicator, "—OR WE'D FLIP UPSIDE DOWN."
Karl nods solemnly, absorbing every word as gospel.
I catch the pilot's eye in the rearview mirror, his professional poker face cracking enough to reveal a suppressed smile.
I consider jumping in with a factual correction about lift and rotational force, but quickly calculated the probability of triggering an endless stream of 'but why?
' questions at 10,000 feet. Some battles aren't worth fighting, especially when contained in a small metal box suspended in midair.
Besides, Julian's creative physics were far more entertaining than the actual explanation.
Ginger sits beside me, her hand in mine, occasionally joining the conversation but mostly gazing out at the spectacular landscape with a contented expression that warms me more thoroughly than any fire.
As we descend toward the resort, the expansive grounds coming into view below us, I was struck by a realization: everything looked different now.
The same buildings, the same slopes, the same scenic beauty—but transformed through the lens of what had transpired here.
What had begun as a routine getaway with my son had become something far more significant, a turning point disguised as a vacation.
"Penny for your thoughts," Ginger says, squeezing my hand.
"Just thinking about how much has changed in three weeks," I reply honestly. "How different everything looks now."
She follows my gaze to the resort below, then back to me, understanding in her eyes. "Good different?"
"The best different," I assure her. "Like seeing in color after a lifetime of black and white."
Her smile was soft, intimate despite our very public surroundings. "I know what you mean."
And as the helicopter touches down on the resort helipad, it marks the end of our mountain adventure but the beginning of something far more exciting, I know without a doubt that whatever challenges lay ahead—distance, logistics, exes, careers—they were all surmountable.
Because what we'd found here, what we were both falling into with equal parts caution and abandon, was worth fighting for.
Worth breaking rules for.
Worth loving for.