Chapter 25
Holiday Valley has been a core foundation of our community for as long as I’ve been alive. The ever-present mountain is visible throughout town—a constant backdrop.
It’s more than a ski resort. It’s where we gathered for my aunt’s wedding and where the scholarship dinner was held after I received an artistic award in high school. Claire works there, and my cousin, and my dad’s best friend since he was a kid.
But it’s never been a particularly romantic place for me. Not until today.
“What last name did Claire give me?” Jake whispers, leaning in closer than probably necessary. He smells good, like that warm, cozy scent of his is still fresh before the day makes it fade.
It’s an early morning, with the sun just above the trees. We decided on this time to keep up the ruse of needing his privacy intact while writing his article. This way, we could be in and out before others came for quaint lunches and golden hour dinners.
Around the spot we selected on a manicured trail, the grass is overgrown in spades, causing it to glisten wondrously in the sunlight. And below us, the brilliant warm hues of autumn leaves create a postcard perfect scene.
Or painting worthy scene.
“It’s so beautiful up here,” I breathe, making a mental note of how the rays capture every fractured hue in reds, oranges, and yellows.
“It really is.” He finishes laying out the quilt, motioning for me to take a seat as he collects the picnic basket and moves it within reach.
Sitting up on my knees, I open the lid and inspect the contents.
Holiday Valley didn’t spare any detail for Jake today, from the warm thermoses labeled coffee and tea to the oversized, buttery croissants and chocolate covered strawberries.
“Ooh, are these their pumpkin cinnamon rolls?” I squeak, plucking one of the buns out.
“Did you say pumpkin cinnamon roll?”
I tear off a bite and hold it out to him. To my surprise, Jake doesn’t grab it with his hand. Instead, he lays back on his elbows and turns to bite the pastry right from my fingertips.
“Okay, it’s good. But your baking is better,” he says through the mouth full.
“You’re just saying that.” I lift my hand to lick the sticky residue from my thumb. It’s delicious.
But when I look back up, he’s watching me with a hint of something in his dark brown eyes. “What?” I ask, watching them flit to my lips and back up again.
“Luce, I’m being completely honest when I say this doesn’t measure up to the other night.”
“Mm”—I pull off a piece to try myself—“flattery will get you everywhere.”
“Now you tell me.”
I nudge him, and he leans into the motion, swaying away before coming back closer than before.
For a moment, the scenic overlook we’re supposed to be here to enjoy falls away; it’s only Jake and his warm eyes staring up at me.
They fracture in this light, too, a series of cozy browns I could get lost in.
“Can I ask you something?” he murmurs softly, his hand reaching out to toy with the thread of the blanket’s pattern.
I lean back on my elbows, too, and nod for him to continue.
“Have you been on one of these treetop dates before?”
It’s not quite what I expected, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s a hint of reservation in his voice. I think of Taylor’s warning the other day—about the need to be careful with Jake. Has his heart been broken?
“I haven’t. My parents come every year though.”
He turns on his side, reaching for the thermos of coffee and two cups. As he fills one for me, he asks, “Any reason you haven’t? I find it hard to believe that no one’s asked to bring you.”
“Maybe you’ve noticed, but I’m not the most social butterfly.
” I pause, smiling back at the way his lip lifts on one side.
“And growing up in a small town like this, any time I started to date or get close to someone, it felt like I was trying to force a relationship with a guy I was already too familiar with. I figured if it was meant to be then it would have already happened.”
“Hmm, so you do believe in fate just a little bit.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” I sit up, accepting the coffee and plucking off another piece of sticky bun. “But I am an artist—I believe in love.”
“Maybe they go hand in hand.” He pours himself a cup as well, tucking the thermos away once more.
“Have you experienced either?”
A breeze kicks through, sending the edges of the quilt into disarray. Jake doesn’t pay it any mind, his attention still firmly set on me—as if I’m the view he ascended a mountain to see.
“I thought I experienced love a few years back, but it turned out she just loved my last name.”
“And here I thought that was your least appealing quality,” I tease.
He sets his coffee cup on the lid of the basket and shifts closer to me, until our legs rest against one another. “So you’re saying I have appealing qualities?”
I roll my eyes, brushing past my accidental confession. “You didn’t think that was fate back then?”
“I never did, no. A part of me always saw the writing on the walls because of that.”
“And now you’re waiting for the universe to give you a sign.”
Jake leans forward, leaving only inches between us, and reaches out to brush my hair back over my shoulder. His fingers skim the side of my neck, sending a chill radiating outward. He doesn’t reply, but I swear I catch a glint in his eye before he sits back once more.
He doesn’t need to say it; I feel it in his gaze.
Maybe it already has.