Chapter 24 Drew
DREW
The tasting tour is in full swing, and I am going out of my mind trying to keep track of everyone as they spread through the town.
The only thing I can do is move place to place to check in and send out a group text when the final bus is ready to bring them all back to the Lodge at the end of the festival.
Fortunately, I only have to keep track of the out-of-towners.
If I had to keep tabs on the people who lived here taking advantage of the event, I would spontaneously combust. But those fools are on their own.
I’m on the street, peering through the front windows as cold bites at my nose and ears. Is everyone having a good time?
Does anyone need me?
Have all the shops down Main Street prepared properly for this?
My mind is spinning when an arm slides around my shoulders, and I find Greyson at my side, his warmth immediate.
His smile is easy, like it always is. “Hey, firecracker. I could tell from across the street that your brain is working overtime.”
“Always.”
He tips his head from side to side, that smile turning dirty. “Almost always.”
Heat swathes my cheeks, and I elbow him lightly to his warm laughter.
“Relax. Let them have fun. They’re not going to get lost, and the shuttle is running. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
I nod and take a deep breath. Things can always go wrong, though.
“You should go taste along with them. You’ve been gone a long time.”
I make a face at him. I doubt it’s changed all that much.
“You’d be surprised how seriously the townsfolk are taking this, and we’ve got a few new shops with the generational turnover.” Greyson shakes my shoulder a little and nods me toward the lone pub. “Come on, I’ll even go to the first one with you.”
Without waiting for me to huff and puff, he steers me toward the door and leads me inside.
It’s crowded and blessedly warm, but a free spot at the bar is perfectly made for us.
A holiday menu is lit up at the end of the bar, and fliers are propped on every table.
I go with a classic—a spiked cider—and Greyson orders a festive beer. It’s hard work to relax.
“You should forgive Gabe. I miss having you in the house in the evenings.” Of course Greyson would advocate for his brother in the simplest way. Disguised as a selfish request.
I laugh a little, sipping my cider. “I already did.”
His brows shoot up, and his playful smile morphs into something more. A genuine happiness. “That means you’ll be coming over tonight?”
The look he gives me says that might be its own kind of minefield, but I agree anyway. “Yes. I’ll be over tonight.”
Taking another long drink of my cider, its effects seep in along with the savory and sweet spices—cinnamon, clove, allspice, brown sugar, and…rosemary?
The combination lingers on my tongue in such a pleasant way.
Okay, well, that’s new. Like Greyson said, they’re upping their game. The undercurrent of alcohol is hidden amongst the robust flavor, but it hits my bloodstream in a strong woosh.
Greyson’s hand is a stabling presence at my hip, and I like this, being out with him in public, feeling comfortable with his touch on me.
There’s no sneaking.
And it’s so easy.
“Did you see the sculpture this year for the festival?” His eyes glitter at me. There’s so much joy in them.
“No, it wasn’t complete when I saw it last.” One of the things Pinebrook takes seriously is their art program.
Which made it’s home to Alice Wardorf, our very own MacArthur Fellowship winner.
She moved here ten years ago to pursue her art, winning the award a year later.
Half of her winnings went into our arts program.
She teaches at the school, and she always goes all out at Christmas with a different kind of sculpture.
It’s what brought our festival from a simple small-town affair to a tourist attraction.
Besides the good skiing and beautiful lodge Greyson and I work at.
“She’s almost finished setting it up.” Which she always does on the grounds, making the pieces and putting them together in front of the town. The local news covers it.
I rub my hands together. “Can’t wait to see what she’s making this year. Looks like she’s still using fallen twigs for her base.”
Greyson tugs me closer. “She is.”
My shy smile has him chuckling and taking a sip of his beer. Yes, distract yourself because if we keep looking at each other like this, we’re going to make a scene.
That’s all I need right now.
I turn to survey the room.
None of the tourists are looking at us twice, and I do my best to ignore how the locals are openly watching our every move at the bar.
I pause, lingering under their attention to prove a point.
To myself or to them, to be determined, but I’m not shying away just because people can see us.
Because they’ll talk about me being ashamed if I look that way to them.
I tug at my jacket as the warmth starts to overwhelm me, and Greyson pulls the zipper down, letting it fall open with a smile.
Shaking my head at him, a blush sweeps over my cheeks and down my neck.
His eyes darken before he nods to my glass. “Finish up, and we’ll check out the next stop. Get you some food to soak up the alcohol.”
I nod and take big gulps of my cider before I drain the last drops of it.
My body is buzzing, floating as Greyson escorts me through the throng of people to the door.
The brisk air is refreshing as it sweeps under my coat.
A giggle escapes me before I can reign it back.
The next closest stop on the tour is the Hammon’s Deli, an old staple of the town before all the new arrivals.
Inside has more people than I thought, sitting at tables with plates of meat and cheese and fruit.
I gasp at the display along the long wooden counter to our left. Butcher paper is piled high with the same meats, cheeses, and fruits that I got a glimpse of on patron’s plates.
It’s beautiful.
Prosciutto formed into flowers, perfectly cubed cheeses, melon fanned out, and they all mix together to create a wonderful picture.
I wish I could have seen it when it was full.
I’m grinning when Colleen Hammon, the middle daughter of three, bounces up with a couple of plates in hand. “Can I help you pick some treats to try?”
“Hey. This is new.”
Pink infiltrates her cheeks as she nods. “Yeah. I talked Dad into it when Mr. Lancaster invited us to be part of the tour.”
“You put this together?”
She nods.
“It’s beautiful. Well done.”
“Thanks. It took some effort to convince my dad that I knew what I was doing. He still thinks I’m a kid, ya know?”
I roll my eyes. “Boy, do I know. It’s pretty hard to get parents to see us as adults.”
“Growing up is overrated,” Greyson says as he leans in beside me.
Colleen shakes her head. “That’s because you’ll never grow up, Coach.”
He shrugs. “Been married, had a kid, and am in the middle of a divorce. I don’t think there’s anything more adult than that.”
His smile doesn’t slip, the easy air he gives off remains in place, but I can feel the difference in him.
As much as he jokes, losing his wife is still painful for him.
That he doesn’t get to be with his daughter every day is hard on him.
My fingers trail from his elbow to his hand, and he gives mine a squeeze to let me know that he’s okay.
“I guess you’re right about that.” Colleen tucks her auburn hair behind her ear, reverting back into herself.
“Well, I’m back in my childhood bedroom, so I guess I’m behind. This though…” I wave at the spread she’s created. “This is impressive. I don’t know where to start.”
“Here, let me pick out my favorites for you. Do you mind spice?” The color brightens in her face, but I see the pride. It’s the same thing I feel when I accomplish something new.
“Not at all.”
Colleen makes plates up for Greyson and me, and I can’t help but compare her to the version of her I remember in high school.
She was in my grade, but she leaned into the arts more than sports like I did.
Although we crossed paths in the library often.
She seems to have come out of her shell a bit more, even if the shyness hasn’t completely left her.
Confidence and being allowed to showcase one’s talent really helps.
This is even more evident as she hands us two plates that look as good as her original display does.
“Brilliant. Thank you, Colleen.”
Pink cheeked again, she nods and slips back to let us find a seat and eat.
Customers are steady at the cash register, so her work is paying off for sure. That makes me so happy for her.
Greyson leads me to a table that’s just opened up, and the chatter in the room creates a pleasant background drone.
Our legs mingle under the table, knees tapping each other.
The food is good.
I bet the visitors and townsfolk are equally impressed.
I’ll have to remember Colleen for the next party I organize.
A mix of emotions punches through my chest at that thought. Does that mean I’m already planning to stay?
It’s been difficult to think past the holidays with all the work I have.
Now that it’s starting to wind down, and the natural end is leaving me with too many unanswered questions that I would rather not dwell on.
Greyson’s knees squeeze mine between them, and I look up into those pretty blue eyes. “What are you thinking so hard about over there?”
I suck in a big breath and let it sigh out of me. “About work. Naturally.”
He laughs softly. “Naturally.”
“After the festival tonight, I’ve only got the Christmas party at the Lodge left…”
“And your brain is working overtime to figure out what comes next.” He can read me so well, and I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse right now.
I shrug and stuff a fat chunk of melon in my mouth to keep from having to say anything else.
Greyson’s hand finds mine, gripping it firmly as his thumb runs over my knuckles.
It sparks a different kind of heat through me.
One that’s hard to ignore when we touch. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
“Thanks.”
And although we eat in silence, I’m drawn to the way his mouth moves with each bite, far too familiar with how it feels on the various parts of my body.
His eyes light up when he meets my gaze, chewing slowly as if he can read my mind.
Yes, I’m having dirty thoughts…about you…very publicly. He doesn’t shy away from it, and when we get up to let another couple have our table, he merely leans in to whisper, “Later,” before he’s off to finish up a few things for the festival.
Working to catch my breath, I meander into the next stop, which I cannot avoid even if I want to.