Chapter 2
DARCY
Mr. Lockwood scans the interior of the cabin then steps aside, allowing me to go in first.
He’s got this gentlemanly streak that always takes me by surprise.
Normally it stokes the fire of my helpless crush. But right now I’m not loving being the first one in.
But I guess if he looked inside then it must be safe.
I step into the cabin and not only can I see right away that it’s not full of wild animals and bank robbers, but I’m honestly even more in love with the place than before.
Just like I hoped, there’s a fireplace against the back wall with a wood stove insert. The rest of the space is lightly furnished, allowing my eye to be drawn to the beamed ceiling and exposed logs.
Mr. Lockwood steps in and finds a light switch that lets me see even more detail.
A soft green loveseat faces the fireplace with two big red upholstered chairs on either side. There’s a bookshelf stocked with paperbacks against the left wall, and a doorway on either side of it. Off to the right is an open kitchen with a peninsula and stools.
Nothing here is new. In fact, I’m willing to guess that most of it is older than I am. But it’s neat and tidy, and cozy as can be. The whole thing makes me feel like I stepped into the Goldilocks story—hopefully without the bears.
How did I not think to google if there were bears on this mountain?
“Cold,” Mr. Lockwood growls, like he’s just tasted Mama Bear’s porridge.
He’s right though. I was too charmed to notice it at first, but it’s cold enough that I’m surprised my breath isn’t clouding in the air like it did outside.
“It’s not a problem,” I say brightly. “I’ll turn up the heat.”
It’s automatic for me to take in whatever is bothering him and cheerfully spit out a solution. That’s our relationship in a nutshell, and we’re both used to it. So while he strides off in the direction of those two doorways, I find the thermostat.
When I turn the dial, I listen for a click and then the roar of the furnace coming to life.
But there’s nothing.
I move the dial up and down a few times with no luck, and there’s no on/off switch on the thing.
“I think the thermostat is broken,” I say as I head to the door he disappeared into. “Would you like me to call the host? Or should I try to book us another place?”
“Sounds about right,” he mutters, as he swings his suitcase onto the bed.
It’s a great big four-poster that reminds me of the old John Denver song my mom used to love, about his grandma’s featherbed. I smile to myself even though my mind is racing for more ways to solve this problem.
“Did they mention if there’s wood for the wood stove?” I ask.
“I’m going to head to the lodge to see my grandfather,” he says. “I’ll ask about the heat.”
It’s no wonder I didn’t see this place on the short-term rental site. It’s owned by the lodge. I guess that makes sense since it’s so close.
“I put your bag in your room,” he adds.
“Thank you,” I tell him, heading back out and entering the door on the other side of the bookshelf. I can’t help noticing on the way past that there’s an impressive collection of Agatha Christie on those shelves, and a couple of Pippi Longstocking books.
Problem-solve now, then curl up with a book later, I remind myself.
But I can’t help remembering reading Pippi in the South Seas to Judi-Bloom when she was ten. She practically fell on the ground laughing at Pippi’s antics.
I connected with Mr. Lockwood’s daughter right away, and I’ve been sending her an email every week or so since she left for her new boarding school—just saying a simple hello or letting her know about funny things that happen around the office.
I make a mental note to write to her as soon as we get settled here.
It’s hard to think of such a young kid living away from home. But Judi-Bloom is gifted at math and science, just like her dad, so I guess she needs the special school to keep her occupied and help her reach her full potential.
My room in the cabin has a bunkbed that reminds me even more of Wilderness Girl camp. Each bunk has a crocheted afghan and I wonder who made them and how long ago it was.
A dark-stained wooden vanity and chair with a wavy mirror take up the back wall. I think again about the history of this place and the person who sat in that chair when it was brand new. I picture her putting her hair up and writing in her journal.
My bag is on the bottom bunk. I open it up and find jeans and a sweater, and I’m glad I packed a few casual things. I worry that the pink sweater might be a little too casual, but it’s too cold here for me to worry about it for long.
I unpack and dress as quickly as I can, relieved to pull on a pair of boots in place of my heels.
Mr. Lockwood won’t want me tagging along to see his grandfather, but I want to be ready in case he needs anything before he goes.
When I emerge from my room, he’s already out of his and standing by the fireplace, his eyes on the painting of snowy trees that’s hung by the kitchen and a thoughtful look on his face. The hard line of his jaw has softened almost imperceptibly, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about.
“Would you like to come with me, Darcy?” he asks, flashing his dark gaze to me. “It’ll be warm, and they used to have coffee and hot chocolate in the lounge in the evenings.”
Hot chocolate?
My love affair with this place is back on.
“Yes,” I say. “I’d love that.”
He holds my gaze just a beat too long and I realize that I’m beaming at him like he just offered me a winning lottery ticket.
“Hot chocolate sounds amazing,” I say weakly, tearing my eyes from his.
I think we get along so well because we’re both sort of loners.
The thing of it is, he has no life because he doesn’t want one. I’m told that in the days before his wife died he was a happy, relaxed man. But she passed years before he hired me. By the time I met him he was… well, what he is now. A guy who lives to work.
I, on the other hand, would love to have a life outside work. But I didn’t even finish college, so the length of time I’ll need to prove myself in my career before I can even think about being able to step back a little to have a life and a family is an unknown.
Or maybe I do know, and I just can’t face the fact that the time will be never, since I’ll probably spend my entire working life as an assistant.
Leaving school was worth it, I remind myself firmly.
And it was. My sister and her beautiful twins needed me. I would make the same choice again and again if I had to.
Mr. Lockwood is pulling on his long wool coat, looking like he just stepped out of an Armani ad, and I realize that maybe I shouldn’t have changed into something casual after all.
But it’s too late, he’s already heading for the door with his impossibly long strides.
There’s nothing for me to do but pull on my coat and catch up.
He waits at the door, holding it open for me with those old-fashioned manners again.
“Thank you,” I say softly as I pass him.
He clears his throat as he joins me back out on the porch and I watch him pull the door shut and not even blink about walking away from it with our stuff inside.
If he’s happy, I’m happy. His stuff is a lot nicer than mine. Of course he can also afford to replace anything of his that gets stolen or eaten by bears.
I push that thought aside as we crunch our way back up the snowy gravel drive.
The navy blue of the sky has deepened into black. And I guess it isn’t going to snow tonight because I think I can see every single star in the universe.
“You okay?” he asks, and I realize I’m holding him up.
“Yes, sorry,” I say. “I was just looking at the sky.”
He nods and we keep on walking, but I notice him stealing glances at the night sky here and there. Which is a good thing. It definitely wouldn’t hurt for him to stop and smell the roses once in a while.
“I used to love it out here in the summer,” he says, not even a little bit winded from our trek up the hill. “We would fish at the lake and sleep under the stars.”
He goes silent again, leaving me a little thunderstruck. Derek Lockwood doesn’t talk about his personal life.
“That sounds like a great way to grow up,” I tell him. I want to say so much more, and ask questions too. But instinct tells me the best way to get him to keep going is to keep my mouth shut.
Unfortunately, it looks like that’s all I’m going to get. We’re already in view of the lodge, and he’s as silent as usual.
The big building in front of us has all the warm glowing windows and smoke swirling out of the chimney that I imagined for the cabin. It’s an enormous cedar shake structure that looks like it will be full of delightful nooks and crannies and I’m dying to get inside.
“Lot of cars,” Mr. Lockwood says darkly, eyeing the parking area.
I’m not really sure how he thinks the guests could get here without cars, but I decide not to state the obvious and just follow him up the steps.
It looks like the whole porch has been redone recently. The shutters are glossy with fresh paint and the swings and outside furniture aren’t a bit faded, though some have a dusting of snow on them.
The door swings open before we can touch it, revealing a bustling lounge with a roaring fire and a sharply dressed older man in a crisply pressed suit with shiny buttons and a name tag that says Michael.
He’s on the thin side and, the suit looks like it probably fit better when he was a little heavier. But he’s got the most beautiful blue eyes that suddenly grow moist as he gazes at my boss.
“Derek,” he breathes.
“Hey, Grandpa,” Derek says, his deep voice a little rusty with emotion.
The two men embrace and suddenly I’ve got an unexpected lump in my throat.
“This is the best Christmas present,” the man murmurs.
As soon as they break apart, Michael pulls us both inside.
“What am I thinking?” he says with a smile. “It’s freezing out there. Come in, come in. And you must be Darcy. I’ve heard so much about you, sweetheart.”