Chapter Sixteen A Threatening Forecast
Dex.
The road back to the ski lodge felt longer than it had the morning I left.
The mountains and the trees were foreboding under the gray sky.
With every passing mile, more distance was put between me and the SnowDrop Inn.
I tried not to picture Lucy on the porch with her arms folded tight, my words landing wrong again and again.
I replayed the entire conversation in my head and felt like I had messed up the most important thing in my life.
Inside the lodge, silence waited the way it always did.
It was curated, like every other part of the building, as if quiet were a luxury amenity you could order along with the heated floors.
I dropped my bag in the suite and stared at the glass spread of the window.
Clouds gathered along the ridge. The weather was building and a storm was moving in
I told myself I was fine. A grown man should be able to hear the truth and accept it.
Lucy had been right to reject me. Any woman would have.
I had tried to speak from the heart and ended up speaking from habit instead.
The words that came out had carried a life’s worth of expectations that had been pressed into me since I was a child.
I had offered a tidy analysis where I should have offered respect and emotion.
The problem was that I had so little experience in expressing feelings.
They had been suppressed, unwanted for my entire lifetime.
It wasn’t that I didn’t feel them, it was that I had no voice for them. I had bungled the entire conversation.
A knock came, quick and friendly. I opened the door to Braxton’s face and his half-smile. He held up two mugs. “You look like you need coffee.”
“I suppose so,” I allowed. I took the cup and stepped back so he could enter. He went directly to the white sofa and lounged on it, mug in hand.
“What happened?” he asked with curiosity.
“Nothing." I bit out the word, not meeting his eyes.
“Try again.”
“Braxton,” my tone held a warning.
He waited. Braxton had learned the value of silence from me, then mastered it better than I had. It was funny. Normally I was the one coaching him, yet here he was gently prying into my life.
“Nothing I want to talk about,” I said at last.
He nodded once, took a sip, and changed directions without letting the subject go slack. “All right. Then I’m going to be selfish and monopolize the conversation. What do I do about Jane?”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said, studying the steam from his cup, “what do I do if I think about her every time I close my eyes. What do I do if the day feels better because she was there? That I like the sound of her humming, and her quiet smiles? Do I tell her that, or do I keep it and pretend it doesn’t matter. ”
The ache behind my ribs sharpened. “Has she encouraged you? Has Jane said or done anything that would make you think she wants to have that conversation?”
He smiled, small and a little unsteady. “Not in words. But she looks for me and I look for her. It’s like that.”
“That's vague.”
“It’s real.”
I stared at the window again. The clouds were thicker now. The color had shifted from pewter to something close to slate. “You should be careful. The Bennets are not like us.”
“I know. I like that they’re different,” Braxton admitted.
“It may feel warm until you realize you don't belong there.
" The words came out too quickly. I kept going because it was easier to finish the thought than fix it.
“You should think about what it would mean. Family chaos, small rooms and a life that runs on feelings more than plans. People like us lose our balance in spaces like that.”
He looked at me over the rim of his cup. “People like us?”
“Investors, clients, your sister. You know how this looks. How is your life going to fit with hers? You can’t ask her to give up her family and you know how our circle would react." It was everything I had thought about before I had said words that I couldn’t take back.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You asked for advice.”
“I asked what I should do, not how it would look to others." His voice stayed gentle. It rarely did anything else.
I shrugged and told him what I wished someone had told me. “Take your lead from her. If she doesn’t say anything, if she doesn’t choose you, don’t put your heart in the open. If she can’t say what she’s feeling, she doesn't have feelings for you.”
Braxton tried to smile again but it ended more as a grimace. “I thought there was warmth between us. But if you don’t see it, maybe I was wrong.”
“Maybe,” I said, and hated the sound of it.
He studied the carpet. The pattern was a series of tidy diamonds. Another elegant cage. “I have never seen you miss a detail. Not once. I must be mistaken.”
He left the sentence there. I heard the rest anyway. I had walked onto a porch with too many ideas about rightness and not enough humility. I had said I cared then explained why caring was a problem. A man couldn't expect tenderness after that.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“For what?” Braxton asked.
“For saying the wrong thing." I set my coffee down and sat in the uncomfortable chair. “You’re right. Those weren’t answers. You deserve better.”
Braxton’s shoulders eased. “Does this have anything to do with Lucy?”
“Perhaps.”
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
I almost said no. The word rose, hit the back of my teeth, and found it couldn't pass.
“I did what I told you not to do,” I said. “I decided what was practical. Then I put those decisions in front of a woman and called it honesty. In my logic, I messed up the entire conversation and made things far worse.”
He nodded. “So you laid out all the pros and cons and the cons outweighed the pros because you are a pessimist at heart.”
“Essentually.”
“And she rejected you.”
“Obviously.”
He breathed out slowly. “Dex.”
“I know.”
He picked up his cup again and held it with both hands, as if the warmth might offer something that words could not.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think Jane plays games.
She is careful because she has learned she needs to be.
If she is quiet, it’s because quiet keeps people at a distance.
But I don’t feel like she wants to keep me out.
I think she wants me to get to know her, and I want her to know me. ”
“Then you should trust that,” I quietly advised.
“There is a storm moving in. It’s supposed to be quite the blizzard,” Braxton mentioned. “I’m wondering if the SnowDrop Inn would be ready for a storm this size.”
“You’re worried about Jane,” I surmised, looking out the window at the dark and full clouds against the white of the snow.
“And the rest of her family. They aren’t always practical,” Braxton murmured.
I had a half smile at that. Braxton wasn’t always practical and here he was worried about the Bennets weathering the storm. I sobered. It did look menacing outside.
“We should go back,” I said. “Before the roads become too difficult.”
Braxton didn't even pretend to hesitate. “Yes.”
“Your sister won't like it,” I murmured, testing Braxton’s resolution. He rarely stood up to Carly’s more forceful nature.
“I love Carly, but she and I don’t always have to agree on everything,” he said. “And she has a team who will do exactly as she tells them so she will be safe here. The Bennets have a team too, but their team is us.”
He was right. It was simple when he said it.
“We should grab some extra storm supplies. The inn has a generator so I doubt they will need everything. We could borrow things we think the Bennets will need,” Braxton mused.
“Do you know where the items are kept?” I questioned.
“Absolutely. I explored the entire building long ago. There is an entire room full of lanterns, camp stoves, blankets, and more." He started for the door, then paused. “One more thing.”
“Yes.”
“When you talk to her again, try leading with your feelings.”
“I’ll try,” I murmured. I didn’t have much hope Lucy would even want to talk to me.
“Come on. Let’s go rescue the Bennets." Braxton gave a big grin.
We raided the supply closet, taking enough while leaving plenty for the ski lodge.
I packed my personal bag quickly and checked the forecast on my phone.
The advisory had shifted from watch to warning.
Wind speed was to gain blizzard strength with low to zero visibility for long periods of time overnight.
Road conditions were expected to deteriorate and everyone was told to simply shelter in place.
I called the front desk and asked for a checkout.
The clerk used the refined neutrality that passes for kindness in buildings like this.
I thanked her and ended the call. On a different day I would have called Carly to explain our departure.
Today I left a simple text. We’re leaving ahead of the weather.
We will connect after it passes. I ignored her response when it came.
I met Braxton in the hall. He carried a pair of duffel bags that looked unjustifiably heavy. “Don’t ask. Just carry it.”
We took the service elevator to the parking lot. He tossed the bag into the back of the rental and slid into the passenger seat without the usual commentary about my driving. That was how I knew he was worried too.
We pulled out and aimed the car toward the road that would take us further down the mountain. The snow had started its steady work, not yet heavy, not yet difficult, but committed.
For the first few miles we didn't speak.
“What’s in the extra bags?” I asked.
“I went to the gift shop and bought extra warm clothes. I know I will appreciate an extra layer with the temperature plunging,” Braxton explained. “I got you some as well.”
“That was a good idea,” I replied.
“Do you think they’re ready?” he asked.
“No." I pictured the dining room, the new sheen on the wood, the old pipes, the way windows like those complain when wind tests their latches. “But they seem to work through their emergencies as a family so this time will be no different.”
“That’s a good thing to do.”
“It is,” I reflected.
We turned onto the road that led to the inn. The porch light was on, a small steady circle against the gathering dark. There were footprints on the steps and a sweep mark where someone had pushed away the first fall of snow with a broom. We pulled in and cut the engine.
Braxton grabbed the duffelbag and a lantern. I stopped to look at the building for a moment. Somewhere inside, a kettle would be threatening to boil, and someone would be laughing about something. The kind of laughter that keeps a house warm from the inside out.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said with a nod before grabbing some items to take with me.
We went up the steps together. The wind lifted the edge of my coat as I opened the inn’s front door. Warm air met us with the sound of muted voices. It felt like the opposite of the lodge’s curated silence. It felt welcoming.
Helen appeared with two blankets folded in her arms.
“There you are!” she exclaimed, as if we had only stepped out to the mailbox. “I was about to send William for you.”
“We brought supplies,” Braxton said, holding up the duffel bag.
“Excellent. Bring them to the reception room with the rest of the items. We might lose power,” Helen advised. She looped her arm through Braxton’s. “I’m so glad the both of you are back.”
At least someone was, I grimly thought to myself as I spotted Lucy who was glaring at me.