Chapter 3 Presley #3
Ford showed me the room I would be staying in.
It was downstairs, and I was relieved it had a lock on the door.
There was one large picture window above the dresser, situated to watch the snow fall while lying in the down feather-filled bed.
Ford’s chalet was larger than the one I rented, to allow for this bedroom and his office plus another room turned into a gym.
In my rented chalet, there were just the two rooms and the upstairs loft.
It was dreamy and serene with its alpine style, and now, I was living in a cowboy world.
The pictures on the wall were western paintings of horses and snowy landscapes. There was almost nothing personal in this room, except for maybe one small, yellow feather on the counter. I picked it up—I couldn’t help myself— when Ford came barreling in with my suitcases.
“I went out and got these.” He set them down after carrying them effortlessly, as I still held the feather up in between us.
“This is. . . pretty.” I couldn’t have said anything lamer, I decided, and set the feather down.
“My cleaning crew found that. They thought this room needed some color.” He shrugged and almost cracked a smile.
Looking around, the furniture was dark wood, the bedding was crisp white, and the paintings were of light, colorless aesthetic.
The feather was doing a lot of heavy lifting here, being the only pop in this room.
“This room is different from your other rooms,” I said, trying to not be too inquisitive. Pushy. Annoying. But I couldn’t help but notice just how out of the ordinary this room was compared to the rest of his chalet that was decked out in barnwood, leather, and ski cowboy aesthetic.
“Yeah, I’ve never used this room or had guests here. Until now.”
“How long have you lived here?” I felt the questions bubbling up inside of me as I started with a simple one.
“A year.” He ran his fingers through his beautiful, thick, brown hair. “Geez. Time really flies.”
“No friends or family have come to visit you in that time frame?” I resisted crossing my arms as best as I could, but unless he was a friendless orphan, I started to feel defensive of this situation.
“Nah. My parents have passed away. I have a brother up on our family ranch in Big Horn, Wyoming, where I grew up, but we aren’t close. And all of my friends have chalets of their own, or. . .”
“Or, what?” That was it. You can’t make words spoken unsaid, and my pain-in-the-rear ways had come roaring back.
“We’ve gone our separate ways.” Ford looked uncomfortable by my questions, or maybe the room felt that way.
There was a tension here, but unlike the other men I’d dealt with over the years, I couldn’t tell if Ford was annoyed with me like they had been.
I didn’t sense an aggravation behind his eyes.
But maybe, something else. I couldn’t put my finger on it. For now, I would let it go.
“Got it. Well, I’m honored to be your first guest. I hope we can get through to the property management company and get this resolved quickly.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think they are going to be able to fix that chimney.
I’m appalled that I didn't see it before today. That chalet was the last one to be finished and the only one I didn’t personally inspect.
Figures.” Ford walked out of the guest bedroom and went and sat on the couch. I followed.
“Why would you personally inspect the chalets?” I lifted my brows at him. It took all the strength I had to resist tapping my foot while waiting for an answer.
“Because. . . I own them.” My jaw dropped. He looked away, surely contemplating a way to climb up the power poles and restore power on his own. Where’s a key and a kite when you need one?
“Well, that’s nice. It’s good to be diversified. Surely, an athlete can’t compete forever.” Diversified? What was I, a financial advisor? And my comment about his inevitable retirement was so, so cringe. I was about to duct tape my own mouth shut when he got up and walked to the window.
“Ain’t that the truth.”
Priscilla let out a loud snore and woke herself up. I went to her while she got refamiliarized with her surroundings.
“Did you take a good nappy?” I loved talking to her in baby talk, and she loved being treated like the little princess that she was.
This time, however, she looked right past me, like it wasn’t me that she was looking for.
She sat up, turned, and locked her eyes on the back of Ford.
Looked like my girl had a little crush on someone.
“Should we go outside and go potty?” I knew if I didn’t take her out every few hours, she would wake me up in the middle of the night to go out.
And the last thing I wanted to do was to be traipsing around this chalet past midnight.
After getting her bundled up in a bright blue jacket, which was a little heavier than her pink one, and putting her snow booties back on, we headed for the door. Ford, still standing at the window watching the snow fall, walked over and opened the door for us.
“Thank you,” I said, acknowledging his gentlemanly ways.
Priscilla’s eyes were still glued to him, and she even tried to sniff him as he stepped by us to get the door.
He flipped a switch before shutting the door behind us, and the whole valley was lit up by his flood lights.
It wasn’t yet pitch black out, but the light had been so dim, it was hard to see. Now, I could see everything.
Priscilla’s Inner Monologue
These boots might look fabulous on me, darling, but they are a far cry from Chanel.
Big, fat snowflakes were falling fast. I closed my eyes and stuck my tongue out to catch them, bringing waves of fond memories of my childhood back to me.
After Priscilla was finished, we ran back to the door, frozen solid.
Just thirty seconds being outside and my teeth were chattering, and I was covered in snow.