Chapter 12
CARSON
“I made coffee.”
Ayla has emerged from the bathroom dressed in jeans and a thick sweater, hair still damp.
“Thank you.” She gratefully picks up the mug on the counter.
“I know you need your coffee.”
She gives me a disgruntled look and raises the cup to her lips. I try not to grin. She’s not at her best in the morning.
She wanders over to a window, then the door to open it and step outside. The skies have cleared to a brilliant blue and the sun reflecting on all the white snow is almost blinding. She stands on the veranda, sipping her coffee.
“Wow. This is gorgeous.”
Fluffy snow lies piled on bare tree branches, and mounded on evergreens. In the distance, the shape of the mountains is a sharp line against the sky.
“This snow would be perfect for skiing,” I say.
She slants a look at me. “You can’t ski.”
“Yes, I can.” I’m offended.
“I mean, you can’t ski because of hockey. You can’t go back from the All-Star break with a broken leg.”
“I didn’t say I was gonna ski. I just said it’s perfect.” I sigh. I’d love to slalom down one of the runs here. “I’ll be content with sliding down a hill on a tube.”
“Did you bring skates?”
I’m offended again. “Of course I brought skates.” I pause. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
I nod. “Good. We can play crack the whip.”
“Oh no. You’re not doing that to me again.”
I grin.
I’ve tried not to think about last night. Or this morning, when I rubbed one out in the shower. I had to do it.
Seeing Ayla in those awful pajamas should have given me a limp bizkit.
But it did not. The soft cotton just outlined all her curves, including braless tits that ended up briefly pressed against my back.
And then… Christ, she still makes those little sex sounds in her sleep, soft little sighs and moans.
I’ve told her she does it and teased her about it, but holy hell, I forgot the massive boner it gives me.
Don’t think about it now, asshole.
“I’m going to set up the genealogy display,” Ayla says.
“I’ll help.”
A couple of employees from the lodge set up a table in the pavilion with a white tablecloth and we unpack the boxes of things Ayla has brought.
There are family heirlooms like little white Christening dresses, a very worn bible, journals from Ayla’s great-uncle Antonio and great-aunt Violetta.
Ayla creates a display from some old jewelry that belonged to various women in the family.
There are handwritten family recipes.
“Are these from Nonna?” I ask.
“Yes.” Ayla smiles. “She cooked by heart but thankfully also wrote down her recipes. Then my mom and aunts continued her legacy.”
“I remember when you made a cookbook for each cousin.” She had taken all the recipes from her mom, painstakingly formatted them, and had them printed.
“And my sisters,” she adds. “We still use them. Look at her handwriting.” She runs her fingers over a page of the book, yellowed and stained with food.
“I loved that beef dish you used to make.”
“Brasato al Barolo.”
“Yeah. Delicious.” Beef braised in red wine, tender enough to melt in your mouth. She used to serve it with polenta, which I’d never tried until I met her.
There are other recipes I recognize: agnolotti, vitello tonnato, bagna càuda, which Ayla would often make when we had friends over.
We arrange old letters, pieces of colorful, hand-painted pottery, high-school yearbooks from various decades, and great-grandfather Nuncio’s baseball card collection. I’m fascinated by this, carefully flipping through the old cards.
My family has nothing like this. Her family is so proud of their heritage and of course they’re a huge family so they have lots of people to carry on traditions.
My grandparents are gone, my dad is gone.
My mom was working, raising three teenagers including one hockey player and one rower and one troublemaker and didn’t have time to think about things like this.
There’s a comforting sense of shared history and connection.
And of course it’s Ayla that made this happen.
It’s a nice way to honor older family members and for younger generations to learn about their heritage.
I look around the pavilion: a big, two-storied wood structure with a high ceiling and lots of windows. A pool table sits at one end. Lodge employees are currently moving tables and chairs around.
Norm walks in, stomping his feet to remove snow. He waves at Ayla. Dickweasel.
“Oh, there’s Norm.” She glances at me with a wrinkled nose. “Come on.”
I follow behind her, shoulders square, jaw up.
“Hi, Norm,” Ayla says. “How are you?”
“Great.” He gives her a horndog leer.
I narrow my eyes.
“This is my husband,” she says, turning to me. “Carson Alfredson. Carson, this is Norm, who’s been helping me with all the arrangements.”
I shoot a hand out and he takes it to shake. I give him my firmest grip and I think he winces a little.
“Carson Alfredson,” he says. “You play for the Storm.”
“Yeah.” I pull my lips back from my teeth in a smile. “That’s me.”
“Cool, cool. Good to meet you.”
“Thanks for all the help you’ve given my wife.” I emphasize the last two words as I slide my arm around her waist and pull her closer.
I think Ayla mutters the words oh my God under her breath.
“Of course, of course. We can sit over here.” He gestures to a corner table where he set his laptop.
“I’ll meet up with you later,” I say to Ayla.
“Sure.” She looks up at me and I take the opportunity to cup her face and plant a lingering kiss on her mouth.
Oh hell. This was a mistake. Her mouth is soft and warm and I don’t want to stop. When I draw back, her eyes are hazy.
This time, my smile is genuine. “Have fun.”
I stand with my arms crossed, watching them as they take a seat at the table. Norm gives me a wary glance.
That kiss… Jesus. My heart is jumping around erratically in my chest.
Now what do I do?
I wander back outside. I’ll explore the amenities here.
It really is a great day. I trudge through snow to the hill where folks toboggan, then find the ice rink.
A guy is clearing the snow off it. There’s another building with equipment rentals: skis, both downhill and cross country, snowboards, and snowshoes. God, I’d love to snowboard.
I go check out the pool and hot tub. The pool is as blue as the sky and empty. The concrete pool deck has been cleared of snow with a few chairs arranged around it, steam gently rising from the water. I definitely want to check that out later.
I’m starving so I go for lunch, then return to the cottage. Housekeeping has been in to make the bed and replace the towels. I’m restless. I like to be doing stuff. How long is Ayla going to be?
Norman Fuckwad better not be trying anything.
I need to burn off some energy. Fuck it, I’m going skiing. Okay, cross country. That’s safe.
I packed for outdoor winter fun, so I add some clothes, including a hat and gloves, and return to the equipment shack. They get me set up with boots, skis, and poles and direct me to a trail that will take me in a loop up over Stone Creek. Sounds cool.
I soon get into the rhythm and skim over the trail, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine.
There’s a bit of an incline at one point and I work up enough of a sweat that I unzip my jacket and take off my hat.
The trail crosses the creek over a small wooden footbridge and I pause there to check out the half-frozen water bubbling over boulders, other rocks laden with snow.
I take a few pictures with my phone, then continue on my way.
I’m feeling invigorated when I get back to the cottage. I walk in and Ayla’s at the table with her laptop. Her head jerks around. “Where have you been?”
I take off my boots. “I went skiing.”
“What!”
“Cross country. Calm down.” Oops. I know better than to use those words.
“I’m calm!”
I roll in my lips and nod. “Yeah, sorry.” I hold my hands up.
“You were gone a long time.”
I toss my jacket over a chair. “You were busy. With Norm.” I say the name like it’s phlegm in my throat and I’m on the bench after a hard shift. “I didn’t want to sit around here twiddling my thumbs all afternoon.”
“I didn’t know where you were.”
Heading to the fridge for a bottle of water, I ask, “Did you think I left?”
She huffs. “Your car is still here. I was pretty sure you wouldn’t leave without it.”
“Were you worried about me?”
“No!”
My back to her, I smirk. She was.
“I did consider the possibility that you’d been attacked by a bear,” she adds. “Or a cougar.”
“Don’t sound like you were hoping.” Turning, I guzzle cold water.
She rolls her eyes. “Bite me.”
I laugh. “Sorry I showed up alive and well.”
“You’re so annoying,” she mutters.
“You’re the one who wanted me here.”
She can’t argue with that one.
“Did you get things all sorted?”
“Yes, I think so. Unless I’ve forgotten something important, which is entirely possible.”
“I’m sure you haven’t. It’s really great out there. Wanna go snowshoeing?”
She eyes me as if trying to decide if I’m serious. “I’ve never snowshoed.”
“Then you should try it.”
“I don’t know…”
“Do you have other things to get done?”
“No. We can’t decorate until tomorrow.”
“So let’s do something before everyone else gets here and there’s no time for it.”
Her mouth twists briefly into a pretty pout, then she says, “Okay.”
“Great. Put on warm clothes.”
She shuts down her computer and digs around in her suitcase and goes into the bathroom to change.
She used to change in front of me.
I lean back in my chair, legs stretched out in front of me, and let my mouth settle into a glum line momentarily. It’s not just that I want to see her naked. Although I do. I always do. She’s beautiful. It’s just depressing how different things are between us now.
But that’s reality. I’m supposed to be moving on. Dating again. Ha.