These Boots Weren't Made for Walking (32 page)

The temperature is slightly warmer the next day, but I still layer on the clothes, and as usual it takes about five freezing minutes before my Subaru's heater kicks on. As I drive up to the lodge, I wonder how long I'll be able to do this. I mean, other than the ice and snow, the drive is beautiful, and the lodge is a great place to work, but I cannot imagine myself doing this for years to come. And I wonder what will keep me busy once the ski season ends in the spring. Still, I try not to think about these things as I scurry
across the freshly plowed parking lot and into the warmth of the lodge.

“Hey, you,” says Bridget as I reach the top of the stairs. She's wearing her coat and appears to be going down.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, although it seems she's here almost as much as I am.

She puts her fingers to her lips and nods back toward Ross's office. “A Valentines surprise.”

I nod. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I'm trying to make a neat getaway. Did you see him down there?”

“No. But he's probably out plowing.”

She laughs. “It's so funny how he likes running that thing. Like a little boy with his big toys.”

“What did you get him for Valentine's Day?”

“Go take a peek in his office. Then call me and tell me what you think.”

So she goes one way, and I go the other, and before I even take off my coat and things, I slip into Ross's office and look at his desk. But it looks the same as usual. Then I glance around the spacious and uncluttered office, and I see it. Bridget has hung a beautiful painting of the lodge with the mountain behind it. Done in her amazing impressionistic style, it's absolutely perfect. I hear Ross talking to Marge, so I hurry out and into my own office, where I start peeling off coat and vest and scarf and gloves, then sit down to check e-mails.

“Did you see it?” asks Ross as he comes into my office with a beaming smile.

I grin at him. “Isn't it awesome?”

It is.

“And it gives me an idea.”

“Uh-huh?” He nods. “It gives me an idea too.” Of course, I can tell by his dreamy expression that our minds are on two completely different tracks.

“Earth to Ross,” I say. “My idea is, how about if we use that piece for next year's promotion campaign? Wouldn't it look great on the brochures and Web site and everything?”

“That's a fantastic idea, Cassidy.”

“I'm sure Bridget will like it too.”

So as soon as he's gone, I call Bridget and tell her my idea as well as Ross's reaction.

“Oh, I'm getting another call,” she says quickly.

“Oh my,” I say dramatically, “I wonder who that could be.

“Later.”

Then I hang up and wonder what those two will be doing tonight, although I'm sure it will be very romantic. Probably a quiet table at Petit Ours Noir. I also wonder, judging by the look in Ross's eyes, if there could be a ring involved. Or maybe that's moving too fast. Still, it's obvious they're crazy about each other. Selfishly, I hope that's the case. I recently told Bridget that if they should get married, she has to promise to rent her little house to me.

Shortly before noon a delivery girl comes in with a big vase of
red roses and sets them on Marge's desk. I try not to feel envious as I walk by. Marge is at lunch now, but I'm sure she'll be pleased to see that her husband, a guy I never wouldVe guessed was romantic, actually sent her roses.

My plan for the lunch hour is to take a few quick runs, unless its too cold, and then grab a bowl of chili in the cafeteria. Sure, its about the same thing I do every day, but the skling is good exercise, and the chili is better than the canned soup I'll probably have at home. I ride the lift by myself, remembering what Will said about popping up here, and I think how nice it would be if he'd do that today. But by the time I've done three runs, I give up on his making an appearance and go to the cafeteria for my chili.

I can't help but notice how many couples are here today, and I wonder if they've come for a romantic little getaway. Of course, this gives me an idea for next year. Why not have a romantic ski-package promotion? We could partner with one of the better motels in town and offer a discount and maybe even put together a gift basket from the local shops. Excited about my new idea, I finish my chili, then hurry to my office to make some notes.

“These are for you,” says Marge as she brings the vase of red roses into my office and plants them on my desk.

“Really?” I blink. “I thought they were for you.”

She laughs. “Harv hasn't sent me roses in ages. His idea of Valentines romance is to bring me a heart-shaped pepperoni pizza to eat in front of a good basketball game.”

“Oh.” I'm glad she doesn't stick around to see who sent these.
But Marge is like that. She knows how to mind her own business as well as stay on top of things. A real gift. I slip the small card out of the envelope and slowly read, “These roses remind me of you. Stay warm. Your rebel boy.” A thrill of happiness rushes through me. Of course, these are from Will. But
red
roses? Does he realize the significance? Or was it just a coincidence? And if he sent
red roses
intentionally, what does that mean to me? Am I ready to take this step?

“Wow,” says Ross as he peeks into my office. “Who sent those?”

I feel my cheeks flush. “A friend,” I say.

“Uh-huh?” He steps into my office now. “A friend?” He studies me. “Would it be a friend from the city? A nice-looking young man who's in need of a haircut?”

“I like his hair.”

Ross laughs. “So it is Will.”

I nod.

“Wait till Bridget hears this.”

“What do you mean?”

“She's certain that you and Will are meant to be.”

“Oh she is?” Okay, I'm trying to think of a way to change the subject since I'm not totally sure how I feel about that possibility yet. Then I remember my romantic getaway package idea, and I shoot it at Ross. “What do you think?”

“I think it's brilliant.”

“I'm going to start working on it now. I mean, it's not like it has to be exclusively for Valentines Day.”

“Of course not.” He nods to my roses. “I need to call Bridget.”

“Big mouth.” I make a face at him, and he laughs.

In the middle of the afternoon, when our UPS usually arrives, Marge brings in something else for me. “You're popular today,” she says as she sets a neady wrapped brown box on my desk. I can tell by the handwritten address that this is not business related, but I start opening it before she's out the door. To my surprise and delight, it's a box of homemade chocolates! The handwritten note on top says, “Made with love for you.” Of course, I know who made them. I eat several before I realize that I must share these before I devour the entire box, which will mean I'll have to spend the entire evening at the fitness center, and I can't think of anything more pathetic than working out alone on Valentine's Day evening.

“These are marvelous,” says Marge after I make her take another one.

“What's this?” says Ross, coming out of his office.

“My valentine also knows how to make chocolates,” I brag as I hold the box out to him.

“No kidding? Will made these?” Iry one.

He takes one of the dark-chocolate cashew turtles, and as he slowly chews, a euphoric smile creeps onto his face. “These are amazing.”

I nod. “Yep, I know.”

“May I?” He's looking at the box.

“Of course. There's no way I can eat all of these.”

“Oh, man,” he says as he savors another. “These are decadent.”

“Exactly,” says Marge. “That's just what I was thinking.” “Will should open a chocolate shop,” says Ross. I feel my eyes widen. “You're absolutely right.” “I'd be a customer,” says Marge. “I'd be a backer,” says Ross. “I'd even carry them here.” A chocolate shop. Of course! I'm excited. I wonder if this could be the business that Will is looking for. I remember his concern that a restaurant business can take over your life. A chocolatier wouldn't have to give up his life. I'm tempted to call him right now, but I don't want to be hasty. Instead, I decide to wait for our nightly phone call. I'll just introduce the idea to him casually. But before I do that, I decide I should also pray. Will and I have both, been saying that we want our lives to be directed by God. He's come a long way in the past few months. I don't want to encourage him to make a move in the wrong direction.

ill goes absolutely nuts over my idea. “That is so incredibly perfect, Cassie!” he says with unbridled excitement. “If it could really work. I love making chocolates and confections and desserts. I had a blast putting that box together for you. I even made one for my mom, and she was totally impressed.”

“It wouldn't be as demanding as running a restaurant,” I point out. “You wouldn't need to be open in the evenings. And you could take vacations if you wanted.” I tell him some more of my ideas, about how he could sell to restaurants and maybe even market his chocolates online.

“I need you to be my marketing manager,” he says quietly.

“That would be so fun.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Then I tell him about my childhood memory of running the lemonade stand and how Bridget told me that might hold the clues to my happiest career choice. “Maybe you'd want to develop a franchise in Black Bear,” I say shyly. “I mean, after you get established. Maybe I could run it for you.”

“What if wanted my home base to be in Black Bear?”

“Seriously?”

“Why not?”

“What about your mom?”

He tells me that she and her friend have already booked their flight to Florida. “They're going to look around for a while, and she plans to put her house on the market by summer. She says its too big for her to keep up. I wouldn't be surprised if she became a year-round Florida resident. If not, she could easily buy a second home wherever she likes. Maybe even wherever I finally decide to set up my business.”

“You'd really consider settling here in Black Bear?”

“Of course. I fell in love with the town…” There's a long pause now. “Of course, it might ve had something to do with falling in love with someone who lives in the town.”

I swallow hard, almost afraid to believe what I am hearing. “Me?”

He laughs. “Of course you!”

“Really?”

“Really, Cassie. I've been wanting to tell you for ages. But so much was going on. My life has been crazy, and I don't have a real job now. Then my dad… and, well, I just figured I had no right to even consider that you might take me seriously.” Another long pause. “I mean, if you even do…”

“Of course I do.”

“You do?”

I laugh. “Okay, I guess I'm a little stunned. I mean, it's so crazy.”

“Crazy good?”

“Yeah, crazy good.”

We talk for another hour, and by the time we hang up, I know I'm in over my head. But I've never felt happier. I've never felt more excited about the future. I've never felt like I loved anyone more than I love Will. I think I fell for him the night he fixed me dinner at the old apartment. I just didn't know it—or couldn't admit it. But now I want the whole world to know.

By the end of the week, we have a plan. Will wants to stick around until his mom and her friend head down to Florida. She is showing him the things she wants put into storage for later use in her condo. Then she wants him to have an estate sale to get rid of everything else. “But that's not all,” he says in a happy voice.

“What?”

“Apparently my dad had an insurance policy that Mom nearly forgot about. It was through NASA and has matured rather nicely over the years. Anyway, she feels that Dad would want me to have it to launch my new business.”

“No way!”

“Yep. She said that she doesn't need it and that she's well taken care of even if she lives to be 150. So there you have it. I'm good to go.”

“Will, thats great.”

“I was hoping you could look around Black Bear for me… maybe get some ideas for a good location and that sort of thing. Do you have time for that?”

“Oh, man, I would make time for that, Will. You are definitely talking to the right woman!”

He laughs. “That's what I figured.” He tells me he'll be shopping online for the equipment he'll need. “I figure it'll take me until mid-March to really be ready for a move. In the meantime, I'd like to come over to visit this weekend.”