Page 60 of About Last Night

“We can go shopping on Sunday in town,” Greta says.

I grimace, thinking about how much it would cost to go Christmas shopping in Aspen. It’s not that I can’t afford it, but old habits die hard.

“We’ll go off the beaten path,” Toni says.

“Three out of four. You’re outvoted,” says Willa.

“But, we didn’t get to sing karaoke,” I say, a little dejected. “Another drink and I would have done my best Mariah Carey.”

Willa and Greta both roll their eyes, before putting their empty drinks on the table and making to leave. It seems the decision has been made. I sigh, my shoulders sagging. I prefer to be much more prepared.

As we follow them out of the club, Toni brushes my arm and leans in.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get your diva moment in Aspen.”

“There’s a place to do karaoke?”

“It’s a ski town. There’re all sorts of trouble we can get up to.”

Toni wiggles her eyebrows and I can’t help but laugh, and wonder what kind of trouble she has in mind.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

AUDREY

I wake up to the smell of fresh-brewed coffee and an empty side of the bed where my sister should be. She never wakes up before I do, especially on the weekends. With her being as bright-eyed and wired as she and Greta were when we arrived at three in the morning, it wouldn’t surprise me if Willa didn’t get any sleep at all.

I get ready and make myself presentable, but not too presentable. A full face of makeup would be trying too hard, and no one will care anyway.

Last night when we arrived Ingrid and Piero were asleep, and the inside was dark so I couldn’t tell much about the house, though the sound of running water sang me to sleep. This morning I’m having trouble picking my jaw up off the floor. The entire back wall is floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on a deck that’s built on stilts over a shallow, rock-strewn river. A grove of aspens towers over everything, their leaves shimmering silver in the breeze. The inside is lovingly lived-in, with organized piles of the detritus of life on the counter, forgotten slippers between the coffee table and couch. Family photos on almost every available surface, wall and table. Frayed blankets folded over the backs of chairs. A basket of knitting next to a recliner. A huge orange tabby cat sleeps on the top of a well-worn leather couch. Something delicious bakes in the oven. Bacon, if I’m not mistaken.

I’m surprised to find the kitchen deserted. I expected everyone to be down here drinking coffee and visiting. A normal weekend morning in a cabin in the mountains. Instead I see a coffee mug next to the coffee pot, no doubt left for me by Toni. I smile as I pour coffee into the mug. It is delicious, rich and dark, with just a hint of chocolate. There’s nothing better than a good cup of coffee on a chilly morning with the smell of bacon in the oven. Then I notice the coffee cake cooling on the counter.

I could definitely get used to this.

I pause for a moment, looking around once more, and see a few holiday decorations here and there: a Santa in a chef’s toque with a mixing bowl and wooden spoon in his hand in the kitchen; a set of three wooden carved wisemen and an angel with pressed-tin silver wings are on the mantel surrounded by fresh boughs of pine; a Santa with a big belly full of Hershey’s Kisses; a red-and-green crocheted quilt is thrown over a leather club chair with a very well-worn seat cushion. I can’t imagine growing up in a house like this, having a warm, inviting and loving place to go home to. I sigh and almost jump when I feel arms go around my waist and a chin rest on my shoulder. Willa.

“I can’t believe people actually live like this,” Willa says.

“In a multimillion-dollar house on a river in Aspen?” I tease.

“Well, that, too. Turns out they built this house decades ago before Aspen became ‘Aspen.’ Piero designed it. Anyway, I came to find you. We’re all outside.”

She leads me out to the deck where everyone is sitting around a fire pit, drinking coffee and laughing. The snow-covered ground and trees contrast with the warmth of the flames. Willa sits next to Greta, and there’s an open chair next to Toni.

Toni’s eyes light up when she sees me. She’s wearing the same Chris Evans fisherman’s sweater she wore to dinner at our house. Her hair is up in a messy bun, tendrils of dark curls escaping around her face and at the nape of her neck, and her face is bare and natural. Toni is relaxed, happy, and absolutely gorgeous. When she sees me, her smile widens. Somehow, her eyes are more electric and stunning here than I’ve ever seen them in Denver. She very subtly takes me in from head to toe and the thrum of desire that has been humming through my veins since yesterday explodes inside me.

These are going to be the longest four days of my life.

“I found sleepyhead,” Willa says.

“It’s only seven thirty,” I say. “That’s hardly sleeping in.”

“Leave her alone, Wills,” Toni says. “Here, come sit by me.”

“Wills?” I say.

“Toni’s decided to give me the Prince of Wales’ nickname,” Willa says.

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