Page 19 of Christmas With My Ex

Hotel Lobby

7:37am

The smellof fresh coffee fills the lobby, mixing with the pine from the Christmas trees scattered around the resort. I shift my weight on my crutches, awkwardly making my way to the coffee bar. The barista, a woman with a friendly smile, looks up as I approach.

"Good morning!" she says, her eyes flicking down to my crutches. "Looks like you had a rough time out there. I'm guessing you need a strong dose of caffeine."

"Yeah, you could say that," I mutter, trying to keep my voice light. "I'll have a latte with a double-shot, please."

I lean against the counter and look around the quiet lobby while she makes my order. There are a few people walking around, but mostly it is still quiet.

"Here you go," she says, pulling me out of my reverie.

She hands me the coffee and leans over the counter, lowering her voice like she’s letting me in on a secret. "Not sure if you're planning to get out of here today, but most of the roads are closed for now. I typically don't work the café, but since I live in walking distance from here, I had to come in for the guy who was supposed to. Not a lot of driving happening in Telluride today."

"Lucky me, I guess. I don't plan to drive anywhere and I'm not supposed to fly out until Wednesday. How much snow did we get?"

"I'm not sure exactly, but I know we got several feet of snow overnight, and they’re still working on clearing things out. Some of the sidewalks are open if you’re up for a walk."

I glance out the large double door behind her, seeing the thick blanket of snow covering everything. Sidewalks are being shoveled, but it looks like a losing battle. "Doesn’t look like I’ll be walking far today," I say, holding up my crutches.

"Yeah, good point. I wouldn’t recommend it," she says with a smile. "Not until they clear and get some salt out there so you don't slip. But don’t worry—we’ve got some holiday crafts going on today, if you’re looking for something to do. Keeps things festive around here."

I've never felt so un-festive my entire life. Maybe some forced holiday projects are just what I need to pull myself out of this pity part.

"Crafts?" I raise an eyebrow, already half-tempted to dismiss the idea.

"Yeah! Ornament painting, gingerbread houses, wreath making. It’s fun, especially when the mountain’s closed."

The mention of the mountain makes my heart skip. "The mountain’s closed?"

"Yup, closed to skiing today," she says, tapping the counter with her nails. "Avalanche concerns. They’re checking the conditions after all that snow, but no one’s going up there today."

A small wave of relief washes over me. I half expected her to rave about perfect conditions, sure that I was missing the best day of skiing all season. But instead, the mountain’s closed, and for some reason, it feels like a small victory.

"That’s... good to know," I say, nodding slowly.

I thank her and head over to a large armchair by the window, balancing my coffee and crutches as I settle in. The chair is soft and welcoming, and I sink into it, letting out a long breath.

The snow outside is beautiful, soft and clean, piled high against the buildings. The storm might be over, but it’s left its mark, several feet of snow burying the resort.

It’s Christmas Eve, and everything looks so postcard. Twinkling lights on the trees, snow-draped rooftops, and the soft gray sky hinting at more snow to come.

I wrap my hands around my coffee cup, taking in the scene. The barista was right—it’s not safe out there yet, especially for me. The crutches would be useless on those icy sidewalks, and I’m in no mood to try to tear something in my other knee.

At least the mountain’s closed. That’s one less thing to feel sorry about.

I take a sip of my coffee, staring out at the quiet, snowy landscape. Maybe I can make it through today after all.

Most people are hunkered down with their families, sitting by the fire, wearing their pajamas all day while making sugar cookies and hanging sentimental ornaments, or at least that’s what all lonely people imagine.

The sky is a pale gray, but the light bouncing off the snow gives everything a strange glow. I take another slow sip of mycoffee, staring out at the white expanse, trying to push away the knowledge that Nicholas is asleep upstairs in my bed.

EIGHT

Nicholas

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices / For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn

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