Page 79 of The Lodge

“Well, I did already pick up some rosé. And some cab. Oh, and also some sort of Italian white the cashier talked me into while I was checking out. And some stuff for a cheese board—”

“Chloe,” I interrupt, before she starts in about Gorgonzola and goat cheese. “You know how much I want you here, right? But please… don’t risk it if it looks like it’s going to be too bad—I don’t want you dying on the way over from the train station to the lodge.”

She goes quiet, then sighs. “Text me the name of that optimistic meteorologist? If even he gets all doomsday, I promise I won’t come.”

Once we’re off the call, I send her a link to the meteorologist’s website, then dash off a quick text to Sebastian even though he never replied to my last one.

Heads up, the weather’s looking really bad this weekend here at the lodge…

I know from his socials that he’s in Italy right now, so I’m fairly certain our impending Vermont blizzard is the furthest thing from his mind. Still, I feel better just knowing there’s about to be a giganticbuffer of snow between us (not to mention the entire Atlantic Ocean).

Puffin hops up onto my lap, stepping on my wrist in the process—it’s been feeling almost normal over the last day or two, and this time I barely even wince under the pressure of his paws. I smooth my hand over the soft fur of his forehead, and he pushes back, purring, before leaping up to the table I’ve been using as a desk—and walking all over my keyboard.

Honestly, if Puffin could write this book for me, I would let him at this point.

I settle in to work on a fresh Sebastian chapter as best I can. This voice memo is testing my patience more than the others—it’s a true challenge to sound neutral, unbiased, as I put his story onto the page.

A notable example from this particular voice memo:“It was all just so hard—too many girls. Too much money. Too little time to go to every party I was invited to, too tight a schedule to jet off to Phuket at the drop of a hat, so much free swag I didn’t even have time to open all the packages. But at the end of the day, I had the band, and the fans, and it was like the best dream of my life that I never wanted to end. It hasn’t really ended, either: yeah, it’s still hard to go out without getting recognized, without paparazzi on my tail at every single hour of every single day—I think that’s something that will never go away—but it’s a privilege, you know? I might want privacy sometimes, but there’s no way around it. True North will always be a part of me.”

Eye roll, eye roll, eye roll.

I suppress the urge to add a ghostwriter’s footnote:Of course, Sebastian makes every effort to stand out—just look at his attire! He wears his pop star status like a neon sign. It’s actually a shock he hasn’t yet acquired an *actual* neon sign that says SEBASTIAN GREEN with a Vegas-style arrow pointing to his too-white teeth.

If only.

If I weren’t being paid to write this book, I would totally be submitting Sebastian-centered articles to places like Gloss instead—but alas.

It’s possible I’m extra irritated by the fact that he’s ghosted me ever since our last call—and despite my best efforts to stay neutral, I can’t help but feel a bit disenchanted with Sebastian now that I know it wasTyleron the other side of their infamous rivalry.

I shut my laptop and pick up my phone.

Any chance you might want to take a certain stir-crazy writer out on the slopes this afternoon?I message Tyler.My wrist is basically perfect now

Almost immediately, Tyler replies,“basically perfect” lol

So my phone isn’t broken after all.

I’ve got time at four, he writes back in a separate bubble.That work?

I check my watch.I *guess* I can wait a whole hour to see you again

:))))), he replies—Tyler and his emoticons.

See you then/there, I reply.

Can’t wait <3

His little emoticon heart makes me feel all fluttery inside—the effort of it, the image of his strong hands typing out those two tiny symbols, just strikes me as beyond sweet.

I am in so far over my head.

Tyler is waiting for me outside the ski school when I arrive, just casually leaning against one of the big front windows. As soon as he sees me, his entire face lights up.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, and—yeah—I could get used togreetings like this. He takes my hand as soon as it’s within reach and, in one smooth move, pulls me in close for a kiss.

His lips are soft and warm and taste like powdered sugar.

“Did I say I wanted toskithis afternoon?” I say between kisses. “I think I meant to say you should come over to my place.”

---