Page 10 of The Lodge

Ice-Skating Rink

Set against the stunning backdrop of Black Maple Mountain, the lodge’s ice rink is the heart of the village. Skate the night away under starlight and the warm glow of the village. Skate rentals on-site, cocoa and soft pretzels available at the snack bar.

Honey & Thyme Lounge

Experience Black Maple Lodge’s signature beverages at Honey & Thyme, our premiere lounge where you can kick back and relax by the fireplace in wingbacks made from custom Italian leather or enjoy the fire pit and twinkle lights on our outdoor patio.Ages 21+

Life at the Lodge

To extend your time at Black Maple Lodge into a vacation that never ends, inquire inside the main building at Concierge.Select townhomes and penthouse suites now leasing. Subject to availability.

4

I’ve got just over an hour to kill before I head up the mountain to find Tyler.

I make my way down the winding path that leads into the village, stopping to snap the occasional photo—this place is overflowing with scenic charm—and text the best one to Chloe.

You’ll be happy to know I’ve got a ski lesson booked for 2pm

YESSSSS, ALIX, I’M SO PROUD, she writes back immediately.Plz don’t break your beautiful neck

That’s what the lesson is for, wish me luck

I tuck my phone away and head inside the café I read about in the welcome brochure. According to its little blurb, there should be complimentary maple candies right now—and sure enough, I spot a table full of them over by the far wall.

“Welcome,” a barista with short, dark hair greets me; she’s probably around my age or just a little younger. “I’ll be right with you—there’s a rack on the patio for your skis, if you’d like.”

I would very much like. They’re bulky and awkward and I almostdropped them six times on the walk over from my building. I head outside again, wondering how on earth I missed a rack full of skis, only to find it hidden around the corner.

Back inside, the barista seems remarkably chill for being alone behind the coffee bar, unhurried as she pours steaming milk into a mug. Only a few other customers are here right now, and all of them seem to be on dates with their smartphones.

“Cappuccino for Mark,” she says calmly—but with authority—sliding the most perfect drink I’ve ever seen across the pickup counter.

Her entire vibe is a mood, the sort of silence that expands to fill the space. It’s a precise one-eighty from the energy I’m used to with Chloe.

“What can I get for you today?” she asks once she finally makes her way over to the register. Up close, I can read the neat white lettering on her name tag:MAKENNA.

I’m torn between the honey nut latte and my usual no-whip mocha, feeling unusually indecisive.

“Dealer’s choice?” I finally say.

“You got it.” She prints out a receipt and slides it across the counter. “Just write your room number and sign on the line, unless you’d rather pay with cash or card.”

I charge it to the room—thanks again, Sebastian!—then go over to check out the maple candies while she gets started on my drink. Each tray is marked with a little handwritten sign proclaiming things likeCLASSICandCAYENNE PEPPERandPECAN. I take one from the cayenne pepper tray—I’ve got a weak spot for all things sweet and spicy—and settle in at a table near the window.

The mountain looks gigantic from down here in the village, where we’re right at its base. It’s a stunning view; this cozy little corner could be the perfect work spot if I ever need a change of scenery.

A few minutes later, Makenna brings over two mugs: a simplewhite one full of intimidatingly dark coffee, and another that looks like a work of art. From the drizzle of honey on top of the perfect white foam and the artful sprinkle of pistachios, I’m guessing it’s the honey nut latte I was eyeing. I take a sip and sigh: it’s heaven in a cup, sweet and smooth.

“No offense to whatever that is”—I gesture to the black coffee—“but it’s, uh, probably not for me.”

“You’re not alone,” she replies. “You’d be surprised how many people come in here and only want cocoa. First time on the mountain?”

“First time on this one, yeah. I’m doing a private lesson this afternoon so I can remember how not to crash into a tree.”

“Smart,” she says, wiping down a nearby table that honestly already looks pretty clean. “Which instructor?”

“Tyler.”

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