Page 45 of Ticket to You

I continue walking tight laps around the room. “I don’t suppose you’d want to tell me if Ophelia has said anything to you about me this week?”

Gemma chuckles warmly. “She may be twenty years younger than I am, but she’s still my best friend. And I can’t betray her trust…But I do have some advice.”

I let out a relieved breath. “Anything.”

“Ophelia doesn’t know that this is your last trip withOutdoorsy.She thinks your career hinges on this trip as much as hers does. I think you should tell her about your plans to start your own publication. She’s always stressed about money, but it’s getting worse with the layoffs. And it’s stopping her from pushing on to bigger and better things. Heaven forbid, if she is laid off—or if you are—she’ll be a wreck. Ophelia should hear about your plans to pursue your dream.”

I was hoping Gemma would tell me what Ophelia’s favorite flowers are or what her dream date is—anything that would help me turn things around between us. But beggars can’t be choosers. If I can help Ophelia feel more at peace, that will be enough of a victory for me. “Uh, sure,” I say. “I’ll tell her.”

“And one more thing,” Gemma says, laughing lightly. “It’s Ophelia’s twenty-eighth birthday tomorrow. Do with that what you will.”

She hangs up.

I check the time. It’s already eight, which means the resort shops won’t be open for much longer. I throw my laptop on the bed and jog through the halls until I get to the reception desk. The same woman as yesterday is there, giving me the same, annoyed look she had before.

“We still have no rooms,” she says immediately.

I’m not sure where to begin. How can I pull together a birthday spread in one night when my only resources are at a ski resort? “Can I borrow scissors?” I ask breathlessly. “And a marker?”

The clerk raises an eyebrow at me, but after a minute she sighs and reaches into her desk, pulling out my supplies.

“And some paper?” I add, smiling weakly.

She rolls her eyes but hands me three pieces of plain white paper.

I feel like I’m in one of those cooking shows where I have to use strange ingredients to create a full meal. “What about string?”

“No string.”

“Well, thank you. I’ll bring the scissors right back,” I promise, setting off for the resort’s finest restaurant. I’m in sweats and a gray shirt—not exactly matching the other patrons’ evening wear.

“Table for one?” the host asks, eyeing me up and down suspiciously.

“Actually, I am wondering if I can put in an order for pickup first thing tomorrow morning.”

Like the front desk clerk, the host already seems short on patience. “We don’t do pickup orders. But we open at nine tomorrow, and you’re welcome to come by then.”

I plant my hands on his host stand. “Can I talk to one of your chefs?”

He tilts his head a bit. “I’ll be back.”

A few minutes pass, and the host comes back with a thick, burly chef in tow. He grunts a greeting at me.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I need help.”

The chef doesn’t speak. He just stares at me and scratches his curly orange beard.

“I’m here with this woman—thisgreatwoman. I just found out tomorrow is her birthday, and I want to make it special for her. I’m hoping you can help.”

He breaks into a wide smile and releases a booming laugh. “Come with me.”

I follow the chef through the restaurant and into the kitchen. He pulls out a pad of paper. “What do you have in mind?”

“I was thinking cake? And breakfast?”

The chef’s smile pushes his cheeks up, nearly closing his eyes. “Easy enough. Anything in particular?”

I rattle off everything I remember Ophelia liking at breakfast, and the chef takes careful notes, nodding along with me. “Can I pick it up at six tomorrow morning?” I ask, wincing. It’s already getting late and asking him to have all of this ready so early is pushing my luck.

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