Page 8 of Just A Little Magic

“Barely,” I answered with a smirk.

The rest of our car ride dissolved into a litany of jabs and jokes about which one of us was older. Not that it mattered since our birthdays were within weeks of each other, but I loved hearing the laughter in his voice. Normally, his voice was pretty deep, but his laughter was a tinkling tone that reminded me of the bells my grandma collected. It was so unexpected for someone his size that it never failed to make me smile.

When we weren’t poking at each other, we’d occupied the rest of our time by pointing out the trees hidden among the evergreens that had already turned their brilliant fall colors of red and gold. The remainder would catch up to the early turners in another week or two. The snow would follow a few months later. The remaining miles of our trip flew by, and before I was ready to end our silly arguments, we pulled into the lodge’s driveway.

Our real estate agent originally planned to meet us there, but she’d called and said she had a sick kiddo. The other agentwasn’t available either but gave permission for us to poke around on our own.

It was a little unusual, but I think they were desperate to unload this property. It had been on the market for close to a year, and the seller’s representative let slip that it hadn’t been shown in months.

The lodge had been privately owned, but once the original owners passed, no one in the family still lived in the area or desired to take it over. It wasn’t one of the fancier resorts with ski slopes attached, so it didn’t have the draw the owners had hoped. Still, it had plenty of potential for how our hospitality properties worked.

We often picked up locations adjacent to attractions. We got the benefits of the bigger draws without the maintenance. Here, there were opportunities to expand. There weren’t slopes on the property, but there was sufficient land for snowshoeing and perhaps cross-country skiing trails within the relatively flat valley we were in. The property came with decent acreage. At one point, there had been a sleigh ride business, and a few sleighs came with the property.

“Holy shit, look at this place,” Owen said with a voice full of awe. “It’s amazing.”

I was equally spellbound. The lodge was straight out of the Alps. I needed to check, but I’d bet money the front porch columns were hard-turned. I had no clue why they elected to do a traditional facade and an eighties interior, but the pictures in the listing weren’t doing this place justice.

The lodge itself was about four stories with balconies that faced the valley, and the adjacent lodge’s slopes in the distance would be visible through the valley. My suspicions were high that there was likely some hidden repairs needed, but the location and the building exterior were breathtaking, which counted for a lot.

“Where should we start?” Owen asked.

We stepped out of my car and looked around.

“Let’s check out the lodge.”

We made our way over to the entry doors—again with the hand carving! I typed in the code the real estate agent had texted me this morning, and the lock clicked over.

Whatever feel-good vibes we got from the building’s exterior disappeared when we entered the lobby. The only saving grace was that it was clean. The family had a caretaker on the property to keep away squatters and critters, but beyond that, it was awful. Dreadful and horrifying wouldn’t be too strong of a description.

The couches were more pink than I could’ve imagined from the pictures. They were somehow neon and yet still that dusky rose. I wasn’t sure how it was possible the color existed, but there it was in all its terrible glory. There were several conversation areas, but all were more of the same color and in a “modern” angular style. Maybe they got a deal off the back of a truck?

The gorgeous timber and stucco walls had geometric mirrors stuck on them in a seemingly random pattern. The pictures were not of the slopes or the local area but rather cityscapes of unrecognizable skylines. Wherever they were from, it wasn’t Seattle, Portland, or even Vancouver.

The front desk area was made from the same variety of wood as the wall timbers, but for some reason, they’d tacked cityscape scenes on the wood with an honest-to-God neon sign on the wall overlooking it.

I swung around to ask Owen what he thought, but he was still standing in the doorway.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” I asked with a smirk.

“How…how…oh my God…what…?”

Poor Owen was speechless.

“It’s…it’s just…awful. What were they thinking? Christ on a cracker, it’s like they planned for it to be ugly,” he sputtered.

“Ya think? I doubt they wanted it to be ugly. Maybe this was great forty years ago?”

Owen’s look put me on death notice. “This wasnevergreat.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you’ll suggest keeping everything, and we can open for this season?” Owen threw his jacket at me in response.

I tossed it over my arm because I knew him. He’d soon be cold and looking for it.

“That’s absolutely correct. There is nothing for me to do here. Hire some staff and call it good.”

“I almost want to do it so I can see my dad’s face.”

“Your dad isn’t your favorite person right now,” Owen said with a thoughtful expression, “but he doesn’t deserve the heart attack that phone call would give him.”

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