Page 16 of The Last Resort
The last two nights had seen her wake up in a sweaty panic. She’d dreamt about a mile high pile of suitcases which had fallen and crushed her under their weight. And despite all the best endeavors of a man with chocolate brown eyes and black rimmed glasses she’d remained stuck under them, the breath in her lungs slowly seeping out.
It was pure serendipity that she happened to make her way to the bakery this morning. Kellie had an early stock delivery coming at the gift shop which she owned, and Dan was somewhere up in the back country helping with the search for a missing skier.
Rachel had been left to her own devices. And she being the adventurous sort, had decided that this morning was as good an opportunity as any to see just how far she could walk in her new chain boots.
Half a mile was the answer. By the time she’d come across the oddly named bakery, her calves were screaming, and her bruised hip and knee were threatening to take out an intervention order. She’d staggered insideManhattan Escapeeonly to find herself standing in line behind her airport rescuer.
And now he’s buying me breakfast. My day is looking up.
There were some old-fashioned red vinyl upholstered booths along one side of the bakery come café. Rachel ran her finger along the top of the cushions, pleased that someone had recently gone to all the effort of having them properly stitched and re-covered.
On the exposed brick wall above the booths were various photos of celebrities taken while they were dining at the bakery. Aspen was popular with the rich and famous. Quite a few of them seemed to be regulars of theManhattan EscapeeBakery.Sliding into the booth, she noted a number of the photographs had been signed by the people featured in them. It was all a bit cheesy, but it was fun. A great conversation starter.
I wonder how many famous people have stayed at the Green Tree Resort? It would be cool if Dan’s parents had some of these sorts of photos hidden away somewhere.
Rachel stirred from her thoughts of the ski lodge as her hero stranger moved away from the counter and headed in her direction. He was still smiling as he dropped into the bench seat opposite hers and held out his hand. “I should introduce myself. I’m Matthew Jones.”
She took his hand, and they shook. “Rachel. Rachel Little. It’s lovely to meet you, Matthew.”
It was still strange to use her grandmother’s maiden name, but after deciding that she needed to start her life again outside of Georgia, going through the complicated legal process of changing her name had made sense. Rachel Davilla now only existed on old documents and cancelled Netflix subscriptions. Over time she would slowly erase her past.
Matthew’s smile lifted at one corner. “Can I take it from your easy Southern accent that you’re not from around here?”
She nodded, then shyly replied, “Yeah, y’all can take the girl out of Atlanta, but you won’t ever be able to steal her Georgia tongue. I’ve just moved to Aspen. Like a whole two days ago. That’s why I had all those suitcases at the airport. My sister, Kellie, lives here. How about you, are you a local Aspenite?”
Matthew hesitated. He wasn’t a local, and he wasn’t a snow-hound tourist. He was going to have to lie.I meet a really cute woman and I’m forced to pretend to be someone else.
He fell back on the vague story which he and Mia had cooked up on the off chance that someone wanted to know a bit more about him. “I’m doing some work with one of the local hotels. Helping out with the busy season finance stuff. Nothing exciting.”
He didn’t like lying to people, but Rachel didn’t need to know who he really was, or why he was in town. If she’d moved here to be with family, then it wouldn’t take long for her to get to know other locals. And if she happened to mention a guy, she’d met … and yeah, it was better he kept the truth of his identity a secret.
I’ve come too far to risk people finding out who I am and sinking my plans for the old ski lodge before I can get the deal approved.
There would be some people who didn’t share his vision. Who might have serious reservations about his glass and steel ultra-modern design. It had taken a long time to get traction on this project, and at the eleventh hour he couldn’t risk the town taking a stand against him at the planning meeting.
But Rachel had just moved to Aspen. Making a connection with someone like her would be a good thing. A safe thing that would help to ease his sense of isolation.
I’m going to take a risk and make a friend.
CHAPTER SEVEN
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat and shared a meal with a man that hadn’t ended in tears. First, it had been with her father the day after they’d been informed, he was about to be hit with a long list of fraud charges. That had been nothing short of awful. Her mother had left the table part way through dinner in floods of tears, but instead of helping his wife, Rachel’s cold-hearted father had complained that the family chef, who was owed wages, hadn’t bothered to finish prepping the meal. He couldn’t understand that the staff actually expected to be paid for their work.
Coming in second, but just as brutal, was the evening mere days later, when her fiancé had taken a still reeling Rachel out to dine at an upmarket French restaurant. They’d barely made it through the fourth course of an expensive degustation menu, with matching wines, before Anthony had coolly asked her to return the diamond engagement ring which glittered on her finger.
So the only way Matthew was going to get anywhere near the top of the charts for shittiest eating companion would beif he turned out to be a serial killer or a pushy Instagram influencer who wanted to video her while she ate.
I’m not sure which is worse.
Their coffees arrived, and the second she took her first sip Rachel’s heart sang. Hallelujah it was good. Hot, rich coffee. Perfection.
“I think I understand why they call this placeManhattan Escapee. Only a barista from somewhere like New York City would understand how to make such a great flat white.”
Matthew chuckled. “Yeah, they have amazing beans, and they don’t burn the milk. I swear I had tears in my eyes the day I discovered this place.”
“Do you come here often?” Realizing what she’d said, Rachel burst out laughing. “Oh my god, the most ancient of pick-up lines. I mean. Oh ...” Heat flamed on her cheeks.
She was still fanning her face when their server appeared bearing two large plates. As he set them down, Rachel’s gaze took in the ginormous American breakfast. The stack of pancakes would have fed a family of ten for a week. Where did she even start?
