I look back at my phone and call Mr. Winterbottom.
He picks up after the second ring. “Jack Winterbottom.”
“Yes, hello…this is Paisley,” I say. “There’s a problem. My, umm, ride has disappeared, and I need to take the bus.”
“Gotcha. Which bus are you taking?”
“Umm…” I look around. No bus stop far and wide.
On the other end of the phone Mr. Winterbottom gives a friendly laugh. “Where are you right now?”
“At iSkate.”
There’s a brief pause. “Good, you can catch the Highland Express. Going out of the parking lot, turn left. You’ll come to a yellow sign. That’s where it stops. Just tell the driver you want to go to the Winterbottoms’.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks a lot!”
“See you soon.”
I follow his directions and indeed I’m in luck: The HighlandExpress shows up just a few minutes later at the yellow sign. During the ride, I have to keep forcing myself to keep my eyes open and not nod off. Knowing my luck, I’d wake up somewhere in the Rockies, staring right into the eyes of a malnourished bear.
“This is where the Winterbottoms live,” the gum-chewing driver says. It can only be directed toward me, as there is no one else on the bus. The doors open and I step out into the snow. A couple in snowsuits are making their way down the driveway to the wide front door, and I remember what Gwen told me, that this resort is divided into the area for the guests and the private one of the Winterbottoms’.
And so I’ve got to go to the other door. My assumption is confirmed by a hefty brass plate upon whichWinterbottomhas been written in elegant letters. I take off my cap, undo my messy training bun, and shake my hair out. I stifle my nervousness, take a deep breath, and ring. I hear steps approaching the door, and as it swings inward, I find myself before a well-built man, who is quite attractive for his age. His light-colored hair is streaked with gray and his toothpasty grin gives Brad Pitt a run for his money.
He stretches out his hand. “Hello, Paisley, I’m Jack. Come on in.”
I’m met by a blast of warm air as soon as I step inside. Between the wooden beams I take note of the perfectly matching furniture, which, judging by its extravagant look, no doubt comes from an interior designer. Naturally, there’s a fire going.
“Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? I’ve just made some coffee.”
“Coffee would be great,” I say while attempting to put on a confident smile.
Jack nods, disappears into the kitchen, and comes back shortly with two steaming cups. He puts them on the coffee table in front of the couch and sits down across from me. “So, Paisley. Tell me about yourself. You’re new in Aspen, you were saying?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat and grip my cup. “I’m originally fromMinneapolis. Last summer I applied to iSkate and was accepted.” A tentative smile crosses my lips. “Yeah, well, and now here I am.”
“Nice, really nice. I’m happy for you. Aspen is a great town.”
I nod. “It’s got a charm I’ve never encountered anywhere else.”
Jack nods in agreement and takes a sip of his coffee. A phone begins to beep in his pocket. “Excuse me a moment,” he says, places his cup on the saucer, and types something before turning back to me. “Do you have any experience as a chalet girl?”
“Not directly,” I admit. “But I worked at a hotel for a few years while going to school.”
Mr. Winterbottom nods. He looks at his phone again, and I start to feel the beginnings of panic. If he doesn’t find me interesting, he certainly won’t be giving me any job. “Nice,” he mutters, without looking at me. I can see that he’s messaging someone.
Right now? This is my interview, and he can’t even concentrate on me for five minutes? I lose my courage. Nothing’s going to come of this. Ever.
I swallow. I restlessly move about my velvet-covered chair. “I can cook, too. Well, no one’s ever complained, in any event. I’m an athlete, so naturally I cook really healthy things, and…”
“Paisley, excuse me, please,” Jack interrupts. He lets out an impatient sigh and continues to type into his phone. “I’ve got to go. When can you start?”
“I… What?”
Finally Jack looks back up from his phone. “Tomorrow? That would be the best. If you need someone to bring your things over, let me know.”
“My things?”
