I head around to the passenger side and slide into the back.
“Long trip?” he asks as he gets behind the wheel. His dark eyes meet mine again in the rearview mirror.
“Long enough,” I say, tugging my coat tighter. “Two flights, one layover, one crying baby, and a man who insisted on eating tuna out of Tupperware at seven in the morning. I’m pretty sure I’ve lost feeling in the left side of my brain.”
The corner of his mouth quirks, though he never smiles. “We don’t have tuna guys up here. Just snow and bad radio.”
“Honestly, that already sounds like an upgrade. It’s not like I can complain much anyway. Free trip to Colorado and a new client who pays well? I’ll happily deal with some tuna and screaming babies.”
“You ever been to Colorado before?”
“Not once in my life,” I answer. “I’m a Cali girl through and through.”
“First time for everything. Welcome to the Rockies.”
As we pull away from the parking garage, the airport vanishes almost immediately, swallowed by trees and rising rock. The road steadily climbs, snowflakes drifting lazily in the air.
“How far is it?” I ask, watching the mountainous terrain from the passenger window.
“About forty-five minutes if the roads stay clear,” he says. “Longer if it keeps coming down like this.”
“So you guys really get snowed in up here?”
“Sometimes,” he replies. “The plows do what they can with the main road. The private drives are another story.”
There’s no drama in his tone, no attempt to scare me. Just a statement of fact that slides under my skin anyway.
I meant what I said about being a Cali girl—SouthernCalifornia. Cold weather and I have never gotten along well.
I slide my fingers into my gloves and decide not to imagine what would happen if the SUV slid off the slick roads and into the trees.
“I guess it’s a good thing I’m here to make everything festive while you’re all trapped,” I say lightly, changing the subject. “Your boss must really love Christmas.”
He glances at me in the rearview, his expression unreadable. “He likes things a certain way. Especially this time of year.”
“Specific instructions, then,” I murmur. “That tracks. The contract was very… detailed. Well, the parts I read were.”
“He was grateful to find you. You were one of the only high-end interior designers available.”
I’m exhaling a breath when I interrupt the sound with my own laugh. “Probably because everyone else has a loving family to spend it with. I’m more concerned about paying the mortgage on my condo. I’m not turning down any Christmas miracle.”
He nods but says nothing else as we drive on in silence.
Except for the wheels turning on the pavement and the hum from the heater, I’m left with only my thoughts to fill in the blank spaces.
The higher we climb, the more the world seems to narrow until there’s only snowflakes outside my window. The snowfall has definitely picked up, the flakes themselves growing thicker and coming down faster.
When Mark finally turns onto a long, private drive marked by two stone pillars, my stomach twists with a strange mix of anticipation and unease. The SUV crawls forward, passing through a tall wrought-iron gate, tires crunching over untouched snow.
The house finally appears, rising from the surrounding trees. It almost resembles some luxury ski resort, made up of dark stone and wood and sleek glass with steep roofs that wear the snow like a crown.
A wide set of steps leads up to a deep front porch flanked by heavy stone columns. There are no cheerful lights, not even a wreath on the door. Nothing festive at all to be found.
I guess that’s where I come in.
Mark pulls up near the front and turns off the engine. He gets out, comes around to open my door, and offers his hand without comment. I take it, his grip firm and strong as I step down into snow that crunches crisply under my boots.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper. “But… a little isolated, isn’t it? So many trees and no neighbors.”
