“Send me your list, with notes, and I’ll call you if I have any questions, okay?”
I nod in agreement, reaching for my laptop.
Being productive, or getting something done, always makes me feel better. I send Viv the list of tasks needing to be completed, as well as contact information for the vendors she’ll be working with. Just to be safe, I forward her all of the emails regarding any of the tasks, in case she wants any context.
As I’m hitting send, Holland comes down the stairs, freshly showered. He stands behind me, and rubs my shoulders for a few seconds before putting a kiss on the top of my head.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he leans down and says close to my ear. I lean back into his touch.
“Make me breakfast?” I suggest.
The panic from the last few hours is still running through my veins but it’s not as loud. There’s really nothing else I can do, besides support Vivian from afar. I know she’ll get a hold of me if she needs anything.
“I can do that. Might be able to do one better. How do you feel about a mimosa bar this morning?” A sweet smirk pulls at his lips. “I always keep a couple bottles of champagne hidden away, for days like this.” He opens a cabinet, pulling out a frying pan.
I bet it’s because he knows I love champagne. This makes me want to cry even more, but I do my best to not.
“Days like this, huh?” I joke.
“I mean, any day with you is worth having champagne.” He winks at me, and it’s hard not to giggle. Holland’s cheeks blush and I love him for it.
“Let’s do it,” I say.
And if I can’t have champagne at the event, better have some while I’m snowed in with Holland. It only seems fair.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Holland
I flip pancakes onthe gas griddle, while the bacon pops and sizzles. I'm almost done making breakfast and the next thing on my list is cutting up fruit for our make-shift mimosa bar. It’s not something I’ve ever done, or ever mentioned, so Ivy’s wide eyes when I brought it up wasn’t super surprising. A mimosa bar is always a hit at the lodge.
We have two juice options—orange and cranberry—with strawberries and pineapple for a garnish. I found Hazel’s champagne flutes, the ones she was gifted when she signed the paperwork to become the owner of The Emerald Canopy Lodge. Like Ivy, she loved bubbly wine and anything with champagne. My chest squeezes thinking about how her eyes sparkled when she opened the flutes up.
I pop the cork for the second bottle of champagne, the first already gone. I look over to see Ivy’s face pink, the way it gets whenever she drinks. She’s sitting with Slate looking outside the floor to ceiling window. We can make out the patio furniture by the tops of the chairs, but the amount of snow is startling. The official total is fourteen inches during the last twelve hours.
“Why aren’t you working on that puzzle?” I ask.
“I can’t find any more edge pieces! You’re better at it than me.” She laughs as I fill her empty flute with champagne, leaving a little room forjuice. She chooses cranberry this time, and adds just a splash, before taking a long sip.
Slate gets up from the kitchen floor and lays in his bed in the living room.
“Guess Slate has had enough.” She shrugs and then lifts her flute to me, in a cheers. I clink my glass with hers and take a sip of my mimosa.
Ivy sits back and starts to giggle. “I’m a little buzzed,” she says, like it’s a secret.
“Your face gives you away.” I point at her cheeks.
“It does not!” She places her hands on her face, checking for warmth. Even if she can’t feel it, I know it’s there. “Oh my gosh, do you remember the first night I was here? And I fell in the shower?” She loudly claps her hands and doubles over in laughter.
How could I ever forget? A drunk Ivy, in my shower, and all I heard was a loud noise. I thought she had cracked her head open. But no, she just was in there, laughing her ass off, talking about how baby giraffes walk when they're born.
“I will never forget that moment in my life. You compared yourself to a baby giraffe.”
Ivy keeps laughing; her shoulders shake, and it’s contagious. We’re both in the kitchen, taking drinks of our mimosas, trying not to spill. I can’t even look over at her or I’m going to completely come unhinged.
“I wanted you so bad that night,” she says, catching me off guard.
“Just that night?” I poke back, standing in front of her.
