“Don’t know, don’t care,” I say, approaching the front desk. The resort is made up of a little village of cabin-like buildings. It isn’t quaint. If ski resorts were rated in stars like hotels, this one is a five for sure. There are vaulted ceilings, leather furniture, a coffee shop, a gift shop, a mini-bar, multiple gas fireplaces, and that’s just in the main building. I also spotted more than one restaurant, a rental store, an actual store, a brewery, and of course the cabins for staying in. I mean, this place is stacked.
“Welcome to Snowcap Summit,” a woman in a Patagonia jacket smiles from behind the desk. “Checking in?”
“No, I am actually here to meet with Holly Wentz,” I answer.
“Oh yes, the bride! Are you Charlotte?” she asks.
“Yes,” I smile, finally feeling like I am getting somewhere.
“She is in the coffee shop to the right. This wedding sounds like it’s going to be out of this world,” she beams.
“We hope so!” Josie says.
My wallet hopes so too.
We walk over to Summit Sips, the coffee shop, and my eyes scan the room. I see her almost immediately. She’s sitting in the back at a table by herself. Her eyes light up when she sees me and she waves.
“Charlotte!?” she beams.
“Yes,” I smile back. Before I can even walk over to her table, she bounces out of her chair and dashes in my direction, throwing her arms around me. Holly is probably around 5’5” with a beautiful curvy body. Her wildly curly dirty blonde hair reaches the middle of her back. Even though it’s only twelve degrees outside, she is wearing shorts, a hoodie, a knitted headband, and snow boots.
“Aren’t you cold?” Josie asks bluntly.
It’s cold in Colorado. Maybe it’s because I’ve always been thin, but I am always cold. I’m cold just looking at her. She has a warm personality, though. Maybe that helps.
“Nah,” she playfully waves. “I’m from Juneau.”
“Alaska?” Josie asks.
“Yes!”
“That’s awesome,” Josie says.
And it is awesome because Alaska isn’t LA or New York City. Everything about this girl tells me that despite the money involved, she will not be a Bridezilla. Thank the Lord.
After we grab coffee, we sit down and start going over things. Holly tells us how she met her fiancé, and that it was love at first sight and fate. They haven’t been together for very long, but knew they were meant to be together forever. They want to travel the world.
“Sorry, I know I am spewing a lot of info at you right now,” she laughs. “I’m just really excited.”
“We are too,” I tell her, and Josie agrees, giving me a look so subtle only a best friend could read it. Honestly, if there is anything I am good at, it’s being a social chameleon. I am a salesperson at the end of the day, and while I do love the details, I also love the money. It took me a long time to get to where I am in the industry.
“Oh, my fiancé just walked in!” She says, waving at someone behind me. I have my back to the entrance of the coffee shop. I’m glad the groom is involved. It’s easier to plan a wedding when you know the dynamic of the couple. It also gives you fair warning if they’re going to clash on anything. It’s nice to know how many back-up plans I need to prepare in case they don’t agree on something.
“Hey baby!” she squeals, standing up to throw her arms around him. He hugs and burrows his face in her mess of hair. I don’t have to see his face to recognize him. And the second my brain makes that connection, my heart drops through a trapdoor in my stomach and my jaw hits the floor.
Josie gives me an odd look, but as he pulls away from the cling of Holly’s grasp, Josie recognizes him too and gasps. Luckily, they don’t hear.
“Charlotte, this is Ben, my fiancé. Ben, this is–”
“Char…Charlotte,” he says, the surprise screaming in his eyes, but he’s able to snap his mouth shut in a tight smile and hold out a hand. He almost called me “Charlie.” The name only he used to call me. Actually, he refused to call me Charlotte, although I wasn’t really a fan of Charlie. I mean, I don’t even look like a Charlie.
“Hello,” I say, praying to God that my hand is shaking less than my voice and that Holly doesn’t recognize either.
“She’s the wedding planner!” Holly exclaims.
“You don’t say…” his voice trails off.
“And I’m the photographer, Josie,” Josie says, and I love her. I love her so much. Because while me and Ben are flipping through the pages of our expressions, scrambling to find poker faces, Josie is going on about all things photography.
