Holidays with the Billionaire

Chapter 19

Kelton

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A t first, I was upset that Adlee had pointed out that the cow print thing might be outdated, but a quick scan of my annoying photographic memory revealed that nothing in their house had any of the sort lately. I had been buying her that shit for years. Between massage gift cards and cow print crap, that was all I could think to give her. How had she not said anything? She’s been married to my dad for years and never said a word. Doesn’t she know people like us do better with just being blunt and truthful?

Refusing to be upset about it, Adlee and I walk hand in hand down the dry sidewalk to another shop here in Alpine Peak. This town my family founded isn’t as luxurious and opulent as Keystone, but we’ve kept it this way for a reason. It appeals to those who love small town living and quaint mountain towns. We still have badass ski resorts and slopes, and the appeal of locally-owned businesses here on Main Street has kept us in business for decades.

The cold wind whips me in the face and I realize this is probably uncomfortable for Adlee so we pick up the pace, and soon, we walk into another store that specializes in handmade gifts and engraving. They’ve been here over a decade, when my father was in charge of the company and had approved all the local businesses to lease a downtown space.

“Hi,” greets a young woman about my age. “I’m Ashley. How can I help you folks today?”

“I need a gift for my mother. Something personal. Special,” I reply.

She smiles and smooths some short blonde hair behind her ear. She’s a plain girl, no makeup or fancy clothes, but pretty in her own right. “Sure. Tell me about her.”

“Who?” I ask.

I look down when Adlee giggles at my side. “Your mom, silly,” she replies

I flush with embarrassment, realizing my mistake. “Oh, sure. Well, she’s in her early sixties, retired attorney. She used to love cow print stuff, but now she’s...” I trail off, feeling foolish. My mom’s my mom. She is married to my dad, raised me and my brother... shit.

“What are her hobbies?” Adlee asks, clearly trying to save me.

I reach up and rub my forehead. This is getting worse. What kind of son am I? Since I already look stupid, I slide my phone from my pocket and shoot off a text to my dad: What are mom’s hobbies? Or current fads/likes?

I hit send and re-pocket the phone.

“Ya know, I’m not sure,” I say to save face. “But I want something personal. I’m tired of getting her impersonal gifts.”

“Does she collect anything?” Ashley asks.

“I... I’m not—” My phone buzzes, saving me.

Dad: We’ve been golfing together. A lot. I didn’t think she’d like it, but she’s super into it. Like, she’s wearing me out with it honestly.

I chuckle and repocket the phone. I turn to Ashley. “Golf. She likes to golf.”

Ashley’s face lights up. “I have just the thing!”

I find it odd Mom’s suddenly obsessed with golf. I mean, my dad always golfed on his days off when I was growing up, but my mom never went, instead sipping cocktails with her girlfriends at the country club while gossiping and waiting for my dad to finish. Guess she got sick of that.

Ashley leads us to a section of all kinds of punny golf stuff, like kitchen towels, magnets, shot glasses, and of course, Christmas ornaments.

“Ooh, look at this,” Adlee says, holding up a pink visor cap. “Tee-riffic Mom,” she sing-songs, shimmying her hips in a little dance, and I have to bite back a smile.

“That’s terrible,” I say.

“Agreed,” she says, putting it back.

I look down and see a drink coaster reading Putter-ly Awesome Mom and I groan. “So bad,” I mutter.

“And I’m cli-imbing the fai-irway to Heaaaven,” I hear in the tune of “Stairway to Heaven” as I turn around and see Adlee singing while dancing with an apron pressed flush to her body reading exactly that.

Ashley laughs, saying, “Yeah, they’re all pretty cheesy.” She holds up a Christmas ornament in the shape of a golf club that reads Fore-ever Mom with a woman hugging a small boy. It’s cute and not super cheesy.

“Yeah, that’ll do,” I reply, giving up.

“That one is pretty cute,” Adlee says. “Maybe you can find a photo of you and your dad golfing and put it in a frame and give it to her along with the ornament.”

A memory of my dad and me golfing when I was in high school floods back to me. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s on my hard drive.

“You know, I think I have just the photo,” I say, so grateful for Adlee’s suggestion.

Ashley rushes over and hands me a silver-plated frame that reads Love You Always engraved in the top.

“I’ll take it,” I reply.

After I pay, Ashley carefully packages up our goodies and I thank her. We exit the shop and walk arm in arm down Main Street.

“Are you hungry?” I ask. It’s well past one p.m. and I didn’t really see her eat anything this morning at the meeting except a couple of bites of bacon.

Yes, I watch her that closely. No, I’m not sorry.

“I could eat,” she replies.

A locally-owned sandwich café is around the corner, so we head toward it to go to the counter to order.

“What’s good here?” Adlee asks, perusing the chalkboard menu.

“Everything,” I reply. I usually don’t leave the resort much on these holiday trips but if I do and I’m hungry, this is where I go. The meat and cheese is always fresh, as are the veggies. “The club is my favorite.”

She nods, and we head to the counter. I order the club and look at Adlee. “Did you decide?”

“The French dip, please,” she says.

The cashier smiles and gives us a number to set on our table. We find one quickly and sit down with our bottled waters.

I set the bag from the store down and Adlee looks at it. “Do you think your mom will like that?”

I nod. “I do. I’m not the best gift-giver, admittedly. But you helped.” I reach over and grab her hand. “Thank you.”

“Hey, I’m not the best gift-giver either, but it helps if you know what the person is into.” She shrugs. “I take it you’re not that close to your parents?”

Ouch.

“I am, just, uh, bad at paying attention to what they’re into, I guess. They’re in their early sixties, so they golf and travel. Sometimes they like to throw parties.”

“Sounds amazing to me,” she replies in a dreamy tone, and I can tell she’s being honest. Then her face falls and she adds, “Not that I don’t like my job.”

I chuckle, seeing her backpedal. “I doubt you like your job. Laskin’s an ass.”

Adlee bites her lip and nods. “Well, he can be. Working for you is much easier.”

“Speaking of,” I start. But then an employee brings us our sandwiches and snatches the number off the table.

“Y’all need anything else?” the young kid asks.

We both shake our heads and he takes off.

“This looks so good,” Adlee says, unwrapping the roast beef sandwich and taking the lid off the au jus. I grin when she dips it in then takes a bite, her eyes closing.

“Good?” I ask.

She nods. “Absolutely. Good suggestion.” She uses the sandwich to gesture around the shop.

I agree, taking a bite of the club.

A fter eating, we turn the corner to the next street and continue walking. I have no destination in mind. I know I’m going to add to my mother’s gift but that will have to be done later.

“Do you need to get any gifts?” I ask her, suddenly aware that she hasn’t bought anything.

“No,” I reply. “I already got my parents stuff and my sister and niece, too.”

“Yeah?” I ask, curious about her family. “Sounds like you’re ahead of the game.”

She shrugs. “I guess. That Christmas tree you rescued me from? That was for my parents. My dad just had surgery and was in recovery so I was tasked with the tree this year. Thank you for that, by the way.”

Her cheeks turn pink and it’s cute as hell.

“You’re welcome,” I reply, biting back a smile. “So you live with your parents?”

She shakes her head. “Oh, God, no. They live a couple miles away from me. I picked up the tree for them. And set it up. And decorated it. And got their Christmas stuff down from the attic.” She laughs a little. “Well, at the way I’m describing it, I might as well live with them.”

“Sounds like they appreciate you, though,” I reply honestly.

“They do. They love the holidays so much. Made it special for us growing up.” She looks out into the street where a streetcar goes by, beeping its horn. I thought it was strange when I was little, these cable cars driving down the street at all hours, but I find it endearing and quaint now, and both the locals and tourists love the San Francisco-esque nostalgia.

“And your sister? She’s in Colorado?” I ask, unable to mask my curiosity.

“Yeah, engaged. Her fiancé took her on a trip, she sent me a pic with the ring he proposed with, with the whole ‘I said yes’ crap,” she replies.

Yikes. “Not a fan of marriage?” I ask honestly.

“I didn’t say that,” she replies. “In fact... Oh, my God!” She points down the street. “Let’s go ice skating!”

Let’s not.

“Really?” I ask. “Have you ever gone before?”

She looks up at me sheepishly. “Uh, maybe like twice when I was a kid and got invited to birthday parties.” She looks like she might be changing her mind, then she smiles up at me. “But you’re a hockey star. I bet you’re a natural on the ice.”

I am. I started skating at five, then started hockey at eight. But I don’t tell her that.

“It’s really hard to skate with rentals. I don’t bring my own skates on trips,” I say, trying anything to get out of it. “I might break a leg, you know. You don’t need a broken-leg boss,” I grin, using her words against her.

Adlee tips her head back and laughs, then grabs my hand. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Fine,” I groan, going along with her because I can’t tell her no. She’s too cute and excited.

There’s a booth set up next to the frozen pond that has a handful of skates for rent. We give the old guy our sizes and use the bench to sit and put them on.

Of course, this pond doesn’t have the luxury of rubber mats to walk on until you reach the ice floor, so I have to hold Adlee’s gloved hand as we walk through the snow on our skates. I already hate these rentals, but I’m determined not to fall in them.

She’s hesitant and then informs me she’s nervous and inexperienced on the ice.

“Weren’t you a dancer?” I ask, and then immediately regret it.

A knowing smile tips her lips. “How did you know that?”

“I make it a point to know my employees’ backgrounds,” is all I can think to say.

“Is that so?” she asks, still biting back a smile.

I tell her to wait on the edge while I step out on the ice. I do a couple of small laps back and forth to get my bearings, then skate back to Adlee. As I hold my hand out, she smiles and takes it and I pull her onto the ice. She’s as wobbly as a baby deer but I’m determined not to let go of her.

“Watch my feet,” I tell her. “It’s easy once you get the hang of it.”

“Easy for you to say,” she says nervously. But, she seems to take to the ice pretty well. Just like she did the slopes. She clearly underestimates herself.

Soon, we’re skating hand in hand. I mention to her that she’s doing well, but she still puts herself down and sounds like she’s harboring self-doubt.

A few times we have to skate quickly around other couples who are going slower than us. I’m not really paying attention to anyone else, so when Adlee sort of stiffens, I look at her. “What?” I ask.

“Why is everyone staring at us?” she asks softly.

I look around the pond to see a lot of people have gathered and are watching us. They talk among themselves and are smiling. A lot of them have their phones up and seem to be recording or taking photos. Then—I notice a photographer with a large, professional camera. He’s snapping photos of us.

“Fuck,” I murmur.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Paparazzi,” I reply. “I don’t get out that often.”

“Ohhh,” she says. “Should we give them a show?”

I look down at her as we skate, the cold wind whipping us in the face. “What do you have in mind? Looks like they already got plenty of material. I’m sure the press will be speculating on who you are by the end of the day.”

She shrugs and we have to quickly skate around a small boy and his dad who are standing on the ice while the child cries that he’s cold.

“I don’t know,” she replies. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Just then, we hear, “Hey, Fox,” and turn to see Jet Keystone skating up to us. I’m instantly annoyed. I turn my head and give him a scowl but keep skating.

Of course the fucker is good on skates as well, and goes around us to skate backward while he talks to us.

He looks at Adlee. “Oh, hello again,” he says, flirtation dancing in his eyes.

“Hi, Jet,” she says, using one hand to adjust her hat over her ears in what I think is a nervous gesture.

“You’re good on skates,” he says, completely ignoring me. “You and I should go to a real skating rink some time. I can show you some moves.” He spins in a circle as he skates.

The nerve of this fucker. I’m about to fold his teeth back when Adlee speaks up.

“Uh, I’m not sure about that,” she replies.

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. I have a hot tub at my place, too. We can warm up there.”

That’s it.

I let go of Adlee’s hand and grip the fucker by his shoulder. I rear my arm back and Jet smiles. “Gonna hit me in front of the paps, and God, and everyone?”

Dammit, he’s right. I put my arm down and shove him, hoping he’ll fall. Of course, he doesn’t. “Go away, Keystone.”

He’s still wearing that annoying grin, and ignoring me, he looks at Adlee. “If you change your mind, you can find me at the Keystone Resort here in Aspen Peak. Just ask the for the owner.” He winks and skates off.

This asshole.