Snowed Under (Aspen Peaks #2)

3. Cooper

I t was edging close to the best time of day.

When the afternoon started to wane at the ski lodge, which meant five o’clock, since it was November and the moon visited us early, the sky transformed into this canvas of yellows, golds, and oranges. The sun dipped low behind the snow-capped peaks, casting a glow across the horizon and dancing on your skin.

The blanket of snow glistened in the fading sunlight, a temptation itself. The open hills started to die down, calling your name. Only thirty minutes left to ride them. Thirty minutes to get that adrenaline rush that my veins cried out for.

As the sun slipped below the horizon, the first twinkling lights of the lodge began to illuminate the landscape, soft and inviting. They emanated from the windows, a warm contrast against the cold mountain backdrop.

It was my one time to ride the way I wanted to. To cut through the snow, slicing my legs back and forth down the mountain like an artist painting a picture on my way down.

It was the best way, the only way, to end the day before going back to an entirely empty house. The silence there seemed so loud that I’d started leaving the TV on all day just so that, when I got home, there would be voices around. It felt kind of pathetic when I started, but now it was almost a game. Guessing what channel 132 was going to have on each day. Would it be reruns of Oprah, or are we spicing things up with something like a Spanish murder drama? A mystery was always waiting for me when my feet crossed over the threshold.

Gliding down these slopes was like a last-minute treat before having to go to the nearly dead place I called home, where it was just me, an eight-year-old Xbox, and leftover Thai food to keep each other company. It didn’t seem as pitiful before Finn had met his wife. Most days after work, we’d head to my place and drink a few beers, or we’d go downtown, sliding in and out of bars with trails of tourist that we knew we’d never see again.

I used to think it was cool. I assumed everyone around me did too. Running into random guys I graduated with that told me I was “living that dream life,” or the odd “hey, have a little fun for me” from a married man here and there. But now that I’ve…grown, I guess, I see how pitiful that life truly was. How time was so quick to leave us, and once it was gone, you don’t get an ounce of it back. Time was really selfish in that way, and after my grandfather had died, I realized I wanted to keep all of it to myself. So, the drinking stopped, the women stopped, and the skiing picked up.

It made me kind of sad for my past self. Poor guy didn’t know how rough he actually had it. Made me wonder if the people closest to me realized it too. Pops warned me, telling me that just ’cause I was young didn’t mean I had to be dumb. Or Ma always trying to set me up with a sweet girl from her work. Telling me to settle down, that a life in the fast lane wasn’t a life worth living. They were both right, but still, I learned some lessons could only be taught through grief.

And somehow in those snowy hilltops, time slowed. It turned snaillike, and my movements, fast as they were, felt more like I was the one in control. I was taking back those countless youth-wasted hours one by one. It gave me a connection to Pops too, like he was in those slopes and curves, in the dips and divots of the hills. In the sketchy spots too, the ledges that snuck up on you and had you feeling like you were inching toward death as your heart fell to your ass. Gotta keep you humble, kid. You could practically hear it in that voice that sounded more and more like Morgan Freeman’s the older he got.

After the last kid had been picked up, I was going to have almost an hour on the slopes. Maybe longer if I hightailed it out of here. I lunged for my bags, ready to shove them into my designated locker and race back here to get on the lift. I’ve only got des, and I’m going to make every single one count.

The strap of my backpack—which, truthfully, was full of snacks and “prizes” for the kids, for when they did well or accomplished a new skill—dug into my shoulder, all but begging to be tossed to the side and forgotten for the next adrenaline-packed half hour. If my keys and wallet weren’t in there, I probably would have listened.

My legs took off, and I rushed toward the side door that would lead me into the employee only area.

“Mr. Graves,” a voice called from behind me. I almost considered stopping. But then again, there were a lot of people with the last name Graves, weren’t there? And a vast majority of them worked at this resort, so it was possible they weren’t calling me in particular.

“Cooper?”

There…were also a lot of Coopers in the state of Colorado. I wasn’t exactly sure how many, but more than ten, right?

“Cooper Graves.”

All right, fine. I give up.

I turned my head as my fingers dug into the tight strap on my shoulder. A couple not much older than me were on my tail. The woman in a blazer and heels, despite the icy walkway, and the man in a suit that looked similar to what I’d rented for Finn and Olive’s wedding.

“That’s me.” I clicked my tongue and smiled halfway, trying to keep eye contact and not look at the glorious hills behind them screaming my name.

The woman spoke up. “Sorry to catch you if you were in a hurry, but our niece, Makayla, is one of your students, and she’s always going on about you.”

Makayla…I racked my brain.

“Curly red hair. Says the word literally every two minutes, but she has a lisp, so it sounds like widawee.”

Ah, Rusty. The five-year-old who could barely even stand in skis. She was adorable and liked to frequently tell me I was intredabeel. I think she meant incredible, but sometimes I just nodded along with her. My smile unzipped a little wider.

“Yeah, she’s a good kid.”

The husband spoke next. “I did say your last name correctly, right? Graves? As in Alex Graves?”

I wasn’t too shocked at the question. It was something I got a lot since my family owned the lodge. I never wanted to bring it up first—it was kind of a dick move—but I loved my family, and I was never going to be ashamed of who they were or what they owned.

“That’s my uncle. Most of the family works around the lodge,” I confirmed.

Pops had this place for as long as I could remember, expanding it into what it was today until his passing. My uncle and his wife took over from there. One of his cousins helped work the lift, and another ran the social media page. My other aunt managed the café in the lobby, and her husband oversaw finances. Essentially every family member of mine, except my mom, had worked here my whole life.

We always joked that Ma wasn’t cool enough to work with us, when in reality, we all knew it was the exact opposite. My mom was the kind of free spirit who wasn’t going to be tied down to a certain jobsite just because her family was involved in it. So instead, she was a pediatric travel nurse for years. When she had me, she settled here, switching over to speech therapy and worked her way up until she eventually opened her own office. Officially—and not so humbly—she received an award for Colorado’s top speech therapist for the last three years in a row. She was pretty great at what she did.

So, again, denying my incredible family was never going to be an option.

“We assumed.” The husband nodded before pulling out a card to hand me. I glanced down at the fancy card covered in matching fonts and monotone colors. Brandy and Chase Smith.

“We work for Family Matters Magazine.”

I wasn’t exactly sure what this had to do with me, but the title sounded somewhat familiar. I rarely picked up magazines, and if I did, they certainly weren’t Family Matters.

“Oh,” I nodded and glanced again at the lift behind them. Time would win this battle if I didn’t wrap this up now. “Cool…”

Brandy, I assumed, snorted and shook her head at her husband. “We’ve been doing columns on local businesses. We’ve tried to get in touch with your uncle, but—”

“He’s a busy man,” I cut in with a chuckle, remembering Thanksgiving a few weeks ago. My uncle was on the phone outside the entire time, eventually coming in to cold turkey. He had no kids, and his wife was just as busy, so I guessed it didn’t matter to them how many hours they racked up.

“Right, of course. Would you be interested in meeting with us for the column instead?”

I almost glanced behind me to make sure there wasn’t another Cooper Graves sitting in a bush, waiting to take my spot. But no, they knew me. They knew little Makayla and not so little Alex.

Technically, there was no reason to say no, other than the fact that these two were cutting into precious slope time. But I was also just a children’s ski instructor. Not exactly magazine material. And I still wasn’t 100 percent positive they’d meant to ask me the question.

My answer came in spurts between puffs of forced laughter. “I, uh, don’t know if I’m your guy for that, but I could maybe hook you up with one of my younger cousins?”

There was Danielle in marketing or Tanya, who worked on the lift every few weekends. I was quite literally the last Graves family member that should be included in this.

“Well, the thing is, we’re focusing mostly on skiing. Since the lodge is hosting the upcoming ski competition in January, we were wanting to find someone who knew a lot about the sport, and since the magazine focuses most on family, and you’re a children’s instructor, it would be perfect.”

Our annual ski competitions had been prevalent for the last ten years. A staple here at the lodge. The first weekend of every year, we held one of the largest competitions in Colorado. People from all over the states and even other countries would fly in for it. It took months of training and prepping. Everything really added up to that final moment. Each year, Finn and I would train one kid from our classes and sponsor them—which mostly meant teaching them a little outside class and placing bets on our skier being the number one racer. It was what the lodge was counting on during the transition. Last year performed well, but not as well as the year before. Or the year before that. Numbers were shifting, sliding, as the new lodge in town built up its credibility among social media sites. Any added publicity was a dire need. Be that as it may, I was far from a family man who should be featured in a magazine called Family Matters.

Her husband bumped in next. “We have a pretty good following on social media. This coverage would be seen by a lot of local people and tourists too. It would be great for your family’s lodge.”

That had my attention. Ski event. Tourists. Great for lodge.

The words replayed over and over, a broken record. I doubted a magazine column would flood the place with new guests, but we were getting desperate for exposure. The slower business was becoming more and more apparent, and every time I drove home, I passed by the newer lodge, whose parking deck was packed to the brim. So, I shrugged and was about to say sure, why not?

But before I could, Brandy spoke, a hand on her husband’s bicep. “Two million followers is more than pretty good in my opinion.”

“Two million…?” As the words left my mouth, I sounded like I was closer to the moon than on solid ground next to these two strangers. Famous strangers. Kind of, anyway.

They both nodded, and I imagined the results for a second. How many people would that bring in? How many more tourists, skiers, professional snowboarders? Social media influencers? Families? Family reunions? Parties? Famous people? Ryan Reynolds? The list was never ending. Expansive marketing that was specifically made for a skiing event would be incredible for our family. For the lodge.

Two million…

I pictured Pops hearing that number, imagining the creases around his eyes deepening as they widened. His mouth, once curved in a knowing smile, would gape in disbelief. Then he would break out into that rusty belly laugh.

Even if it brought the numbers up to cushion the blow we were feeling from the new lodge, it would be enough. Enough to make me feel like I’d done my Pops proud. Enough to make me think that yeah, maybe I’d wasted all of those years when I was young, but I could make up for it here. I could make up for it with an interview and an event that would at the very least get some social media traction.

“All right, yeah.” I nodded a little too enthusiastically, bobbing my head up and down and letting go of any idea of skiing this afternoon. “Actually, that would be great.”

The husband smiled before handing me a business card. “You can text me at this number, and we can set a date to meet with you and your wife and kids.”

“Wife and kids?” I tilted my head.

“Right, since it’s a family magazine, it would be about you and your family specifically,” Brandy explained.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Do not screw this up.

“Oh. Um, I…”

“Or husband,” she shouted, clasping her hands and doing little jazz fingers. “Husband and kids. Either way, we are entirely open and considerate of—”

I shook my head. “No, no. Wife. Not a husband.”

“Either way.” Chase smiled at me directly. “Or if you don’t want to bring the kids in, that’s fine too. We can just add a quote from them if you’ll email us one. My number and email address are both on the bottom.” He gestured to the business card still heavy in my hands.

The wife and kids…

It was one of those moments where I knew the truth, and I knew it was best to be honest. Follow the golden rule, yeah, yeah. But then I imagined the alternative. The thought of openly admitting that I was a more than single man who didn’t have so much as a prospect of a girlfriend and certainly had no children running around was mortifying, though the honesty would be honorable. On the other hand, the thought of keeping my mouth shut and not technically admitting to having a family at home could lead this lodge into something big. Or at the very least get me a few new students.

I didn’t consider it for another second before gritting out a quick “yeah, I will.”

They smiled at each other and then back to me before walking away. “We look forward to hearing from you, Mr. Graves.”

I waved goodbye and turned to the employee entrance of the lodge. Turning around the corner, I all but slammed my backpack down and pulled out my phone, going straight to Instagram. I typed in Family Matters Magazine, and a second later, a verified account popped up in the list of suggested profiles.

I stared down at the screen, at the logo in the profile picture that matched the one on the business card still resting between my fingers. The number of followers sat right beside it, calling to me.

2.8 million.

I clicked on the first post that wasn’t pinned to the top of their profile, a picture of an older couple standing outside a large ranch over in McCoy. Over four hundred comments. Almost all of them stating how cute the couple was or how they couldn’t wait to visit. Just booked a flight there, one of them said.

This was legit. Numbers that hadn’t been fabricated from thin air. Numbers that could bring in the kind of exposure the lodge desperately needed for this tourist season. I could fix this. Change the script. There was a serious opportunity here to do right by Pops, by all of my family.

All I needed to do was find a wife and kids.