Snowed Under (Aspen Peaks #2)

24. Madeline

A fter the weekend I’d had, I forced myself to dive back into making studying a top priority. First thing Monday morning, I got Charlie to school and Piper to Olive’s house—since she begged for “baby time,” despite Piper turning three in a few months—and the minute I was alone in my car, I turned on an Australian male version of Siri and listened to him discuss examining various methods of soft-tissue intervention, the volume turned up as if I was listening to a newly released Taylor Swift album. I was a model student this week. I was going to get back to studying, back to focusing on the goal.

It wasn’t like nursing school had taken a back seat for the last two weeks. I still attended every Zoom meeting and took every proctored quiz when the kids were asleep. It was still a priority. But so were my kids, and work, and paying bills. Along with other things, like Cooper Graves, who was slowly working his way up my list.

Every day this week, I listened to my Siri Aussie, who I learned was officially named Clyde, while I worked. I took notes in the spare minutes I found between dusting and wiping furniture down. I read chapter assignments during breaks and made so many Quizlet’s that I had to start paying for a premium version of the app. I buckled down at night after the kids slept and zeroed in on all the subject matter I could.

By Friday, I could practically feel the burnout weighing on my shoulders. It sat there, waiting, taunting. Knowing it was approaching only made me dread it more. Finals were mere weeks away, and I was far from ready to make anything higher than a C in any class. And considering my two tiny but essential scholarships required at least a 3.75 GPA, it wasn’t going to cut it. Most of my nursing school had been paid from a fund by a savings account my parents and I had been putting money into since I was sixteen and decided I wanted to be a nurse—mostly because I overheard a boy I had a crush on say they were admirable.

Working as a cashier in a local pharmacy that saw 0.5 customers per hour meant I’d saved a lot less than half of what I needed for nursing school, so my parents, who’d begun matching my deposits, increased their own. Still, over the years, with each job I had, I made sure the nursing school fund was still going. I even picked up odd jobs here and there—window washing, shoveling driveways, and babysitting; any extra buck I had went straight to that account.

If I’d had any control over it, I would have ripped it out when I found out that I was being thrown into the belly of parenthood without so much as an instruction manual. But the fact of the matter was, my parents were the main account owners, and it was clear that the money could only be used for school. Between that account and the tiny scholarships, I managed to make it through each semester with just enough funding.

So it was stupid to work that hard for that long and not enjoy schooling, right? Or if not enjoy it, then at least somewhat not hate it?

Still, knowing it was finally Friday felt like my only relief. Because that meant a not-date. Which meant a night of not learning about the human nervous system or other clinical health details that tended to make me feel nauseous. It meant a night with Cooper too, which I was craving in an almost mortifying way. We had only seen each other in passing this week. When I dropped Charlie off, he’d wink or smile at me with that smirk that felt like our own little secret. Or if we ended up getting coffee at the same time, he’d bump in line in front of me so he could pay. Or like on Wednesday, he came by at the end of my shift and caught me sitting by the big green accent chair with my feet curled up, watching the snow fall outside. I peered over my shoulder at him and smiled when he took the matching seat beside it and turned it around so he could watch with me. Neither of us said much beyond the typical how are you?, but it was nice. Comfortable. Like he knew I wasn’t wanting a ton of conversation but still enjoyed his company. Like I’d pushed myself to the finish line, and he was the guy holding the sign at the very end. He was saying “push a little farther.” So I did.

I did until Friday night, when I got a text from Cooper.

Cooper: tonight is still good right

Cooper: i can bring a thermometer in case someone gets sick again

I snorted and replied.

Me: Still good! Do I need to wear anything specific?

Cooper: clothes if you want

Cooper: but hey dont let me tell you what to do

Considering he hadn’t told me to dress fancy or warm or any other adjective like he’d used in the past, I settled for simple. My favorite jeans, also known as the only ones, that didn’t give me a weird, sagging crotch, a cream sweater, and a black jacket that I’d named my big girl jacket, since I’d gotten it when I decided, at twenty-three, that I was officially a woman and would own a legit coat, not just hoodies.

My parents were both under the weather tonight, claiming Piper had given them something even though they hadn’t seen her in over a week, so Finn and Olive had stepped in. They claimed they needed practice. I felt like I was throwing them in the lion’s den with these two, but they were the ones who offered, so I simply said okay.

“Why does the small one keep staring at me?” Finn pointed to Piper from across the room. She sat holding an Elsa doll that was almost as big as she was, clutching it tight enough that she was shaking whilst glaring at Finn with daggers in her eyes.

“She’s plotting your death,” Charlie answered behind him, making Finn jump.

“She doesn’t like most people. She’s sweet, and Olive does great with her, right?” I turned to my best friend, who had a bowl of bean dip resting on her belly.

“Yeah.” She popped a chip into her mouth. “She kind of loved me by the end there. She even let me sit next to her.”

“Is she going to stare at me the whole time?” Finn swallowed.

“Maybe. She hates men the most. She was always that way. Even as a newborn, if anyone other than Charlie, me, or her parents held her, she would scream.”

Finn nodded and gave a wobbly half smile. “Great.”

A car horn came from the driveway, and I craned my neck to see Cooper’s car parked there, with his window down, smiling at me. I smiled back and turned to the other two adults. “Everything you could possibly need is on the note on the fridge. Neither of them is allergic to anything. Please call if anything happens. Piper is known to climb things, so watch for that, and Charlie mostly sticks to himself, but sometimes he will—”

“We’ve got this.” Olive waved a hand and then flipped a piece of her long blond hair over her shoulder. “Go have fun with your ma—” She cut herself off, looking at the kids. “Friend.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I will.”

Giving both kids a quick peck on the cheek, I headed out.

Turned out that Cooper had more planned that I expected. He called it Tour de Aspen.

It included a stop for freshly brewed coffee in tiny pink ceramic mugs at Felix Roasting Co., where we sat next to each other in a blue velvet booth. He asked me what I was like as a child, a part of his experiment, he claimed, and I responded simply. I was a mini-Will. I did my best to do what he did, no matter how bad I was at it. I told Cooper stories about how I chased him and his friends around the backyard and about going to see R-rated movies way too young because I wanted to be where he was. How he never let me feel like a burden, even when his high school girlfriends clearly didn’t want me tagging along on their dates. Cooper told me about the trouble he’d gotten into, which came as no surprise. He spoke about being prom king, a title he mentioned with a tinge of pink in his cheeks, and how he avoided anyone he went to high school with when possible. He told me about how he’d wanted a dog when he was a kid, but instead, his mom got him a hamster. He said he loved that thing so much that, one day, it fell over and didn’t get back up. That they buried him and his mom performed a thirty-minute funeral in their backyard while he played the recorder. “Hot Cross Buns,” because that’s all he knew at the time. He also added that he found out a year ago that hamsters hibernate, and little Truman probably wasn’t dead, but just in a deep sleep, so they more than likely buried him alive.

Our next stop was at a local place called Meat and Cheese. We ordered a flat wooden cutting board covered in salami and wheat crackers, slices of apple-smoked cheddar, a goat fig, and rose log. Tiny pickles with a sour kick that made me feel like a giant, and small orange sauces that seemed a little too adventurous to me. There he asked me about school, how I liked it, what my classes were like, and a serious question about whether gum really stays in your stomach for seven years. To which I responded with “eight if it’s the Hubba Bubba kind.”

I told him about how I was 90 percent online now, only going in person for labs or finals. I told him about how old I felt when I was on campus and how most of the nursing students I had met either resembled my high school bullies or were the nicest people I’d ever met. There was no in-between. I left out the part where I felt burnout creeping over me. Or how I cringed when I thought about the human circulatory system, imagining all my arteries and veins under my skin. I didn’t tell him that the farther I got into school, the harder it got to accept that this was my future. Bloody gauze and coughing kids and vital taking. Instead, I asked him about how he enjoyed his job. “There’s nothing I’d rather do,” he said. “I’m good at it, and I love it.” He spoke so confidently, so surely, that it felt like he had already watched his own life play out on a screen. Like he knew every scene that was to come. Not even an ounce of wonder there. Just knowing. I was honestly jealous.

When our board turned into scraps of pickles and half-eaten antipasto, we did a quick pop into Paradise Bakery for chocolate chip cookies—both of our personal favorites. We mostly stayed quiet there, considering we shoved our faces full the entire time. That was until we both looked up from our savage eating to see chocolate smeared across each other’s lips. A splattered, melted brown mess on our hands and mouths and cheeks. Even a tiny droplet on Cooper’s temple. We then laughed so hard that we snorted simultaneously, making us laugh even more until our laughter converted to wheezing gasps. The tourists around us stared until we wiped most of the chocolate off our faces. Except for that tiny drop on his temple. I kept that one to myself.

Last, a stop for fondue at the French Alpine Bistro.

We sat in a crowded room under the warm glow of antique light fixtures. The walls around us were adorned in historical paintings and portraits, one of a young girl holding a carving knife close to her, scowling, which Cooper said reminded him of Piper. I found it oddly endearing.

Our waitress took our orders, yapping on about expensive dishes like she was working on commission.

“You sure you don’t want our raclette with homegrown potatoes? We get it from Ronniger farms. It’s my favorite.” The moules-marinière and tuna tartare were, conveniently, also her favorite.

When we both denied, agreeing that we were already stuffed from our previous adventures, she took it so personally that I feared she was going to somehow write a bad review on us as people and post it publicly. She said, more like enforced, the words homegrown potatoes about six more times before giving up.

As soon as we were alone again, I mumbled, “I think she was trying to poison us.”

“Or maybe homegrown potatoes is a secret code meaning she was kidnapped by a local restaurant chain, and she hoped that if she said it enough times, we would get the hint.”

We volleyed guesses regarding the waitress’s obsession with potatoes as soft instrumental music played around us. We were clearly the least dressed up, considering our neighboring tables were draped in fur coats and wearing thin sunglasses on the tips of their noses. We both made assumptions, mostly by the vast amount of picture taking, that they were influencers.

“I’m feeling awfully influenced to wear sunglasses inside a restaurant at night, aren’t you?” he asked.

I nodded. “Influenced to immediately start an Amazon storefront as a side hustle.” We laughed over the melted Gruye?re, Beaufort, Comte?, and Vacherin in the pot being warmed by an even fancier candle with white wax building up the side of it with each drop. Cooper said he had an urge to stick his fingers in it, and when I asked whether he meant the cheese or the candle wax, he said both.

The fondue came with a bottle of white wine, which I could only assume was also fancy, considering its label looked worn, and it smelled like excellence. Like the kind of stuff Rose’s family would drink on the Titanic. When our waitress poured each of us a glass and set it in an ice bucket, you would have thought Cooper and I had just watched Return of the Jedi while high on extra-strength weed gummies by the way we both exhaled long whoas.

Cooper nudged his glass over to me and ordered himself something called les innocents, which, when I put my context clues together, I assumed meant nonalcoholic drink. An element of surprise came a moment later. Literally, that was what the drink was called. A sparkling water with elderflower syrup and a piece of fresh mint resting on top.

Cooper took a sip and winced. “I was too influenced.”

“Can I ask why you don’t drink?” I asked as I brought the glass to my lips. Maybe it was inappropriate of me to ask. But then again, I wasn’t sure whether Cooper knew what inappropriate meant.

Cooper’s hand paused as he was holding a piece of warm bread mid-dip. “I don’t want it to change your opinion of me.” He said it with such hesitation that it honestly made me like him more. To see someone so bold and confident suddenly a little raw.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“I should.” He finished dipping and set the bread down on his plate next to cut-up apples and roasted cauliflower. “It was a fallback for a while.”

“A fallback?”

“Yeah, like…in high school, I never had issues getting drinks to parties. I could”—he looked up and hesitated for a second before continuing—“flirt with older women and convince them to buy enough for me and my buddies to have a good night. Then I got older, and I was twenty-one, and it was so easy to grab it and go to parties or invite people to the lodge after hours. So easy. For years, I told myself this was how it was supposed to be. That everyone in their twenties drank like this. I’d use the whole it’s five o’clock somewhere reasoning. Or I’d hear about a group of tourists coming in for the competition, or a celebrity staying at the lodge, whatever the excuse was, I would go to the bar and have a good time.”

I nodded even if I couldn’t relate, not even a little bit. My twenty-first birthday was spent at a spa with Will’s girlfriend. We got the kind of massages where people stand on your back, and I drank half of a sangria before saying it was “ew” and “spicy” and left it for Savannah to drink.

“Well, time went on, and I kept having these parties or get-togethers or whatever. And it was like the only way I could get people to come was if I mentioned there would be alcohol. Or women. Or anything extra that might grab attention. For years, it was like that.”

I hummed and tried so hard to keep any jealousy swirling in my throat from rising up. Unfair, Madeline. He didn’t even know you existed back then.

“So, one day I asked the same group of guys if they wanted to come to this bonfire in my backyard. It was kind of a test. I sent a text to a group chat, and the only responses came back with BYOB or are you covering? Or will girls be there?, like we were still seventeen. I said no to both and waited for their responses. They never came.”

“No one showed up?” I whispered.

He shook his head. “Someone showed up, all right.” He laughed in this way that built up from his chest. “Finn welcomed himself into my backyard. He sat in an Adirondack chair and talked my ear off for the rest of the night.” He smiled as he spoke, recalling the memory. “’S how I knew he was a real friend. A long-haul friend, you know? He stuck by. And even though I went right back to alcohol and women and sometimes a few drugs, nothing crazy, Finn was right there. And he never asked for a thing. Well, not until Olive came into the picture anyway.”

Then I smiled. “So, you’ve been best friends ever since?”

He nodded. “Ever since.”

“When did you decide to stop drinking?” I asked.

“I stayed like that for a couple more years. Too long. Ma and Pops both said I was treating myself too poorly, that I was better than that. I kind of brushed them off until Pops passed. That was when it cemented. That I had to turn my life around. There was no other choice. It sucked for a little bit. I watched all of these people I thought were friends suddenly disappear from my life. But eventually, it got better. And I put 100 percent of myself into the lodge. I taught more lessons, started skiing again on my own. And somehow, it healed me.”

“Whoa,” I whispered, and it sounded like the white wine ice bucket situation all over again. “Cooper, that’s…” Amazing. Sad. So heartbreaking. That you thought you weren’t enough on your own. “I’m proud of you.”

He smiled at that and took a sip of his drink. “Thanks, Madeline. I’m proud of me too.”

We smiled at each other a little longer, lingering in this happy place that was free of responsibilities and worries. That was how it felt to be with him.

“I’m glad you told me.”

His smile unzipped from one corner. “Doesn’t make me seem pathetic?”

“I like this Cooper much better than the old one, if it helps.”

Cooper groaned and stuck his palms into his eye sockets, rubbing. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for not remembering you bringing me dinner. Gah, it’s going to haunt me.”

“Well, not to rub salt on the wound, but I’d seen you before then too.”

“You didn’t.” He shook his head feverishly. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I’ve been working at the lodge for two years, Coop; chances are I was bound to have seen you. You’re like a local celebrity. Everyone is drawn to you.” It was true. Everyone basked in his warmth when he was around. A heater on a back deck during a cold night, drawing everyone in.

“Where? Where did you see me?”

I shrugged. “The coffee shop, talking with Finn in the distance, flirting with tourists.”

He groaned into his hands.

“And I vaguely remember you dancing in a video on Olive’s Snapchat stories.”

His groan went louder before he lifted his head up. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Was I doing the worm?”

“I…think you thought you were doing the worm?”

Cooper shook his head. “How are you still here? Seriously?”

“I know how losing someone can change a person, and I kind of saw that from a distance. You looked healthier over time. Happier. I didn’t stalk you or anything—”

“Bummer.”

“But I paid attention after your grandfather died. He was my friend, and it felt like I was doing him a favor.”

He smiled at that. “Then I guess you meant what you said. That you knew exactly who I was.”

“I did.” I smiled. “Which was why I didn’t try to drop kick you for acting like you were Charlie’s dad.”

He shook his head. “That was not my finest moment. But to be fair, you broke my streak.”

“Your streak?”

“My no women streak. I wouldn’t even make eye contact with anyone under fifty unless they were married or clearly in my safety zone. I worked hard on that streak. Had a reminder in my phone and everything.”

I snorted. “What did the reminder say?”

“It was in all caps. NO TALKING, NO TOUCHING, NO LOOKING. Worked pretty well for a long time.”

“Did it?”

He nodded. “Until I saw a pretty brunette in a purple sweater, and I lost all inhibitions. I turned the reminders off that afternoon. You were the exception.”

“Oh.” It felt like someone was shrinking my rib cage when I sucked in a breath. “Well, I’m glad.”

“Me too,” he agreed, and we sat there for a while longer, gorging on apples, cheese, and freshly baked bread.

And when we left, fondue empty and bellies full, he helped me into my coat and rested his hand on my lower back. My spine relaxed into his touch, and when I looked up at him as we exited into the brisk Colorado air, he was already smiling down at me.

We’d had to park pretty far down from the actual restaurant, considering it was a Friday night and we were reaching peak tourist season. So we walked, swaying from side to side as our hips bumped, with his hand on my lower back. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt a tinge of guilt for not sharing this night with Charlie. For not inviting him or even just telling him who I was with. But it was washed away when a dry laugh came from Cooper.

“I still can’t believe you like Planet of the Apes.”

I gasped a laugh, watching my breath exhale into the cold night. “Man versus apes. It’s classic. What’s not to like?”

“Madeline, they’re gorillas on horses.”

“I was influenced!” I said in a wine-induced laugh.

“No amount of influencing should cause you to reach for that movie.”

“Movies,” I corrected. “Have you even watched them?”

“Meh.”

“So, that’s a no, then.” We passed a club with people waiting in a long line to get in.

“No, it’s a meh. Those movies are like…I don’t know. Like a small hernia. Like it could be worse, but I definitely don’t want it.”

My laughter was mixing with the mint gum I’d stolen from the hostess stand. I guessed it wasn’t considered stealing when the bowl of them was right there. But when we both reached for one and got some funny looks from the staff, it felt like stealing.

“You’re comparing one of the greatest cinematic films of all time to a hernia?” I shrieked the last word, and a girl in a very small dress and almost blue legs looked at me in disgust as we passed by her.

“Just a small one.” Cooper’s pinky hooked into the belt loop of my coat and rested there, same as he’d done with my belt loop of my jeans when we first kissed. Heat licked its way up my neck.

He looked down at me with this smirk, the same one he’d worn right after he kissed me. The one that caused something warm to settle in my belly. It was freezing out, the chill pushing down to the bones in my feet, but Cooper’s gaze was warm. Like I was on the beach of a private island, laid out on the sand and listening to the ocean roar in the distance. He made me feel like we were on vacation, like maybe he would one day take me to the beach, and I could feel his warm gaze all over me there too.

When we got to the car, I made a quick call to Olive to check on the kids. She said they were both passed out in their beds with brushed teeth and washed hair and that “Piper didn’t kill Finn, despite her best attempts,” which sounded like a successful night to me.

I hung up and turned to face Cooper as the seat warmers slowly started doing their job on my upper thighs. “Sorry, I can be kind of paranoid about them.”

He shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad you called. I was wondering too.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Mini Coop was my friend before you were.”

“And Piper?”

“Well, we can’t all be perfect.”

I laughed at that. “She is just misunderstood.”

“So are sharks.”

When we pulled into my driveway, I curled my fingers around the clutch that I’d used as a wallet tonight—a pointless attempt, since anytime I tried to pay for something, Cooper would say “how cute” before slamming his own card down. That was when I came to learn that I did like old-fashioned dating standards.

“Thanks for tonight.” I didn’t mean for it to come out as a sigh, but I couldn’t exactly stop it. “It was a nice break.”

Cooper nodded with that smile that was reminiscent of a wolf watching its prey from afar. And I’d never felt more like a lone little bunny in the woods. “This was the best not date ever, hands down.”

“How often do you go on these?”

He hummed. “Do dentist visits count?”

“Why would they?”

“Well, he has his hands in my mouth a lot. Feels kind of romantic, if you ask me.”

“No, I don’t think they count.”

“Then you’re my one and only, Madeline.” He smiled.

I knew it was a joke. A cute little line thrown in there with a dash of flirtation, but still, it felt like someone had scooped out my insides and tossed them into a KitchenAid mixer, and I was watching myself fall apart. Maybe there was a medical term for that, and I just hadn’t been paying enough attention in my classes. But that? That was what it felt like when Cooper said, “you’re my one and only, Madeline.”

It wasn’t just that he looked the way he did, tall and messy-haired and so imperfectly perfect. Like God had made him, had taken one look, and was like “no way can we send someone that good-looking down.” So he added extra quirks, like a slightly crooked nose and a curved upper lip, only to discover it made him even better-looking than before. But it was that he was sweet too. It was like someone offered you a free breakfast, and you were thinking you’d have a single piece of burnt toast and an undercooked fried egg. But it turned out to be a Dr. Seuss–worthy meal of french toast, chocolate-chip pancakes, ham, and delectable Swiss croissants. He was this bundled surprise. The more I peeled back to see, the more I liked.

“I should probably…” I pointed to the house. Go to bed kicking my feet and giggling. Relive this night over and over, as long as it takes to cement it in my brain. Take a very, very cold shower. “Go in.”

He nodded and looked toward the house where Finn and Olive were not so discreetly staring at us. “Ah, I gotcha. I could walk you in?” he offered, and because I was still scared of Charlie finding out, I shook my head. “It’s okay.”

He nodded and gave me this understanding smile that made me feel like I had no more explanation to give him. He reached a hand out to me, grasping a honey-brown tendril of hair and tucking it behind my ear. “Next time.”

“Next time, what?” I whispered back.

“Next time I’ll kiss you like no one’s watching.” He stared right at my mouth as he said it, and I never wanted so badly to take a lamp and throw it at our best friends right now.

“O-Okay.” I nodded. “Sounds good.”

He snorted. “Good night, Madeline.”

I exited the car on wobbly legs. “Good night, Cooper.”