Page 15 of Fresh Tracks
I’ll give it to Lizzy. Romance novels renewed my love for reading. I love the characters, but I’m always envious of their connections. I've never felt loved, at least in a romantic sense, by another person before.
It’s not a surprise that my options in Utah for local, but non-LDS men, were less than ideal. Even when I was in college, most of the guys were looking for someone to settle down right away and start a family. They wanted the traditional wife, which let’s be real was not, and is not, ever going to be me.
The more interesting guys I met in Park City always ended up being emotionally immature ski bros that were only worried about which après bar had the cheapest drinks that night. While that’s a handy trait on a night out with friends, it’s not what I want in a life partner.
Then there were the transplants, the obnoxious rich boys that moved to the fancy ski town and were constantly on their phone checking their investment portfolios.
And don't even get me started on how many guys, I won’t even dignify them by calling them men, were put off by me being as tall as them. That’s on top of them having no clue what to do in bed. I hate to even think about the number of times I'd get home from a date, only to haveanotherdate with myself.
I crave physical stimulation and I’m not shy about taking care of my own needs. Chalk that up as another unintended consequence of spending months recovering from nerve damage, savoring every little regained sensation. I want to feel that physical connection to the world around me however I can.
Still, I have never found an unapologetically authentic person. Someone confident, but kind. Someone bold enough to take chances and not settle for taking the easy paths. I dream of someone that’s decisive, ready to go off on an adventure with me at the drop of a hat.
I just don’t think those men exist in real life. Maybe in Lizzy’s books, but I haven’t found one in the real world. It would be great to have a teammate though, someone I could share my adventures with.
That wonderful idea is interrupted by a sound I’m all too familiar with in the winter. I hear the telltale whoosh of my van’s diesel heater and the burner kicking on. That’s a normal sound. The whining of the fan that circulates the hot air around, that isn’t so normal. It’s been getting louder and louder each night I’vestayed in the van, and I know I'm going to need to deal with it sooner or later.
I throw my head back into my pillow and groan. As much as I might not want to think about the next phase of my career, I’m going to need to do something if I don’t want to blow through my savings. I don’t necessarily need my next long-term job, but even something part time to help cover some day-to-day expenses or van repairs.
I could probably talk to Kelsey at Cowgirl Coffee or Sutton at Gloria’s about picking up shifts. I worked in the service industry during college and those places are always looking for help during ski season. But working at either of those places does increase the chances of running into my grandparents or someone else that would spill the beans. This is one problem with being from a small town.
I love Jackson. It’s my home. It’s my favorite place in the world. But here, everyone knows me as Grace Chapman, little sister of local big mountain skiing legend, Tanner Chapman.
Back in Park City, I’m the little sister of Clay Chapman, former skiing prodigy whose Olympic career was cut short by injuries.
Or worse, I hear the hushed whispers in both places, I’m the girl that survived the tragic car accident that claimed my mom’s life.
I don’t want to be known as any of those things, and now I’m the girl that lost my job.
While it hurt, I don’t need rescuing. I don’t know why, but that makes me think of TJ’s offer at my brother’s wedding reception. At the time it felt like he was trying to rescue me, but I also remember on our trip to Bend, he was so genuine when he asked me about Wasatch Wishes.
He never stopped asking about me or what I did for fun, whatI did for work, why I took up cold plunges on a whim. For being an aloof rockstar, he was awfully chatty to me.
Maybe I could text him. I still have his phone number from the group chat when we stayed at his place.
I don't know what the hell he meant by work for him, but I haven’t been able to forget the look in his eyes when he asked. We never talked much about his professional life.
Even though V might be a huge Teal Tigers fangirl, all we know is that he quietly left the music industry about a decade ago, and he does some kind of real estate investing now. So why on earth would he have wanted me to work for him?
CHAPTER 6
TJ
SLADE
Standingin the corner of the empty first floor storefront, the view looking west over the Belltown neighborhood in downtown Seattle is great.
Why do I ever doubt Slade? He seems to have a sixth sense for finding the perfect spots to open restaurants.
Generally speaking, that means they’re also good places to rehab into apartments, condos, or office space.
The sun is starting to set over the horizon and I can just picture sitting in a booth, looking out at the busy street, on a night like this. I imagine the sounds of the restaurant and people walking by the trendy new concept that Slade wants to open.
Groaning, I admit to myself that Slade is right yet again. This building is a gem. While he’s only been to Seattle a handful of times, I spent my life here, before I hit the road with Teal Tigers. I know this city, even if I don't live here full time anymore.
Fucking Slade nailed it. The location, the architectural style, all of it.
This is why I trusted him, sight unseen, to work with Jake and make the offer two weeks ago while I was in Jackson. I knew he wouldn’t waste my time or let me down.
