Page 14 of Pine Creek Lodge
"Sure," she said, holding out her glass. "Why not?"
As Sofia took her glass, their fingers brushed, sending a jolt of electricity through Nat. She met Sofia's eyes and saw her own surprise mirrored there. For a moment, neither of them moved, the contact lingering far longer than necessary.
Finally, Sofia pulled back, clearing her throat as she poured the wine and handed Nat her glass back. "Tell me," she said, her voice a little husky. "Tell me more about this dream hotel of yours. What would it be like?"
Nat settled back into her chair, grateful for the change of subject. "Okay, picture this,” she said. A charming, intimate lodge nestled in the heart of Aspen. I envision a place with just ten to fifteen rooms, each uniquely designed to reflect the character of the mountains while offering modern luxury.
I want large windows to showcase the mountain views and a balcony for each room, complete with cozy blankets and heaters. Inside, the lobby would feel more like a welcoming living room than a traditional hotel reception, with a grand stone fireplace, plush leather sofas, and bookshelves filled with local literature and guidebooks. Each room would be a retreat in itself, with handcrafted furniture, locally sourced textiles, and state-of-the-art amenities hidden seamlessly within the rustic decor. Bathrooms would feature deep soaking tubs and rain showers, perfect for warming up after a day on the slopes.”
“And you would have an on-site restaurant?” Sofia asked. “You have to have a restaurant, you’re a brilliant chef.”
“Yes, the heart of the hotel would be a farm-to-table restaurant, showcasing the best of Colorado's produce. I'd love to have an open kitchen where guests can watch the chefs at work.” Nat smiled, imagining it like she had so many times. “I want every guest to feel like they're staying with a friend who knows all the local secrets. We'd offer custom itineraries, insider tips on the best ski runs or hiking trails, and partnerships with local guides for truly unique experiences. The goal is to create a place that feels like a home away from home. A place where people can truly connect with the mountains, the local culture, and themselves."
She paused, a little embarrassed by her enthusiasm. "Sorry, I got a bit carried away there."
"No, please continue," Sofia urged, her eyes bright with interest. "It's inspiring to hear you talk with such passion."
"Well, I don't want a spa or extortionate frills," Nat explained. "Just a really wonderful experience for my guests. I want them to feel the warmth and character of Aspen, not just stay in another generic luxury hotel." She paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh, and maybe a resident cat," she added with a laugh. Turning to where Moxie was curled up nearby, she cooed, "Would you like to come and live with me in my hotel, Moxie?"
Sofia's response was immediate and playful. "No chance," she said, reaching out to scoop up the kitten. "Moxie is coming home with me."
Chapter Ten
Nat's head throbbed as consciousness slowly crept in, dragging her from the depths of a heavy slumber. She groaned, her mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. Blearily, she blinked her eyes open, then immediately squeezed them shut again as the light sent a fresh wave of pain through her skull.
Something was off. The bed felt different, softer and wider than her own. The air smelled of pine and cinnamon rather than the familiar scent of her apartment above the bakery. Confusion swirled in her foggy mind as she tried to piece together where she was and how she'd gotten there.
Cautiously, she opened her eyes again, squinting against the light filtering through unfamiliar curtains. As her vision adjusted, recognition slowly dawned. The comforter, the rustic wooden furniture, the mountain view outside the window – she was in one of the guest rooms at Pine Creek Lodge.
Memories of the previous night came flooding back: the storm, staying at the chalet, drinking wine with Sofia... Sofia. Nat's eyes widened as the realization hit her. She was supposed to be making breakfast…
Panic surged through her as she fumbled for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up, revealing the time: 9:17 AM. "Shit!" Nat exclaimed, bolting upright. The sudden movement sent a wave of dizziness washing over her, and she had to pause, gripping the edge of the bed until the room stopped spinning.
Once the vertigo subsided, Nat scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste. She spotted her clothes from the day before, neatly folded on a nearby chair – had she done that? The memory was fuzzy. Shaking her head to clear it and immediately regretting the action as pain lanced through her temples, she quickly slipped into her clothes.
As she dressed, Nat's mind raced. How could she have overslept? She never overslept, not even when she'd had a few drinks the night before. What must Sofia think? She'd probably ruined any goodwill she'd managed to build up over the past couple of days.
Nat ran her fingers through her tangled hair, trying to smooth it into some semblance of order, and luckily found something to tie it back with. She didn't have time for a shower or to find fresh clothes. She'd have to make do and hope she looked somewhat presentable.
As she hurried towards the door, the wind was still howling, rattling the windows with its fury. She paused, frowning as she peered out. The world beyond the glass was a swirling mass of white, the storm showing no signs of abating. It was unusual for a blizzard to last this long in Aspen, even in the depths of winter.
Heart pounding, Nat made her way downstairs, rehearsing apologies in her head. She'd make it up to Sofia somehow – maybe prepare an extra special lunch or dinner to make up for the late breakfast.
As she approached the kitchen, however, the unmistakable aroma of coffee and something sweet – was that French toast? – wafted through the air. Her steps faltered. Someone wascooking, and unless Moxie had suddenly developed opposable thumbs and culinary skills overnight, it had to be Sofia.
She rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped short. There was Sofia, dressed in yoga pants and an oversized sweater, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun. She was standing at the stove, spatula in hand, expertly flipping what did indeed appear to be French toast.
"Oh my God," Nat blurted out, mortification washing over her. "Sofia, I am so, so sorry. I can't believe I overslept. You shouldn't be doing this. I'll take over right away. I'm so sorry–"
Sofia turned at the sound of Nat's voice, a bemused smile playing on her lips. She set down the spatula and crossed the kitchen, placing her hands on Nat's shoulders. The touch was warm, steadying, and Nat felt some of the tension leave her body despite her embarrassment.
"Nat," she said. "Calm down. It's okay. There's nothing that needs doing. In fact, I was making breakfast for you. I thought you might need something to soak up the alcohol."
"You... you were making breakfast for me?"
Sofia nodded, her smile widening. "Of course. After last night, I figured we could both use a good meal and I feel a little guilty for keeping on re-filling your wine glass. Why don't you sit down at the breakfast bar? Coffee's ready, and the French toast is almost done."
Still feeling somewhat dazed, Nat allowed Sofia to guide her to one of the barstools. As she settled onto the seat, another wave of panic washed over her. "Oh no," she groaned, dropping her head into her hands. "Last night. I can't quite remember going to bed. Did I... did I do anything embarrassing?"
