Page 16 of A Season of Second Chances
Is this the kick in the ass I've needed?
Clicking on the search function, I go to Cedar Lodge's Instagram feed, and cringe when I see what's been posted. There is so much that can be done, and immediately I've got ideas. One's that would make a huge difference for Winter and his business.
Quickly I scroll through my contacts, finding a friend who isn't affiliated with my job, I press the button to call him. "Hey Johnny, you know those pictures you took at that lodge last year?" He came out to Colorado, but not here. They're close enough though, so that I can make a mockup for Winter.
"Hey Joy, heard you're stuck in Colorado right now. I'd kill to be where you are. Can't imagine the type of snow you're seeing."
I roll my eyes, needing him to hurry up slightly. "It's insanity," I laugh. "In fact I haven't been able to get out in it yet. I've been snowed-in, but I'll let you know."
He makes a non-commital sound. "But anyway, back to those pictures. Yeah I still have them. What can I do for you?"
"I need to make a mockup for a client, and they have the same type of vibe. Do you mind if I use them?" I'm crossing my fingers, hoping he doesn't have a problem.
"No, go for it. I can't wait to see what you do."
When we get off the phone, I'm ready to dig in. I can't remember the last time I've been so excited and inspired to work on a project, and I know the reason is because I'm sure the rest of my future might hang in the balance.
Opening my laptop, I pull up Photoshop and start creating mock Instagram posts. The wi-fi is still spotty, but I downloaded everything I need before it cuts out again. I work through potential captions, hashtag strategies, content calendars. Everything I've learned over the past ten years pours out of me, but this time it's different. This time I care about the business I'm promoting.
By two in the morning, my eyes are burning, but I have a comprehensive social media strategy laid out. I've created mock posts showcasing the lodge in different seasons, highlighted family-friendly activities, emphasized the romantic getaway angle. I've designed graphics for Instagram Stories, drafted Facebook posts, even outlined a TikTok strategy.
The work is some of the best I've ever done, and I know it's because my heart is actually in it.
I finally close my laptop around three-thirty, crawling into bed with a satisfied exhaustion I haven't felt in years. As I drift off, I'm not thinking about the Patterson account or Brittany or Alex's betrayal. I'm thinking about Winter's kiss, about Alana's smile, about the possibility of everything I didn't realize I was missing.
The next morning, I wake to patchy sunlight streaming through the window. Actual sunlight, not the gray storm light I've seen since I arrived. Grabbing my phone, I see it's already eight-thirty. I can't remember the last time I slept this late. Quickly scrolling through the weather, I see the last of the storm is moving out, and that it should be a nice, partly sunny day.
After a quick shower, I dress in jeans and a soft burgundy sweater, taking time with my makeup again. I tell myself it's just because I feel like it, not because I'm hoping to see Winter. But I know I'm lying to myself.
When I make it downstairs, I find Winter and Alana already at a table in the dining room. Alana spots me first.
"Joy, come have breakfast with us." She's bouncing in her seat, and Winter turns, his face lighting up when he sees me.
"Morning," he says, his voice doing warm things to my insides. "Sleep well?" He's got a couple days of beard-growth on his face, and it's sexy as hell.
"Better than I have in months," I admit, sliding into the chair next to him. Our knees brush under the table, but neither of us moves away.
"Carol's making pancakes and bacon," Alana announces. "It's my favorite breakfast in the whole world."
"That sounds perfect," I tell her, a smile on my face at her excitement.
Carol appears moments later with plates piled high with fluffy pancakes and crispy bacon. "You look well-rested," she says to me with a knowing smile.
"I am, thank you."
As we eat, Alana chatters about her plans for the day. Apparently the lodge is making cookies for Santa since it's Christmas Eve. I catch Winter watching me over his daughter's head, and the heat in his eyes makes me forget how to chew.
"This is really good," I say, gesturing to my plate, needing to say something to break the tension.
"Carol's the best cook in three counties," Winter says with a wink. "One of the many reasons I'm lucky to have her."
"Daddy, after breakfast can I go help Carol make cookies for Santa?" Alana asks, syrup dripping down her chin.
Winter reaches over with his napkin, wiping it away. "You can, but you have to promise to listen to her and not eat all the cookie dough."
"I promise." Alana crosses her heart dramatically.
We finish breakfast in comfortable conversation, and I'm struck by how natural this feels. Like we're a family. Like this is a routine we do every morning. The thought should terrify me, but instead it fills me with warmth.
