Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
I want to find out where it might lead.
Not just for today, or a few more weeks while she finishes her research, or until Ryan gets back. But…for keeps.
For keeps. The thought settles comfortably inside me as if it has been there all along, warm and happy and right. Totally fucking right.
Heading across the deserted parking lot to the car, I see the mountains rising up ahead of us again, and I’m hit with a spark of inspiration so intense it can’t be ignored.
It’s a great idea. The best idea.
She has to say yes…
“Ellie. Have you ever been skiing?
“Once. Ryan took me with a few friends when I was in high school. I got overconfident on the bunny hill and graduated to a blue run way before I was ready. I face-planted into the snow a dozen times before I finally made it down.”
“That’s it?”
She lifts a shoulder. “I’ve never been brave enough to try again.”
“You need a better teacher.”
Her lips curve. “Got anyone in mind?”
“Well now that you mention it, Ms. Seyfried…” I pull her into another embrace, sliding a finger under her chin and tilting her face up.
I know the question I’m about to ask is a big one, for lots of reasons. It’s obvious we both feel a connection, but we haven’t been hanging out together that long, and we definitely haven’t talked about “us”—or what that even means. And if she accepts my offer, we’ll probably have to come clean with Ryan.
And then there’s the possibility that she’ll flat out say no. That the very question will send her running back to the city to wrap up her research, bang out her article, and disappear from my life once again.
But like the beautiful woman in my arms, asking just feels right.
“I have ten days off for Christmas this year,” I say, with a hell of a lot more confidence than I feel. Why am I so damn nervous? “I was planning to hit the slopes in Colorado—do a little skiing, maybe find a few snowshoe trails in Rocky Mountain National Park, get snowed in someplace quiet with a nice big fire. I’d love to take you with me, El.”
“Christmas in the Rockies?” Her mouth rounds into a soft, pink O, her eyes widening. “Is this… Are you serious?”
I tuck a stray lock of dark brown hair behind her ear, my fingers curling around the back of her neck.
Spending Christmas together, alone in the Rockies… It’s not a confession of love or a marriage proposal. Far from it. But it’s a big step nevertheless. If I say yes, if I confirm this is, indeed, a real invitation, then we both know I’m inviting her for much more than a mountain getaway.
I’m inviting her into the wild unknown of something more—a future.
“I’m serious,” I say, the warm feeling in my chest expanding outward, edging my lips into another grin. “Spend Christmas with me, Ellie. Let me show you one of my other favorite places in the world.”
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as a grin takes possession of her pretty face. “One question. Will you bring the Cheetos?”
“Baby, I’ll bring you whatever you want.”
“Okay,” she says, still beaming. “Christmas in Colorado. You and me. I’m in.”
Her and me. Yeah, that’s sounds right.
“We make a great team.” I take her hand, dragging her not-so-subtly toward the car. “In fact, I think we should close out this adventure with a post-hike team-building exercise to reinforce everything we’ve learned today.”
Ellie murmurs her agreement, tightening her fingers around mine. “Maybe even two more, just to be sure.” Then, gazing up at me with heat and desire and happiness blazing in her eyes, she says, “Because I don’t want to forget any of this.”
CHAPTER 16
Ellie
Day 17 Fri 8/17
After two weeks undercover, I don’t know who I am anymore, and it’s not just the cross-dressing or the secret identity that’s to blame.
Heck, it’s not even mostly the cross-dressing or the secret identity.
It’s the woman in the mirror, the one grinning her cheeks off as she stuffs her hair under her hideous man-wig and glues fuzz to her face. It’s the lightness in my step and the pleasantly full feeling in my chest and the way I was able to talk to my father on the phone for an entire hour last night without feeling like a disappointment to the Seyfried name.
And it’s not like my father’s lovingly disapproving attitude toward my job or my apartment or the general state of my life has changed. My father is a sixty-five-year-old man who’s worked in finance since the Stone Age. He’s past the changing age and firmly set in his ways.
Insanely, I’d thought the same thing about myself a few weeks ago—that my future was set.
Variations on a theme—like getting blacklisted from the Barrington Beat if my exposé doesn’t hit the right notes, or smoky-eye articles giving way to hard-hitting coverage of another shadow trend—I could envision. But nothing like this.