Mistletoe and Mr. Right (Moose Springs, Alaska #2) - Sarah Morgenthaler Page 0,140
was a burrito at home. He’d planned on eating it by now. But apparently, he was going to the big house instead. This was definitely a Tuesday.
“Where’s your mirror?”
“Ulysses got it in the divorce.”
Zoey tilted her head sideways in confusion and kept on tilting. She tilted all the way over to rest her head on the bench seat back between them, then beamed at him.
“I’m in Alaska.”
It had been a long time since he’d seen someone so filled with joy. Even if it was Growly Bear driven, Graham couldn’t help but enjoy her happiness.
“You’re in Alaska. And you’re going to love it here.”
If she loved it even a tenth as much as Graham did, she’d never want to leave.
The short night and the angle of the sun below the horizon left the winding mountain road toward Moose Springs Resort blanketed in a soft gray hue. Thick evergreens closed in as they passed a sign for the resort, darkening the blacktop enough Graham finally flipped on his lights.
If he hadn’t spent his entire life in Moose Springs, Graham might have waxed poetic about the idyllic setting, a small town nestled in the loving embrace of the towering Chugach Mountain Range. But to Graham, his home was a bowl of cereal. The best of everything was in the bottom of the bowl, with the mountains keeping everything else out. And the resort was a big, crusty piece of cheese that survived the dishwasher and was still stuck to the side of the bowl, currently ruining his breakfast.
The Tourist Trap was near the clustered housing most of the residents lived in, safely in the bowl. Just outside town, higher up in the foothills to give an incredible view of the mountains and access to the best skiing, sat Moose Springs Resort. A huge, sprawling cedar lodge blending high-class luxury and rustic log cabin mountain charm.
If Graham could have scraped the crusty thing off the side of his mountain and flicked it away, he would have in a heartbeat.
When the grass on either side of the road shifted from wild to perfectly mown, Graham slowed down. The entrance sign was impossible to miss, as was the guardhouse everyone had to pass to get inside. Graham knew the bored-looking gate guard, so he didn’t bother signing in. Instead, he raised two fingers in greeting as he rolled past, keeping one eye on the artfully patterned concrete driveway and one on the woman next to him as he drove through the resort grounds. At some point during the drive, she’d leaned the other way, her forehead pressed to the window. The moose goo on the outside of the window didn’t seem to bother Zoey as she stared at the approaching hotel, lights twinkling in the soft dimness of the mountain’s shadow.
“You still good over there?” he asked her.
“S’like Christmas.”
“Yeah. You should actually see it at Christmas. It’s ridiculous.”
“Hmm.” A soft sigh escaped her lips.
Graham never—never—went up to Moose Springs Resort if he could avoid it. The place was one big playground for the rich, and they all seemed to find him down at the diner, no matter how hard Graham tried to avoid them. But he’d been there enough over the years, Graham could have driven to the resort with his eyes closed. He parked his truck by the hotel’s valet station and motioned the valets away when they hurried over.
Graham was more than capable of opening his own doors and collecting the drunk woman staring blearily at his dashboard. When she swayed on her feet, Graham called it a loss and simply scooped her into his arms. She squeaked at the change of elevation, leaving Graham to wave awkwardly at the staff as he strode through the hand-carved entry doors the valets held open for him.
“Nothing to see here,” Graham declared cheerfully to the startled desk attendant as he went past. “Continue your lives as normal.”
Halfway to the elevator, it occurred to him that he didn’t know where he was going. And the bookworm draped romantically in his arms was a solid little thing. That or maybe he needed to start going to the gym more often. Either way, he was going to drop her. So he turned around and headed back to the desk and to the stranger manning check-in, a curly-haired youth named…Grass? Seriously? Who named their kid Grass?
Grass must have been seasonal, because Graham knew all the locals. And none of them would have borne that name on a name tag.