“Drive safe, honey. Take it slow if you need to.”
“No problem there,” I said, inching along the highway.
After I hung up the phone, I began to wonder how much weight I should give this fake-boyfriend thing to be sure Glenn and our moms would get the hint. Should I get a fake ring? A promise ring?
No. Too soon.
Three long hours later, my GPS led me to a long driveway. I stopped my car just underneath the wooden archway that held a sign saying, The Lodge in the Hills. I peered down the snow-covered drive for a moment, wondering if my Civic could make it all the way. My mom was right. It was like something out of a postcard. Snow-topped maple trees lined both sides of the driveway, but since it was the middle of winter, they did almost nothing to block the snow from piling up into a slushy mess.
The drive from Stanton to Montpelier had been slow going. There were some patches that I had to grip the wheel to keep my car on the road. Now that I was so close to my destination, my limbs felt heavy, and I was impatient to just get there, which is how I found myself plunging forward down the driveway with snow slushing around my tires. I instantly regretted my decision. The car swiveled while the tires tried to find their grip on the slushy snow, then it began slowing down. I rammed my foot into the gas, hoping a quick burst of speed would save me. After fishtailing grandly for a couple yards, the car came to a complete stop.
I tried reversing, but the tires only spun. I couldn’t see the lodge from where I sat on the road, and I suddenly wanted to cry. The perfect start to this week in purgatory. I was about to call my mom when the sound of a motor caught my attention. A big, red tractor with a plow was coming in the direction of the lodge, right toward me. Looked like if I would have waited one extra minute, I could have avoided the whole thing. A few moments later, the tractor pulled to a stop in front of me. The door swung open, and a tall, lanky man dressed in a red-and-green flannel shirt, a black vest, a baseball hat, and knee-high rubber boots jumped to the ground and made his way to my car.
I rolled down the window, almost sheepishly, as I met the gaze of a handsome man who looked to be in his mid-fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair sticking out from under his hat and wrinkles around his eyes—no doubt due to laughter, I noted, as he grinned at me widely.
“Well, dang. Not bad for a Civic. You should be impressed with your driving skills, young lady.”
A smile broke out across my face, deeply appreciative of the fact that he wasn’t going to pull a jerky male card and try and make me feel stupid about what just happened.
“I’m so sorry, I thought I could make it.”
“Oh, no, it’s our fault. The tractor broke down before we could clear the road. But…it’s fixed now. Do you mind if I finish clearing to the end of the road, and then I’ll come around and pick you up? So the whole driveway gets cleared? It’ll just take me a minute.”
“No, go ahead.”
He nodded, and within seconds, he was back in the tractor, edging around my parked car to finish the driveway. By the time he circled back, I had changed into my snow boots, which looked funny with my skirt, but I stepped out of the car, determined to help with something. Snow fell in large pellets onto my coat. To my surprise, the man got out of the tractor along with a teenager who looked to be around sixteen or so—definitely a son, if I guessed right.
The man motioned to me. “I’m Jack Taylor, the owner of The Lodge. This is my son, Jett.” He squinted his eyes at me, appearing to look me over. “Now let me guess, are you with the Ellis family?”
My first instinct was to say no. I was a Wilson. Walt Wilson’s daughter. But instead, I smiled and said, “Yes. I’m Olive.”
He gave my hand a hearty shake. “Nice to meet you, Olive.” Motioning to my car, he asked, “Any kids in there or just you?”
“Just me.”
“Great. If you want, Jett here can steer your car while we pull it. It gets a little tricky in the snow. You’re welcome to hop in the tractor with me. Or you’re more than welcome to drive your car. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
I looked toward Jett. I’d probably be teaching him in my class if he lived in Stanton. His light-brown hair was partially hidden underneath a black beanie, his hands stuffed casually in his coverall pockets and a shy smile on his face. I immediately felt right at home with him. Teenagers were my favorite. “Maybe I’ll let Jett bring my car in. He looks like hemightknow what he’s doing.” He smiled, a flush rising across his cheeks at the teasing challenge, and he took my keys.
A few minutes later, the men had a thick chain hooked up, connecting my car to the tractor. I climbed the steps of the tractor and settled in next to Jack Taylor. It smelled faintly of hay and dirt. Christmas music played softly in the background. For a while, I kept turning to check on my car but quickly found there was nothing to worry about. It was clear that I was in very capable hands.
“So, Olive, huh? That’s not one you hear too often. I’m guessing you get some interesting nicknames. Like carrot or broccoli?” The man gave me a cheeky smile. He had one of those personalities that you couldn’t help but smile along with him, even if the joke had run its course over the past twenty years. More specifically, the past nine months, but who was counting?
“You could say that. Lately Celery Stick seems to be the most popular.”
He laughed. “I like it.”
“So, what all do you do here at The Lodge?” I asked, motioning toward the large red barn and a handful of other wooden buildings looming in the distance. “I’m guessing it's not just open for Christmas time, right?”
He tugged at his hat, his hand steady on the wheel as he plowed the other half of the driveway. “No, we farm about two thousand acres. We do hay and grain for our cattle. We make our own cheese and sell it locally around Vermont. We have a small dairy where we milk our own cows. You might say we’re a jack-of-all-trades type of operation.”
“I love that. Did you start this place?”
“No, my dad started it about fifty years ago now. Of course, it was just a small farm back then. Times were tough for quite a few years, as you might expect. But slowly, we kept adding to it, and then our luck really changed when we opened it up for tourists. Ten years ago, we built the village of cabins, and it’s been a lot of fun ever since. We have all kinds of different programs, depending on the season. But my favorite is Christmas time. All the farm work has slowed down, and we can concentrate on just feeding our animals and making Christmas special for our guests. It’s a pretty great gig. Now, enough about me. What do you do for a living, Olive?”
“I teach English to high schoolers.”
His face lit up. There was something so familiar about him, but I could not put my finger on it. “Well, isn’t that something. My son is an English teacher, too. He’s coming home tonight.” He suddenly eyed me, brimming with mischief. “You dating anybody?”