A Wedding in December

Rosie saw her father pause.

“Maybe that would be the best idea.” He squeezed Rosie’s shoulder and nudged her into the front seat next to Dan. “She’ll be fine, don’t worry. My fault. I should have taken her glass away but I was so relieved that she wasn’t screaming in terror, I let her carry on.”

Rosie slid into the passenger seat and prayed the journey would pass quickly. The thought of four hours trapped in a car with her drunk mother didn’t thrill her. With luck she’d fall asleep and wake up entirely sober.

Catherine had invited them to join them up at the lodge for a family dinner that evening, but Rosie was already planning to postpone that event.

She’d arrange room service and tell Dan’s mother that they were jet-lagged and feeling the effects of the flight. That was true, if you counted alcohol poisoning as one of the effects of a flight.

Hopefully after an early night, her mother would be recovered.

There was still the issue of the missing suitcase of course, but Rosie would fix that problem tomorrow.

“You’ve lived in the area long, Dan?” Her father shifted the conversation onto safe ground.

“I was raised in Boston, but my parents came out here to ski when they were first married, fell in love with the place and that was it. My dad bought a plot of land before it became unaffordable, developed it and the rest is history. They love the outdoor lifestyle and the culture. When he died, my mother built up the wedding business.” Dan glanced in his mirror. “You guys live in Oxford. All that history right there on your doorstep. I’ve always wanted to visit.”

“It’s a wonderful place,” Maggie said happily. “We live in a pretty cottage with roses and honeysuckle round the door.”

Dan smiled. “Sounds charming.”

“It is. And you don’t need to worry that you won’t see it, because I will not be selling it. I’ve made up my mind. I know it’s too big for one, but I love it too much to ever leave.”

Too big for one? Rosie frowned. What was her mother talking about?

“Two of you live there,” she said patiently. “You and Dad. That’s two, not one.”

“Oh yes. The thing is, I see us as one. Isn’t that right, Nick? After so many years together, we’ve blended into one being.”

Her mother had totally lost it.

Dan reached across and squeezed Rosie’s hand, then glanced in the mirror at her mother. “It’s your family home. My family feel the same about Snowfall Lodge. My mom always says she’d have to be dragged away from the place. I think when you’ve lived somewhere a long time, it becomes part of you. I understand why you wouldn’t want to sell your home. That makes sense to me.”

It made no sense to Rosie because the question of selling Honeysuckle Cottage had never arisen.

Her parents adored the place. It was the only home Rosie had ever known. They’d never mentioned selling.

“Aspen was originally a mining town, and then the market for silver collapsed.” Dan eased into the flow of traffic leaving the airport. “Fortunately skiing became a thing, and the town developed from there. The position is great. We’re right by the Roaring Fork River, and we’ve got Red Mountain to the North, Smuggler Mountain to the East and Aspen Mountain to the South.”

“The Roaring Fork River,” Maggie murmured. “That sounds romantic. We have the Thames and the Cherwell.”

“It’s a tributary of the Colorado River. You guys should come back here in the summer.” The traffic eased and Dan put his foot down. “The drive over Independence Pass is stunning.”

“We can’t take that route now?”

“Closed in the winter. We’re forced to take the long route.”

Rosie glanced over her shoulder. “It snowed yesterday. It’s so pretty. I can’t wait to show you, although it will be dark when we arrive of course, so you won’t see it properly until tomorrow.”

Dan adjusted the heating. “So far we’ve had above-average snowfall for the season. And Rosie is right—the place is a winter wonderland. Snowfall Lodge is busy. We’re booked right through until March. I’m pleased for my mother. She’s put all her energy into this since my father died.”

“So the lodge is a hotel?”

“Of sorts, but not one of those sterile impersonal places where no one knows or cares who you are. Our guests tend to be on the fussier end of the spectrum, and we pride ourselves on personal service. My mother used to handle it all herself, but as she became more involved in the wedding side of things, she hired a manager. Every guest has a file. If you’re allergic to feathers and you don’t eat meat—it will be right there in your file so that next time you stay everything will be exactly as you like it. And for those guests who need extra privacy, we have our tree houses. They’re built high up in the tree canopy and offer a unique opportunity to stay deep in the forest. The views are incredible. You’ll be staying in one of those. My mother insisted.”

“A tree house?” M

aggie frowned. “They’re actually built into the trees?”