Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sal absently tapped his pen on his notepad. This meeting was going on forever and it was just bla bla bla future-proofing, scalability, synergy, win-win bla bla bla. 9 a.m. was too early to listen to this much jargon.

He let his eyes wander away from the powerpoint on the display screen at the front of the conference room and looked outside. It looked how it looked in Los Angeles most of the time - sunny. You wouldn’t know it was the middle of December. It was nothing like growing up back east where there were actual seasons. He’d gotten used to the constant sameness over the years. Plus he traveled quite a bit for work so he got a taste of what else was out there. It was enough to keep him satisfied.

Sal had worked for Ortiz Resorts & Hotels for the last ten years, working his way up from an analyst to Senior Director for Resort Development. It was a fancy way of saying he travelled around and assessed places to see if they’d be a viable spot for one of their big resorts. He pushed all the number crunching off onto the analysts who worked under him, then read their reports and felt the place out. He was good at it, which is how he got to the position he was in.

His boss was Vincent Gerrard, VP for Development - a crusty old guy who asked any woman in his vicinity to make him a cup of coffee, regardless of her role. Everyone hoped he’d retire soon. The most hopeful among them was Sal, who was poised to take the job as soon as it was available.

“Alright that sounds good,” Vince said, hardly registering that he was cutting the presenter off mid-slide. He sat forward from his previously reclined position. “We look forward to an update next quarter.”

Vince tapped on the table then stood up. “Looks like that’s the end of the agenda so I’ll see you ladies and germs next time.” The old guy smoothed his mustache with his fingers, then snapped his attention over to Sal. “Deluca, my office.”

Sal gathered up his leather padfolio and pen, then followed Vince out of the conference room. Sal made a point of never looking hurried, even for his boss. Yeah he busted his ass, worked nights and weekends. He wanted to do his job well. Better than well. He wanted to be the best. But he also wanted to look like he didn’t give a crap about it.

Vince always responded well to the attitude.

Sal deposited himself into a chair opposite Vince’s desk, slouched comfortably. He adjusted his tie so it lay flat and looked around the space he hoped would soon be his. A corner office with a view of the city. Nice big windows, lots of light. A door on one side of the room led to a private bathroom.

He’d get new furniture, he thought. Vince liked the old school stuff - a massive oak executive desk with a matching lateral file cabinet and conference table. The other side of the room held two large dark brown leather sofas for more informal meetings. Sal would want something more modern, sleek. Glass top tables, couches with clean lines, that sort of thing. Wipe away any remnants of this old dinosaur.

“Can my assistant get you anything to drink?” Vince asked as he sat down.

“Water would be great,” Sal said. He wasn’t thirsty, but he knew it made Vince feel powerful to order his assistant around. Playing this man’s little games was key to staying on his good side.

Vince pressed a button on his desk, activating an intercom that had to predate the internet. “Ali, two waters,” he commanded gruffly.

Vince didn’t bother starting their conversation, whatever it was. He just sat and waited. A few moments later, an attractive brunette woman with a blunt bob cut, dressed in a form fitting sheath dress, walked into the office. She set a cold, high end bottle of water in front of each of them along with a fresh drinking glass.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“Nah that’s good,” Vince said, waving his hand dismissively, then immediately started pouring his water into his glass. “You’ve been doing well, Deluca. Your track record for site choices is unmatched.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sal said, opting to drink his water straight from the bottle.

“You’ve got a real eye for it,” he paused to take a drink, smacking his lips after he swallowed. “And you're cutthroat. I appreciate that. Your eye’s on the bottom line where it belongs.”

Sal nodded. He knew what Vince was referring to. It would be easy to be soft about site analysis. Sometimes there were small towns that ended up collateral damage when a massive resort popped up nearby. Sal usually tried to sell it as an opportunity for the town, increased tourism and all that. But their resorts were massive and came along with their own shopping centers and restaurants. Their company could manufacture a quaint, small-town feel more desirable than the real thing because they retained the profits themselves. Because of that, he’d seen many nearby businesses unable to compete.

But that was business. They weren’t running a charity. His responsibility was ultimately to the shareholders who expected a good return on their investment. If a few mom-and-pops had to go under in the process, well, that wasn’t Sal’s fault. That was capitalism, pure and simple.

“Well, the numbers speak for themselves,” Sal grinned as he sipped his water.

“Any idiot can read the market research and analysis but you’ve got a real feel for the atmosphere of a place. The big bosses have taken notice.”

Sal nodded neutrally, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

“I’ve made known my plans to retire,” Vince started and Sal had to school his face to keep from smiling. “And you’re on the short list to be my successor.”

Yes. This was everything Sal had been hoping for and it was all going exactly according to plan.

“We’re looking at a possible site for a Christmas-y, holiday sort of resort. Something quaint where families can go drink their hot cocoas and enjoy the lights and spend money at the year-round Christmas market. The numbers are pointing to one spot in particular and I need you to go feel it out. Consider it a sort of…final test. You get this right and the job is basically yours. I’ll see to it myself.”

Sal’s eyebrows went up. “Wow, sir, that’s an incredible opportunity.”

“I take it that traveling over the holidays won’t be a problem for you, right?” Vince said, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t have a wife or kids or any of that nonsense, right?”

“No sir,” Sal said.

He did not have a wife. Or a husband. Or any kind of romantic partner. He figured Vince’s head would implode if any other option were mentioned, especially outside of the gender binary, so Sal kept it to himself. Wasn’t Vince’s business anyway.

“One of the many things I like about you, son,” Vince said. “You’ve got that old school work ethic. No distractions, no requests for paternity leave,” he said, sneering at the concept. “No need to cut out early for your kid’s soccer game or whatever nonsense people are doing nowadays. And that’s the men. The women are even worse.”

Sal took a drink of water then tried to steer the conversation back on track. “So, where am I going?”

“A town called Port Everbright,” Vince said.

Sal huffed a low laugh. “That’s really what it’s called? Sounds like something marketing would come up with.”

“I know. It’s perfect, isn’t it? They’ve got a lighthouse and everything. Quaint as hell,” Vince smirked, rubbing a hand over his mustache. “I’ll have Ali get the research to you and book your travel. Any trouble leaving in a couple hours?”

“No sir,” Sal said, then pushed up out of his chair, knowing their time was done. “Thank you for the opportunity,” Sal said, reaching across to shake Vince’s hand.

“You’ve earned it,” he responded with a firm handshake.

Sal stepped into his apartment with exactly twenty minutes to pack before the car showed up to take him to the airport.

It was a nice apartment, high enough that he had a great view of the city. The apartment was clean and modern - cool toned fabrics, silver metals, glass, sleek, angular furniture, and minimal decor. Most of the walls were empty but he liked it that way. He’d briefly dated a woman who complained, saying it made him seem like a serial killer and he’d just shrugged about it.

The other people he dated either didn’t mind or didn’t bother commenting.

He dated what he figured was a normal amount. He’d even gotten somewhat serious a few times. But nothing ever really seemed to work out. His sister, who lived back in Philly where they’d grown up, said it was because he was dating people that were too much like him - focused on their careers. He didn’t think that was a problem. He was attracted to people who were driven. Plus there was the bonus that they understood when Sal had late nights or long trips. He understood when they did too.

He grabbed his laptop from where it sat on his glass top coffee table and packed it into his carry-on bag along with the charger and his leather padfolio. Next, he grabbed his suitcase out of the closet and tossed it onto his bed.

From what he’d been able to read in the brief, Port Everbright was a small coastal town in the northwest part of Washington state. Cold enough in the winter that they got snow, but not so much snow it impacted travel. The photos that had been pulled from the internet were great - big mountains in the background, a little marina, a historic lighthouse.

Sal got to packing, opting for his bigger suitcase since he’d have to pack for winter weather - boots, a coat, hats and scarves and gloves. Being cold sucked. He especially hated having cold feet and hands. He much preferred the tropical resort assignments. A lot less to pack for those.

On the car ride to the airport, Sal sent off a quick text to the kid down the hall who had a spare key to his apartment. He said he’d venmo him $25 to go clear out anything perishable from his fridge and take out his trash.

While they sat in traffic, Sal scrolled through some of the travel details on his phone. It was December 17th now. He’d stay for a few days, feel out the town, then fly back to Los Angeles on December 24th, Christmas Eve.

According to the itinerary Ali put together, he’d be flying into a smaller airport north of Seattle, then would pick up a rental car and drive the rest of the way. He dug out his padfolio and scratched a note to price out a shuttle to take guests to and from the airport. Maybe some complimentary hot cocoa and a candy cane or something, if they were going with a Christmas theme.

He returned to reading the brief about Port Everbright. The town had less than 2,000 residents. Major businesses of note included the Smokestack bar, Harbor Hardware, Halligan Books, and an art studio called The Lab. They had a local family physician, a little non-denominational Christian church, and a K-8 school.

He’d be staying at the only accommodation in town - Fireside Inn. He tapped the hyperlink on his phone and it took him to a terribly designed website that wasn’t at all optimized for mobile. He pinched and zoomed with his fingers, trying to glean what information he could. It was a small inn with 8 rooms and an attached restaurant. The background of the website was made to look like woodgrain and the text was nearly impossible to read, especially without grabbing his reading glasses, so he had to just stop.

He’d learn more when he got there. He wouldn’t research on the plane, though, that time was spoken for.

Sal had a ritual when he travelled. He picked up a few books in the overpriced airport bookstore, read them, then left them wherever he was when he was finished. If it was a long flight, he’d leave it in the seatback pocket for the next person to find. He’d leave them in hotel lobbies before he left.

Sal loved books, but he didn’t like the clutter in his space and e-readers didn’t do it for him. He liked the feel of the paper and the weight of the book and the motion of turning the pages. When he was at home he used the library or if he was feeling impatient about what he wanted to read, he’d just buy it then give it away when he was done.

Once he was through security he grabbed a couple paperbacks - Jessica Simpson’s memoir and a spy novel with a submarine on the cover - bought them, then slipped them into his carry-on.

Once on the plane, comfortable in his first class seat, Sal fished his reading glasses out of his bag and opened the memoir. He was looking forward to a few uninterrupted hours of reading.

That plan was quickly thwarted when a sweaty man stinking of whiskey flopped into the seat beside him, knocking into his elbow.

“Oh hey sorry man,” the guy slurred. “I hate flying,” he laughed.

Sal gave the guy a clearly disinterested nod, then pointedly went back to reading his book. His Bose headphones were unfortunately in his stowed carry-on. He didn’t actually like listening to music while he read but they were noise cancelling and a good visual deterrent.

“Luckily it’s a short flight,” the man said, then put all his focus into figuring out how to put on his seatbelt.

Sal returned to his book while the guy behind him yapped away.

“They’ll do drink service after take off right?”

“I’d say you’re fully saturated already,” Sal muttered to himself.

“What was that?”

“I said I think so,” Sal said louder.

“Okay good whoaaaa.” The man’s arm flailed out as they accelerated for takeoff, accidentally crumpling the page of Sal’s open book.

Seriously?

He took the man’s hand and moved it to the man’s armrest. The man gripped it and cursed up a storm while Sal sighed and tried to smooth out his book page.

Sal tried to focus on the book again, turning the wrinkled page to get to the next.

“Can I get a rum and Coke?” his neighbor said to the flight attendant when she stopped on their row.

“Of course sir,” she said, setting a napkin down on his tray table. “And you?” she asked, looking at Sal.

“Ginger ale please,” he said. It was really the only time he drank it, but he always got it on a plane.

“I’m so sorry sir, we are out.”

Sal forced a smile. “That’s alright then nothing for me.”

The flight attendant quickly put together the man’s rum and coke, then set it onto the napkin on his tray.

“Thanks,” he said, then picked up his drink. “Hey man, you sure you don’t want anything?” he asked while turning quickly in Sal’s direction. Somehow his drink flew out of his hand and all over Sal and his book.

“Seriously?!” Sal said.

The flight attendant quickly handed Sal handfuls of napkins.

He did his best to sop up the liquid with the napkins faster than it absorbed into the paper of his book. He was more concerned with that than his jeans and pullover.

“Hey let me help-“ the guy said.

“No,” Sal said sharply, holding up his hand to deflect any attempts to reach out. “I don’t want you to speak or even look at me for the rest of this flight.”

To his credit, the guy did as he was asked.

Sal grumbled as he walked out of a Walmart in the middle of nowhere with several shopping bags of clothing and toiletries and the cheapest suitcase he could find. As soon as he stepped off the curb and into the parking lot, he went ankle deep into a puddle of ice cold melted snow.

The airline had lost his luggage, because that was just his luck on this trip. It was a good thing the most important, irreplaceable items were in his carry-on.

And now his shoe and sock were soaked. They hadn’t had boots in his size (which was a pretty standard, normal size) so these were the only shoes he had.

He opened the trunk of the rental car and shoved all the bags inside the suitcase, zipped it with a grumble, then slammed the trunk shut. For half a second he thought he might have locked his keys in there, which would have really been the icing on the cake. Thankfully, they were securely in his pocket.

Sal did his best to refocus on the job. The roads were nicely cleared as he made his way closer to Port Everbright. The scenery was beautiful, big snow covered mountains against a blue sky with puffy white clouds. He made a mental note to look into skiing, snowboarding, or snow tubing. Maybe a shuttle for day trips.

Sal glanced over at the Welcome to Port Everbright sign. The paint was peeling. Ortiz Resorts would replace it with something new anyway..

The GPS and map on Sal’s phone suddenly stopped giving him turn by turn directions.

“Now? Seriously?” Sal groaned.

He remembered generally where the inn was in relation to the town. He drove down the main drag. Ribbons and wreaths decorated every light post. Strings of Christmas lights criss-crossed above the street, strung between buildings. He’d appreciate the quaint little small town vibes later, after he was out of this wet shoe and sock.

After driving around for several minutes, Sal had no idea where the inn was, which was insane in a town this small. He made it back to Main Street and found a spot to park. With a sigh he walked into Harbor Hardware.

A handsome man with deep blue eyes and a cleft chin, dressed in jeans, a henley, and a plaid flannel shirt, looked up from where he was tinkering with something behind the counter.

“Hi there. Can I help you find anything?”

Sal tried to ignore the damp squish in his right shoe that sounded with every other step.

“Yeah, thanks. I’m looking for the Fireside Inn? My navigation crapped out and I’m lost.”

“Yeah sure,” the man said, flashing a friendly smile. “You’re gonna take a left onto Viewpoint Drive, then follow the curve to the right, and you’ll be right there.”

“Viewpoint Drive,” Sal repeated. “Thanks, man.”

“Yeah, see you around,” he said, giving Sal a friendly wave as he walked back out.

Sal followed the man’s directions until he spotted a sign for Fireside Inn and Restaurant. He continued up the hill until the inn came into view.

It had an almost woodsy cabin look to it, with a large front porch entrance. Christmas lights decorated the eaves and window frames , though it wasn’t late or dark enough for them to be on yet. Evergreen garlands wrapped around the railings and a big wreath with a red bow decorated the solid wood front door.

It looked cozy and warm. Sal was eager to get inside and into his room. He’d love a hot shower, some dry clothes and a good meal. He had plenty of days in town so tonight he’d just get in bed early and read his one undamaged book.

He found a parking spot near the front and stepped out of his car…and directly into a half melted puddle of slush.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Sal growled. Now both his feet were cold and wet. He really, really hated that.

He opened the trunk and pulled out his suitcase with a little more force than necessary. Luckily the handle didn’t break or he thought that would send him right over the edge. He carried it rather than roll it through the sludgy parking lot (maybe someone could have shoveled that?) and made his way up the front door. The wreath greeted him with the scent of balsam which was nice and festive, he supposed.

He wasn’t a big Christmas person. He usually spent the holidays alone. His mom and sister were back east and he didn’t like taking the time off necessary to go see them. The timing of his romantic relationships were never quite that serious during the holidays so he didn’t celebrate with them. He had friends who would probably invite him over if he let on that he had nowhere to be. But he also didn’t mind being alone. He usually used the day off to catch up on work.

Sal pushed through the big front door and wiped his feet as much as possible on the doormat. The lobby space was warm and inviting. There was a two-sided fireplace that sectioned the lobby off from the restaurant and Sal resisted the urge to drift toward it. The cold in his feet had seeped down into his bones now and he was fighting the need to shiver. There were some comfortable chairs next to the fireplace on the lobby side, plus a little table with a few magazines. He eyed a small wooden bookshelf in the corner with interest.

The space looked like Christmas had thrown up all over it. Clearly it wasn’t designed or executed by a professional decorator. It was mismatched in that way you could get away with because it was all Christmas. It was charming.

The smells drifting in from the restaurant over the undertones of pine and cinnamon reminded him of home - Christmastime as a kid, memories of coming in cold and wet after playing in the snow with his sister all afternoon.

He sighed and turned toward the welcome desk. The very empty welcome desk.

As cute and quaint as everything was, the good feelings quickly dissipated with the delay in Sal’s ability to get into fully dry, warm clothing. He cleared his throat and looked around for…anyone. The restaurant was empty, a little sign out at the host station that they’d open for dinner at 5 p.m. But Sal could hear voices and laughter, so he followed, determined to find someone who worked there.

He stomped into the kitchen to find two men standing at a prep station. One with bright blue eyes, a birthmark, and a big grin was wearing a chef’s jacket, arms folded across his broad chest. He glanced up and spotted Sal, then his smile faded a little.

He reached out and gave his companion a gentle smack on the shoulder, then nodded in Sal’s direction.

“Eddie, I think someone needs to check in,” the man said.

The other man, presumably Eddie, turned around to look at Sal. He brushed a hand over his mustache and gave Sal a polite smile. He was dressed in jeans and a red and black plaid flannel shirt. His hair reminded Sal of some kind of teen heartthrob, strands falling perfectly into his deep brown eyes.

Sal would think the guy was attractive if he wasn’t so miserable, cold, and grumpy as hell from the minor delay that was the crap cherry on top of the crap sundae that had been his day.

“Hi,” Eddie said with a bright smile. “Welcome to Fireside Inn.”