Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Overnight, my manager had sent a flurry of excited texts about the project. “Love the teaser!” Vic had enthused. “The luxury-meets-rustic angle is chef’s kiss. Nordique is already thrilled with the initial concept. Don’t fuck it up.”
I was trying very hard not to.
The Pinecone Café was exactly what I’d expected—a small clapboard building with a green-painted door, windows foggy with condensation, and a handful of pickup trucks in the parking lot. The sign was hand-carved wood with pine tree accents. Quaint. Cottage-y. Exhaustingly on-brand for a small mountain town.
I paused outside to compose myself, checking my reflection in the window. My camel coat from yesterday had been swapped for Nordique’s signature navy parka with subtle gold accents—warm enough for Montana mornings but still photogenic. My indigo-blue cashmere scarf remained, adding a pop of color for my early morning Instagram story.
I’d already posted a teaser about the project, and my engagement numbers had spiked overnight. People loved a Christmas concept, and the idea of me—known for luxury hotels and cosmopolitan settings—roughing it in the wilderness had novelty appeal. Apparently. If I could just pull off these twelve dates without completely destroying my brand positioning, Nordique would be thrilled.
The bell jingled cheerfully as I stepped inside and experienced a wave of sensory overload—the sizzle of bacon on a griddle, the scrape of forks against plates, the low murmur of conversations that momentarily paused as the door opened.
Several heads turned, locals briefly assessing the newcomer before returning to their conversations and plates of food. I spotted Maddox immediately, nursing a mug at a corner table, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he scrolled through his phone.
He looked up as I approached, his expression unreadable. “You’re late.”
I checked my phone. “It’s 7:02.”
“Around here, on time is late.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Coffee’s ordered.”
I slipped into the seat and unwound my scarf. “You been here long?”
“Long enough to go through the shot list for today.” He pushed a handwritten page across the table. “I’ve scheduled your first date—Alexander Marian at the Marian Lodge for their annual hot chocolate tasting at ten. Should give us an hour to get the establishing shots of town before that. I have a tentative schedule set for the rest of your ‘dates,’ too.”
I scanned the list, impressed despite myself. “You work fast.”
“Small town. Easy to arrange things.” Maddox took a sip of his coffee, eyes fixed on me over the rim. “Plus, Alex owes me a favor.”
“The owner of Timber is your first victim?” I raised an eyebrow, remembering the friendly, attractive man behind the bar. “He seems nice.”
“He is nice. Also gay, single, and photogenic as fuck.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Why aren’t you dating the guy?”
Maddox shrugged but failed to answer the question. “You wanted authentic Legacy experiences, and everyone loves Alex. Trust me, the local matchmaking network would have paired you with him eventually anyway.”
A server appeared with my coffee and two plates of what appeared to be breakfast—golden waffles topped with berries and a side of bacon for me and a towering stack of pancakes for Maddox.
“I didn’t order—” I began.
“I did. Sadie’s waffles are the best in three counties.” Maddox nodded at the server. “Consider it your first authentic Legacy experience.”
The woman grinned, and when she spoke, it was in a soft Texas drawl. “You boys let me know if you need anything else.”
“I don’t suppose you have… oat milk creamer?” I asked, gesturing at my coffee.
When she frowned apologetically, I waved it off and gave her a friendly smile. “Never mind. This is great! Thank you.”
When she left, I sighed. “If only the Wild West had oats.”
Maddox snorted.
I eyed my plate suspiciously. “I usually just have a protein shake in the mornings.”
“And I usually don’t start filming self-absorbed social media campaigns at dawn, yet here we are, adapting.” He pushed the plate closer to me. “Eat. We’ve got a long day ahead.”
I took a bite of waffle, if only to stop myself from responding with something equally cutting. The flavor caught me off guard—butter melted into every crevice, and the berries carried a tart sweetness that obviously didn’t come from a can. It was annoyingly, undeniably delicious.
“Okay,” I admitted after swallowing. “It’s… passable.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his face as I scarfed another bite. “Told you.”
We ate in surprisingly comfortable silence for a few minutes. I used the opportunity to study him more carefully. In the warm light of the café, Maddox Sullivan was even more attractive than I’d initially registered. His dark hair was sleep-mussed, his jaw shadowed with stubble, and his gray eyes focused entirely on his food. He wore a simple flannel shirt beneath a worn wool coat, practical jeans, and boots that had clearly seen years of actual mountain use rather than fashion runways.
He was the antithesis of the men I usually featured in my content—polished models and influencers who knew their angles and how to pose without direction. Maddox radiated genuineness in a way that made me simultaneously intrigued and jealous.