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)
“Sounds rehearsed,” Maddox observed.
“It’s not rehearsed; it’s prepared. There’s a difference.”
“Not to viewers, there isn’t.” He crossed his arms. “If you want authentic, you need to be willing to go off-script.”
His words hit a nerve. The most successful content of my career had always been the unplanned moments—a luxury hotel’s rooftop infinity pool where I’d genuinely gasped at the sunset view, an unscripted interaction with an elderly Italian chef who’d insisted on teaching me his great-aunt’s pasta technique. Those rare glimpses of real emotion had garnered more engagement than any carefully choreographed campaign. But they were also terrifying—uncontrolled, unpredictable, impossible to replicate.
“I’m not proposing a script. It’s like you’re deliberately trying to paint me into a box of your own making,” I said, trying not to snap.
Thankfully, his sister returned, all smiles. “We ready? Mrs. Marian is on her way out with the hot cocoa.” She looked back and forth between us. “I’m going to channel my inner Bachelor film crew, right?”
“Not exactly,” Maddox interjected with an obvious attempt at remaining calm. “Less reality TV and more like two people having a normal conversation over hot chocolate.”
“While at least one of us is wearing carefully selected apparel and trying to be engaging,” I added, raising an eyebrow.
Maya glanced between us, amusement dancing in her eyes. “This is going to be amazing.” She stepped behind the camera. “Let’s do this.”
We took our seats at the table by the fire. Mrs. Marian approached with the first round of hot chocolates—classic milk chocolate in handmade mugs, topped with house-made whipped cream and dusted with cinnamon.
“And we’re rolling,” Maya called.
I shifted into content creator mode, offering the camera my practiced smile as I introduced the concept.
“Welcome to the first of our ‘Twelve Dates of Christmas.’ Today, I’m in Legacy, Montana, celebrating the season with Maddox Sullivan. Maddox is a local photographer and the owner of Sullivan Hardware here in Legacy. Who better to show me the ropes for my very first date here than a Legacy native?”
I smiled at Maddox, who looked like he’d rather be performing his own root canal with rusty pliers. His jaw was clenched so tight I was surprised his perfect teeth weren’t cracking.
Instead of prompting him to say hello, I continued speaking in hopes he’d chill the fuck out. “Today, we’re exploring one of the popular local holiday traditions, which is a hot chocolate tasting here at this historic lodge.”
I turned to Maddox again and said a silent prayer that his good looks would distract my audience from his dismal attitude. “Maddox, why don’t you tell us about the lodge and its significance to the town?”
Maddox shifted in his seat. “Yeah, uh… it’s a lodge. Been here since the 1800s. Used to be an old inn until the Marian family bought it and renovated it.”
I waited for him to continue, but he simply reached for his hot chocolate.
“And,” I prompted, feeling like I was trying to extract blood from a particularly stubborn stone. “How did they end up hosting an event like this?”
Maddox seemed to consider the question seriously. A tiny dot of whipped cream clung to the tip of his nose, making him look simultaneously ridiculous and adorable. Like if Grumpy Cat wore a Santa hat.
“Since purchasing the lodge, which used to be called Legacy Lodge and Inn, the Marians have gone out of their way to preserve the town’s history,” he said finally, his voice deepening with unexpected conviction. “Inviting locals to see the renovations and to feel like the lodge was still a part of our collective story. As the family has continued to invest in Legacy, they’ve always made a point of doing it mindfully. Projects like this lodge’s historic preservation have helped Legacy retain its past with dignity and honor as we move into the future. The Marian family’s annual hot cocoa mornings give us a chance to come together and honor our past and our future. We’re all very grateful.”
Even though he sounded a little like he was representing the Chamber of Commerce, there was something in his tone—a genuine pride and affection—that caught my attention. For a moment, I glimpsed the man behind the grump, someone who cared deeply about his community.
“That’s… really well put,” I said, momentarily forgetting the camera as I reached across to wipe the whipped cream off his nose.
The instant my fingertips brushed his skin, I realized my mistake. The touch was too familiar, too intimate for a first meeting—something I’d have done with a longtime friend or a lover, not a reluctant business associate. But there was no taking it back now. His skin was warm beneath my touch, and for a heartbeat, our eyes locked in mutual surprise at the casual contact.
Maddox’s eyes widened, and his cheeks turned pink faster than a sunset timelapse. “Even a broken clock is right twice a day,” he murmured.