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)
Adrian’s eyes lit up like he sensed weakness, and he pressed his case. “You choose the locations,” he reminded me. “You direct the shoots. We’ll feature real Legacy residents, not models. And we tell the Legacy story you want to tell.”
“And where do you fit in?”
“I’m the outsider experiencing Legacy for the first time.” He gestured around the bar. “Places like this. Real. Authentic.”
I nearly choked on my coffee. “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”
He grinned, then grew serious. “Look, I get your skepticism. My world is curated and filtered, and yours… isn’t. But that’s exactly why I need you. This project needs to feel genuine, not staged. Nordique wants to associate their brand with traditions, with moments that matter. I think you can help me find them.” He leaned back, studying me. “Your photos don’t lie. That’s the magic I need.”
Something in his phrasing caught me by surprise. Not “your pictures are pretty” or “your aesthetic matches our brand”—but “your photos don’t lie.” Despite myself, I felt a flicker of professional pride that this man, who garnered over a million followers with his polished content, had recognized the honesty in my work.
I drummed my fingers on the table, thinking. He was saying all of the things I wanted to hear. I didn’t know if I could trust him, but the money would solve several problems. Maya was right—with her leaving for college next year, I needed to think about expanding my photography business. And although I had several Christmas photo shoots on my calendar in the next few weeks, the busyness wouldn’t last. Bookings were always slower in winter.
“A couple of rules,” I said finally.
Adrian’s expression brightened. “Name them.”
“First, the creative control needs to be in writing. If I think something’s cheesy or fake, we don’t do it.”
“Agreed.”
“Second, we feature real Legacy traditions and events, but your participation needs to be real, too. No manufactured moments.”
Adrian hesitated. “The, ah… let’s call it a concept for this series is… well, dates. As in, ‘The Twelve Dates of Christmas.’ Where I and, hopefully, a dozen local gentlemen take my followers on a special holidate. Get it, holidate?”
“You…” I paused. “You want to film yourself on dates with local guys?”
“Holidates,” he repeated. “You know, like, ice skating and drinking cocoa. Christmas tree decorating. Sleigh rides. That kind of thing. So, as far as my participation being real goes, I will definitely be there… but I will not actually be looking for love with twelve different men.” He chuckled uncomfortably.
I pictured a parade of Legacy’s eligible bachelors being trotted out for Adrian’s enjoyment, each one performing “spontaneous” holiday activities while the viewing public cooed over their charming mountain-town romance. It wasn’t necessarily offensive, but something about it felt hollow—like staging wedding photos before you’ve even fallen in love.
I stared at him for a long moment. He wasn’t the only one who was suddenly uncomfortable. “Are you single?”
He frowned. “Yes, of course. Or else I’d have my partner here going on these dates with me.”
For some reason, picturing him with a partner made me more unsettled. But then I realized the opportunity this presented.
“I have a third rule,” I said abruptly.
It was Adrian’s turn to blink. “Okay…?”
“Have you thought about how you’re going to find these twelve unsuspecting gentlemen?”
Adrian frowned. “I mean, not really? Grindr or something. In the grand tradition. Isn’t there a search and rescue training program in town?” He smiled, and his eyelids dropped into a deliberately sultry pose. “Finding a date’s never been a problem for me in the past.”
An inconvenient, utterly unwanted bolt of lust whipped through me, just as he’d intended. I resisted the urge to laugh out loud… or punch him.
“Yeah, no,” I said, my voice deeper than I’d meant it to be. “That’s not gonna work here. I will source you a dozen gay men.”
He grinned and opened his mouth to make a joke, but before he could, I continued.
“Legacy’s a small town, Hayes. And do you know what the prime directive of small towns is?”
He shook his head.
“Matchmaking. There is nothing that gets them more excited than a single man or woman. Right now, they are trying to make me their mission, and any single man in town is fair game.”
Adrian chuckled uncomfortably. “But… I’ve only been here two days. No one even knows me—”
“Yes,” I agreed.
As if on cue, my phone buzzed with another text. I didn’t need to check it to know it was probably Avery Marian, or Mrs. Hoffman, or any of the self-appointed matchmakers who’d been trying to set me up since I came out at sixteen. The same well-meaning busybodies who’d arranged five “accidental” meetings with eligible men at the Fall Festival, who still invited me to dinner and “coincidentally” had their nephew/grandson/family friend visiting from out of town.