The door swings open with the force of a small hurricane.
“Helloooo, Timberline!” a voice bellows.
I jerk my head up in time to see a man in neon joggers, a sleeveless gym shirt, and enough charisma to power a Vegas strip club strut into the lobby like he owns the place.
“Oh, no,” I whisper under my breath.
“Yes,” the man saysto me, apparently. “You must be Josie.”
I blink. “Sorry, do I know you?”
He winks. “Only by reputation.”
Mom pokes her head out from the back office. “Everything all right out here?”
“Oh yes,” the man says brightly. “I’m meeting the one and only Josie. The woman Knox forgot to warn me about.”
That makes me freeze.
Ah. This is the man I saw Knox with at Silver Peak the other day. The hurricane in human form. Apparently, he’s stayinghere.
“Name’s Jace. Jace Steele,” he continues. “Room 204. Lovely view, terrible WiFi. And you,” he gestures to me with a wide sweep of his arm, “look like you’re a very fun chef.”
I stare at him. “Are you always like this?”
“Only before breakfast,” he says cheerfully. “After that, I getreallyannoying.”
My mom appears behind the counter now, eyebrows raised, clearly entertained.
“Morning, Mrs. Dawson,” Jace says smoothly, like we’ve all met before in some alternate reality. “Love the place. It has more charm than a Vermont Christmas movie. I might never leave.”
“God help us,” I mutter.
He lets out a bark of laughter. “Ah, got it. You’re a feisty one. I see why Knox likes you.”
I feel my face heat. “You don’t even know me.”
“True,” he says easily, hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. “But you seem like a great laugh. Wemusthang out while I’m here.”
I roll my eyes but have nothing to say back.
How do you deal with a man like this?
Mom’s still watching us, clearly enjoying the free show. “Would you like some coffee, Jace?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
I sigh and drop into a chair, rubbing my temples.
So much for a quiet morning.
I’m still muttering curses under my breath when I head outside for some air. The chill hits my cheeks, and for a second, it’s grounding. Crisp mountain breeze, the smell of pine, distant birdsong.Peace. Quiet.
Until the front door creaks open behind me.
I don’t have to look to know it’s Dee.
“What the hell was that?” she says, stepping up beside me, arms crossed, brows lifted like she’s about to stage a full interrogation.
