“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 withunexpected 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.
“And even a grumpy photographer can be eloquent once per lunar cycle,” I countered with a wink. “So which one are we tasting first?” I segued smoothly, lifting my mug. “Mrs. Marian, tell us what flavors you have for us today.”
We both took sips as Mrs. Marian stood next to us, explaining the hot chocolate flight and telling us a little bit more about her family’s lodge. The chocolate in this first selection was rich andvelvety, the homemade whipped cream melting slowly into the warm liquid. I made the appropriate appreciative noises, describing the flavor profile for the viewers.
“It’s like drinking a warm hug wrapped in cashmere,” I enthused. “The way the vanilla notes complement the richness of the chocolate is absolutely?—”
Maddox set down his mug with a decisive thunk. “Let’s not get carried away. It’s good, but I remain steadfastly loyal to my grandmother’s own recipe. No offense, Mrs. Marian.”
She laughed warmly. “None taken. Your grandmother’s Christmas open house was the inspiration for our hot cocoa mornings.”
As she wandered off to grab our next round, I focused back on Maddox. “Was this an open house at the hardware store?”
“Another annual tradition featuring the Sullivan family recipe. Been served at the hardware store’s Christmas open house for over fifty years.” He wiped his lips carefully, checking for more rogue whipped cream. “She used real dark chocolate and a pinch of cayenne pepper for depth.”
“Sounds delicious. Tell me about it.”
His expression softened slightly. “It was my favorite day of the year growing up. The store would be transformed—lights everywhere, pine garlands on the counters, Mr. Peterson—theelderMr. Peterson—dressed as Santa. And my grandmother standing behind a giant pot of hot chocolate, making sure every kid in town got a candy cane and a full mug.”
I could picture it vividly—the hardware store transformed into a winter wonderland, young Maddox wide-eyed at the magic of it all. For a moment, I felt a pang of something like envy. My own childhood Christmases had been elegant, formal affairs with catered food and professionally wrapped presents. The kind of Christmases that photographed beautifully but rarely featured inany stories I told. Nothing as messy or warm as what Maddox described.
The warmth in his voice was captivating. I found myself genuinely interested, the practiced conversation topics forgotten.
“And you still do it?”
