She avoids my stare, and I’m sure this is her first attempt at setting me up. I’m not close with the other chefs yet, but they’ve all told me about her matchmaking. Nigel, the sous chef, met his wife thanks to Yesenia’s meddling. And the others all have friends, cousins, or neighbors that have gotten hitched thanks to her.
It's sweet of her to try, but I’m not looking for a husband or even a boyfriend right now. I need to save my money, and once I open my restaurant, I won’t have time for dating for at least a few years. Mr. Perfect is going to have to wait.
“I’m not going to pitch my business plan to all the eligible bachelors of Crescent Ridge.”
“Just the one,” Yesenia insists. “He’s a reclusive billionaire with a love of all things cinnamon. I’m sure he’d love to add a restaurant to his portfolio.”
“Cinnamon?” I repeat.
“You could take him one of those apple pies you make with the crushed crust.”
“Apple crumble,” I correct her.
“Yes! And one of your tarts! Oh, and you have to take cookies. That man has a sweet tooth like no other.”
She pulls a wicker basket out of the storage room where we keep all the seasonal holiday displays. The basket is from the Thanksgiving display we made look like a cornucopia.
“Take some muffins too,” she says as she walks around packing the basket as I stand by in shock.
“It’s two days until Christmas,” I remind her.
“Perfect time!” she replies. “Catch him when he’s in a cheerful mood!”
“By interrupting his holiday plans with his family?”
“He’s single,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“Yesenia…”
“Just pitch your idea,” she urges me. “The worst he can do is turn you down.”
“Or toss me out into the snow.”
She stops abruptly, all warmth leaving her expression.
“He would never,” she hisses.
“Surely this can wait until after the first of the year,” I try to dissuade her again. “I just want to crawl back to my apartment and sleep for a week. Popping up randomly at this man’s house isn’t my idea of a good time.”
“Rachel.” She slides the basket across the stainless-steel prep table. “I insist.”
My bed is calling but even as Yesenia grabs another pie, I know I’m not headed home yet. I’m going to meet her mysterious billionaire.
Nothing might come of it, but if she’s right, this could be my chance. My mother used to say that miracles don’t just happen. You have to put in the work for the universe to meet you halfway. As the snow falls, I leave theAlpine Peaklodge and my skepticism behind.
Dominic
Five hours patrolling the mountain, and I’m turning into an icicle by the time I head back to my cabin on the north side of the mountain. The only print marking the snow besides mine belongs to the elk herd. I’d normally stay out for a few more hours, but no one’s hiking or hunting in this weather. Not with the storm of the century brewing on the horizon.
It’s been snowing all day. First in little flakes that frosted the railing of my porch when I left this morning and now as I hike back home, they come down fat and heavy, settling into drifts that already reach my knee. By tomorrow they’ll be waist high.
It’ll be days before I can make a trip to town, which is perfect. My cabin is fully stocked, the generator is ready, and I even have firewood stacked on the back porch. It’s the perfect time to be snowed in for a few days.
The woods are quiet as I step into the clearing where my cabin is located. It’s more rustic than most. Plain oak boards that look more weathered than they should, and nothing decorating the old hunter’s cabin to make it more aesthetically appealing.
“Should’ve put the stew on,” I mutter to myself as my stomach begins to growl.
“Should’ve packed a snack,” I add when I find all the ingredients for said stew still in my fridge and unprepared. “A sandwich. A protein bar. Something.”
