1
ALLERGIC TO CHRISTMAS
LILAH CHILDS
By the timemy rental car crawled up the last mile of switchback road toward Snow Quest Ski Lodge in Steele Valley, my fingers had frozen into claw-shapes around the steering wheel. I did not do well with roads that looked like a pack of crazy elves had designed them.
As my reward at the top, the beautiful lodge rose up out of the snow like something from a luxury-travel website. With details like stone, glass, and timber, warm lights glowing from the lobby invited me in. Icicles dripped off the roof as if auditioning for a picturesque Christmas card.
Too bad I was basically allergic to the holiday. My stomach tightened.Don’t think about the past.
Inside, the lobby of the lodge smelled like pine and fresh paint. A massive chandelier of antler-shaped crystal hung in the center above a crew wrestling a Christmas tree into place beneath it. Twenty feet tall at least.
The check-in desk gleamed with lacquered wood.
A woman with an HR badge popped out from behind it, smiling like she’d been waiting for me.
“Lilah Childs, you’re here! Welcome to Snow Quest Lodge and Ski Resort.” Toni stuck out her hand.
We’d talked through interviews over Zoom since the day she contacted me out of the blue about this position. I had no idea how she’d found me, but I’d been grateful enough not to ask too many questions.
Bright and wide-eyed behind her glasses, she’d kept everything pinned up and professional on video. In person, she wore jeans and a sweater, hair loose like she’d embraced the mountain truth that comfort came first.
“I’m so glad you could start today despite the storm,” she continued.
“Storm?” I echoed.
“Just look around.” She gestured at the chaos—boxes, ladders, people hauling decorations like their lives depended on tinsel. “Two weeks until opening day, and we’re still a mess. Like a storm of our own making.” Her laugh came out nervously. “But somehow we’ll have everything ready by New Year’s Day. Follow me.”
She led me through a door behind the front desk, into a set of offices. A handful of cubicles sat out in the middle, and a few doors of offices held brass plaques—CFO, HR, and I assumed the General Manager’s, too, down at the corner of the space where the best view probably existed.
“We’re so glad you’re joining us. Ridley, who will be your assistant chef, has been going nuts trying to put together the opening week menu. I’m afraid her talents lie more in the supporting role,” she stated under her breath as if for my ears only.
“Don’t worry. I’m ready to dig in and get it all sorted out.”
“Perfect.” She led me inside her office, where a clipboard waited with my employment contract, NDA, staff housing assignment, and a crisp new name badge.
As she went over some basics of employment, I only half listened. My fingertips traced the badge, and my throattightened.Chef Childs.For a split second, hope fluttered anew. This could be it. The place where I’d prove myself once again, and my phone would start ringing with opportunity.
I signed the employment contract Toni placed before me without another thought.
“Welcome aboard,” Toni said brightly. “Here’s the keycard to your suite upstairs until your employee accommodations are ready. The construction crew is behind on finishing staff cabins thanks to all the snow we’ve been hit with, but I have no doubt you’ll enjoy staying here at the lodge as long as it takes.” She smiled. “Now—let me bring in the owner. He wants to greet you personally.”
“The owner?” My knee started bouncing before I could stop it.
Toni’s grin widened. “Don’t worry. He’s excited to have you on board. He’s very hands-on around here.”
I’d researched my new employer just enough to make sure there were no obvious red flags. During interviews, I’d met Toni and Charles, the CFO. The Quest Company website didn’t name an owner but sold luxury ski packages to anyone with money in New York and beyond.
Toni pressed a button on her desk phone. “Mr. West? Chef Childs is here.”
“W-west?” I stuttered. No.Could it be…?
The door swung open, and in walked Holden West.
My stomach dropped—annoyingly, butterflies fluttered to life there, too, resurrected from the dead.Not him. Anyone but him.
His woodsy bergamot cologne hit the room first, like it was determined to bulldoze my defenses. It almost worked. But I’d spent years building a wall; it would take more than his sudden reappearance to knock it down.
