“She has no clue about my occasional indiscretions.”
“Then should I arrange for you to meet up with Chantal later tonight after you put your bride to bed?” came Holden’s reply.
I gasped. Brad had been cheating? Who the hell was I marrying? How could I not know this man at all?
The bouquet slipped from my hands and hit the stone floor. I stumbled into the chapel.
“The wedding is canceled. Go home!” I screamed, veil whipping behind me as shock rippled through my parents’ faces.
Brad rushed in and didn’t say one word, didn’t advance toward me or try to talk me out of this… only stared at me with emotionless eyes.
I tossed my veil and ran out of the abbey through a side door. My heels stumbled through snow and slush. A taxi waited conveniently at the curb. I gathered my gown around me and dove in, slamming the door closed.
The driver asked in German, “Meine Dame, wohin gehen Sie?”
“Drive! Fahren!” I cried.
“Lilah!” I man yelled for me.
I turned to glare out the back window, thinking I’d see Brad, as if he could right all his wrongs somehow. But it was Holden sprinting after me, shouting my name, as the taxi pulled away.
5
CULINARY HORROR
LILAH
The overhead lightsflickered twice before steadying. Great. Snowzilla was officially gnawing on the mountain. It snapped me out of my memories of my failed wedding day.
“Keep it together, Lilah,” I muttered, swiping away the last tear. For the umpteenth time, I swore that would be the final cry over Brad.It’s been five years. Let it go.
I rubbed my hands together, blew warm air over my fingers, and leaned back against the stainless-steel counter. The kitchen had settled into an eerie hush, broken only by the soft hum of refrigeration units.
I prayed the power would remain on. We were packed with a lot of food we had expected to cook this week for the staff, plus notable guests and friends and families coming to get a preview of the lodge before opening day. I should verify with Holden about the generators, but that would mean I’d have to talk to him and gaze into his chocolaty puppy dog eyes, and endure his smoldering smile.
The playboy was too gorgeous for words. But nope. Not going there. Not after my Christmas wedding imploded and the conversation I overheard between him and my groom detonated my life.
“That’s it,” I said to the empty kitchen. “Just keep remembering the past, and you’ll survive being stuck alone here with Holden West.”
I spent the afternoon staying busy—freezing anything that might go bad, reorganizing prep stations, taking inventory, sketching a minute-by-minute opening-day timeline, timing each dish perfectly. Anything to avoid thinking about the man haunting the lodge like a smug Ghost of Christmas Past.
Satisfied, I brewed a fresh pot of coffee. While it whirred, I headed to the basement laundry room to fold the aprons and towels Rita had washed before leaving.
By the time I returned, I stopped short. A stealthy, no-good, mischievous elf named Holden stood at my counter making a… peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
My eyes bulged at the sight of purple handprints smeared the refrigerator door. Breadcrumbs littered the floor. And—oh no—purple footprints tracked across the tile like a crime scene.
He’d used a cutting board. Three knives. And inexplicably… a strainer.
“Oh. My. God.” I stared. “What thefresh hellis this?”
“I was hungry and figured you must be, too.” He licked jelly off his fingers one by one. “Can’t have my chef starving.”
“Back away from the counter. And don’t touch anything.”
“You can’t be serious.” He held up a plate stacked with grotesquely overfilled jelly sandwiches that probably had a tiny speck of peanut butter in there somewhere. “Relax. It’s mid-afternoon. We needed a snack.”
I didn’t even know we stocked jelly. Or peanut butter. Or generic white bread. If a Michelin inspector walked in right now, they’d have a coronary.
