I stomped and pointed.
He obeyed—but slowly. Dramatically. With several deep sighs. Of course, after he left, he peeked back in through the round window with sad puppy-dog eyes.
I grabbed the nearest object—a silicone spatula—and hurled it at his face.
He ducked. All I could do was pray I wouldn’t hear or see him again for at least a few blessed hours. It’d take me that long to clean up his mess—and sterilize everything he touched.
Then, out of nowhere, a snort-laugh escaped me.
I clapped a hand over my mouth, but it was too late. The laughter spilled out anyway.
Holden West was so much trouble. A charming, infuriating troublemaker. Sometimes cute and?—
Nope. Absolutely not my problem.
I wiped my eyes, straightened my chef’s coat, and reached for the bleach.
Laughter was allowed. Falling for him was most definitely not.
6
JINGLE BAT
HOLDEN
Lilah was pissed over a PB& J? I dragged a hand down my face and turned away from her and the kitchen doors. I trudged to the lobby and leaned against a window frame. Outside, nothing but a sea of white greeted me, with no definition between the sky and the ground.
I used to have everything figured out. A lifetime ago, I wasHolden West, The Olympic Hopeful.The untouchable golden boy. One of five heirs to the West Games empire. Media favorite. A chiseled jawline with a snowboard practically grafted to my feet like a gift from the gods.
Cameras loved me. Networks fought for interviews. Sponsors tripped over themselves to throw contracts and gear my way. I dated models. Made “Most Eligible Bachelor” lists I never asked to be on.
Then the fall came. Not a stumble, but a career-ending crash down a mountain during Olympic trials, broadcast across every sports channel, replayed in slow-motion like a cautionary tale.
One minute I was flying high. The next, I was a has-been with a trust fund, scars from multiple knee and leg operations I pretended weren’t there, and a string of relationships the tabloids cared about more than I ever did.
I drifted across mountains and continents, and from party to party, never taking life seriously. Until one Christmas, when the call about Dad came.
My throat tightened as I turned away from the window. Dad used to hate silence. Said it made him think too much. He was right.
Friends grew up. Married. Had kids. Life got quieter, not as much fun. Maybe that was why I built Snow Quest—because I needed something solid. Something to root me to the earth.
Griffin had taken over West Games, paid each of us handsomely to buy us out, got married, and started a family. I suddenly wanted that too—a foundation, a purpose, and a place to belong.
God, I hoped this wasn’t all a mistake. The lodge, the grand opening, hiring Lilah, believing I could run a business…
I stared at the grape-purple stains on my hands and clothes. I needed to dosomethingbefore I lost my mind.
The storm moaned outside. Twinkle lights on the massive lobby tree flickered—off, on, steady again.
What had Rita said it needed? Tinsel. The boxes sat right there at the base of the tree. A ladder leaned nearby.
Sure, I’d throw some on. Perfect metaphor for my life. When down and out, don’t count me out, just throw some more fun on it.
“Looks like it’s just the two of us, Old Tree,” I muttered. Did other hotel chains name their trees each year?
I climbed up the ladder with a box of silver strands in hand. At the top, I searched the box. Not a single instruction. “How hard can this be?”
Tossing tinsel on the limbs was easy. Until somethingmovedinside the branches.
