Atlas: Lovely name. I’d like to meet her sometime.
Landon: Does she have a sister?
Griffin: Bring her with you if you’re coming to the city before it hits.
Jokers.
I debated leaving one more time before it was too late. Griffin’s wife would cook an excellent meal, or their personal chef would. I could view Christmas through the eyes of my adorable niece and nephew. We’d have a real family holiday.
But Charles’s stupid captain line stuck in my head. So I lied again.
Holden: Got myself a sexy snow bunny to keep me cozy. Don’t wait up.
Better than admitting I was spending Christmas Eve alone in a hundred-room lodge, surrounded by my own questionable life decisions.
I shoved my phone away. I opened the front door for one last peek outside. Gray clouds made the sky darker. Wind howled and swirled powder around my boots in tiny funnels. Cold slapped my face.
Silence poured in the moment I shut the door and clicked the deadbolt—huge and echoing, turning the lodge into a cathedral of empty space.
For the first time all day, the imposter syndrome I kept buried reared its head. Who did I think I was, building and running a place like this?
3
GRUMPY CHEF GRINCH
HOLDEN
With the wind howling outside,I needed something to do, or I’d go mad. I spied the framedTimesarticle leaning against the front desk. Mack must’ve left it there earlier, planning to hang it.
“Right. Might as well make myself useful.” Surely I could handle one simple task without causing structural damage.
I grabbed a hammer and nail from the nearby toolbox, dragged a leather club chair into position, and climbed up like a man who absolutely belonged on a home-improvement blooper reel.
Outside, Snowzilla raged. Inside, I balanced on a chair in a million-dollar lobby, trying to play carpenter.
I pounded the nail into the wall under the museum lighting Mack had at least managed to install that morning. Then I lifted the frame, centered it, and flicked on the light above it.
“Behold. Perfection.” Nothing saidI’m the man around herelike a massively framedTimesarticle crowning me Mr. Snowman.
THE SNOWMAN RETURNS:
Holden West’s Frosty New Dream
“He single-handedly brought the sports entertainment spotlight to upstate New York with his state-of-the art luxurious new ski resort. We predict that come opening day, the sold-out crowds of ski fans will hail Mr. Snowman and his newest addition to the world of winter sports…”
I loved that quote. Hands on my hips, I admired my two-by-three-foot masterpiece under glass. Yep—enlarged, double-matted, and lit like a museum exhibit. If I was going to stroke my ego, I might as well make it a focal point at the check-in counter.
I grinned at the nickname. Back when I was a young snowboarding phenom destined for Olympic gold, the media called me the Snowman.
That was before the injury. The surgeries. The endless rehab. The moment I realized the gold medal I’d chased my whole life was never coming.
These days, they addedMr.like a cheeky wink, like a billionaire playboy playing lodge mogul was adorable. But looking at that headline didn’t sting. It felt right.
Snow Quest was my second shot at not screwing everything up. If I couldn’t win medals flying down mountains anymore, then I’d own the damn mountain.
“You stud,” I chortled to the empty lobby. A gust rattled the big front windows, like Snowzilla disagreed.
I ran a cloth along the frame and the glass one more time, as if touching it could make magic happen. As if wishing hard enough could guarantee success.
