1
CELESTE
Celeste Winters pulled up in front of the inn with the precision of someone who thrived on control. The sleek black car was out of place among the town’s snow-dusted buildings, with their wooden shutters and Christmas lights twinkling against the winter sky.
The small-town charm did nothing for her. If anything, the quaintness of it all grated against her nerves. The sooner this job was over, the better.
One night, in and out.
She stepped out of the car, adjusting her coat against the sharp December air. The wind carried the scent of pine and baked bread, but Celeste was immune to the nostalgia that might have been stirred in others. For her, this was just another business deal, another opportunity to expand Frost Enterprises and secure her status in the hospitality industry. Her polished Louboutins clicked against the cobblestone path as she made her way to the inn.
Inside, warmth enveloped her like an unwanted embrace. The lobby was adorned with fresh garlands and holly and a largetree dominating the corner, its ornaments glittering in the soft firelight.
Celeste barely spared it a glance as she approached the front desk. A cheerful, middle-aged woman greeted her, but Celeste’s cool gaze was enough to temper the woman’s enthusiasm, the corners of her lips faltering.
“Ms. Winters, welcome to our town,” the woman chirped, clasping her hands. “I hope you’ll have a chance to enjoy the festivities.”
Celeste’s lips pursed in a tight line. “I’ll only be here tonight and I’m leaving tomorrow after my meetings. I assume my room is ready?”
“Oh, of course!” The woman opened a drawer just out of Celeste’s sight and fumbled with the room keys until she pulled one out, offering it with a smile that looked too large to be genuine. “You’ll be staying in our best suite. And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. We’re a small town, but we pride ourselves on making our guests feel like family.”
Celeste bit back a scathing response. Family wasn’t something she was interested in, nor was she here to indulge in sentimental gestures. She took the key, murmured a curt “thank you,” and turned on her heel, leaving the receptionist to wish her holiday cheer behind her.
In the solitude of her suite, Celeste let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The room was exactly as she’d expected—rusty, cozy, and irritatingly festive. She shrugged off her coat, folding it meticulously over the arm of a chair before glancing out the window. Below, the town moved at a slow, predictable pace. Last-minute holiday shoppers meandered between stores, their arms full of boxes and large bags, their faces bright with holiday joy.
Her phone buzzed, pulling her attention back to what actually mattered. She swiped it open, her eyes scanning theemail that had just come through. A reminder of the properties she still needed to assess. Ivy Greenwood’s bakery was at the top of the list—a key location for the new resort.
Her thumb hovered over the phone’s screen as she read the notes about the bakery. Family-owned for multiple generations, beloved community staple, historic building. She scoffed. It would be a shame for the town to lose it, no doubt, but progress waited for no one. The resort project had to move forward, and sentimentality wasn’t a factor in decisions like this.
The next morning, Celeste stood at the entrance of Greenwood Bakery, the small silver bell above the door chiming her arrival. The aroma of fresh pastries wrapped around her like a warm blanket, though she bristled against the comfort it might offer her. Behind the counter, a young woman with auburn curls and flour smudged on her cheek looked up, her smile faltering when she saw who had walked in.
Ivy Greenwood.
Celeste had already studied the files, of course, but the woman before her was a far cry from the usual business opponents she faced. There was something about Ivy’s open, hopeful expression that irked her, as if the young bakery owner couldn’t fathom what was coming.
“Can I help you?” Ivy asked, her voice warm, though there was a hint of a guarded tone underneath. She wiped her hands on her red-and-white checkered apron and took a step closer.
Celeste straightened, her business mask slipping effortlessly into place. “I’m here to discuss your property,” she said, the words clipped and direct. “It’s part of the redevelopment project.”
Ivy’s face froze for a split second, then something fierce sparked in her hazel eyes. “My property? What exactly do you mean by ‘redevelopment?’”
Celeste had seen this look a hundred times before. The initial disbelief, followed by anger and then, eventually, resignation. She kept her tone impassive. “The plans for the luxury resort include this location. I’m afraid it’s necessary to?—”
“Wait.” Ivy cut her off, stepping around the counter with surprising authority for someone so young. “You want to tear down my bakery? This place has been here for generations. It’s part of this town.”
Celeste resisted the urge to audibly sigh. It was always the same ritual. “I understand it holds sentimental value, but?—”
“Sentimental?” Ivy’s voice was sharp now, fury etched across her face. “This bakery isn’t just sentimental. It’s my livelihood. My family’s legacy.”
Celeste remained unmoved, her eyes scanning the small, homey space. The walls were adorned with framed black-and-white photos of past local events, and the counter was adorned with carefully arranged pastries, each more enticing than the last.
None of it mattered.
“I’ll have my team reach out to you with compensation offers,” she said, her tone final, as if the conversation were already over.
Ivy stood there, speechless, her flour-speckled hands balled into fists at her sides. “You think you can just walk in here, throw money at me, and I’ll just…what? Cower and walk away?”
Celeste’s gaze locked with Ivy’s, her icy composure unflinching. “That’s usually how it works.”
