Chapter 3
#SEVENAMSHOWDOWN
ADRIAN
Seven in the morning in Montana was an entirely different beast than seven in the morning in Los Angeles. I figured that was, at least in part, because it was so cold.
I was used to LA, where the city would already be humming—delivery trucks rumbling, coffee shops churning out espressos, the subways and busses packed with exhausted commuters.
I’d always been a morning person, a trait that had served me well in capturing that perfect morning golden hour content when most influencers were still asleep.
But in Legacy, 7:00 a.m. meant crystalline air that hurt to breathe, a sky still clinging to the last stars, and silence so profound it felt like the world was holding its breath.
As I trudged from my rental car toward the Pinecone Café, each footstep crunching in the fresh dusting of snow, I revised my assessment. It wasn’t just cold here; it was cold as fuck.
The kind of cold that didn’t just nip at your exposed skin but seemed to seep right through designer wool and find every vulnerable spot.
The kind of cold that made a man seriously question his life choices.
Not just agreeing to meet at this ungodly hour—though that was certainly part of it—but the entire concept.
“Twelve Dates of Christmas” had seemed brilliant yesterday.
This morning, with my face stinging and my rental cabin’s unfamiliar coffee still not hitting my system, the project felt as precarious as my overpriced boots on the icy sidewalk.
Overnight, my manager had sent a flurry of excited texts about the project. “Love the teaser!” Vic had enthused. “The luxury-meets-rustic angle is chef’s kiss. Nordique is already thrilled with the initial concept. Don’t fuck it up.”
I was trying very hard not to.
The Pinecone Café was exactly what I’d expected—a small clapboard building with a green-painted door, windows foggy with condensation, and a handful of pickup trucks in the parking lot.
The sign was hand-carved wood with pine tree accents.
Quaint. Cottage-y. Exhaustingly on-brand for a small mountain town.
I paused outside to compose myself, checking my reflection in the window.
My camel coat from yesterday had been swapped for Nordique’s signature navy parka with subtle gold accents—warm enough for Montana mornings but still photogenic.
My indigo-blue cashmere scarf remained, adding a pop of color for my early morning Instagram story.
I’d already posted a teaser about the project, and my engagement numbers had spiked overnight.
People loved a Christmas concept, and the idea of me—known for luxury hotels and cosmopolitan settings—roughing it in the wilderness had novelty appeal.
Apparently. If I could just pull off these twelve dates without completely destroying my brand positioning, Nordique would be thrilled.
The bell jingled cheerfully as I stepped inside and experienced a wave of sensory overload—the sizzle of bacon on a griddle, the scrape of forks against plates, the low murmur of conversations that momentarily paused as the door opened.
Several heads turned, locals briefly assessing the newcomer before returning to their conversations and plates of food. I spotted Maddox immediately, nursing a mug at a corner table, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he scrolled through his phone.
He looked up as I approached, his expression unreadable. “You’re late.”
I checked my phone. “It’s 7:02.”
“Around here, on time is late.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Coffee’s ordered.”
I slipped into the seat and unwound my scarf. “You been here long?”
“Long enough to go through the shot list for today.” He pushed a handwritten page across the table.
“I’ve scheduled your first date—Alexander Marian at the Marian Lodge for their annual hot chocolate tasting at ten.
Should give us an hour to get the establishing shots of town before that.
I have a tentative schedule set for the rest of your ‘dates,’ too. ”
I scanned the list, impressed despite myself. “You work fast.”
“Small town. Easy to arrange things.” Maddox took a sip of his coffee, eyes fixed on me over the rim. “Plus, Alex owes me a favor.”
“The owner of Timber is your first victim?” I raised an eyebrow, remembering the friendly, attractive man behind the bar. “He seems nice.”
“He is nice. Also gay, single, and photogenic as fuck.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Why aren’t you dating the guy?”
Maddox shrugged but failed to answer the question. “You wanted authentic Legacy experiences, and everyone loves Alex. Trust me, the local matchmaking network would have paired you with him eventually anyway.”
A server appeared with my coffee and two plates of what appeared to be breakfast—golden waffles topped with berries and a side of bacon for me and a towering stack of pancakes for Maddox.
“I didn’t order—” I began.
“I did. Sadie’s waffles are the best in three counties.” Maddox nodded at the server. “Consider it your first authentic Legacy experience.”
The woman grinned, and when she spoke, it was in a soft Texas drawl. “You boys let me know if you need anything else.”
“I don’t suppose you have… oat milk creamer?” I asked, gesturing at my coffee.
When she frowned apologetically, I waved it off and gave her a friendly smile. “Never mind. This is great! Thank you.”
When she left, I sighed. “If only the Wild West had oats.”
Maddox snorted.
I eyed my plate suspiciously. “I usually just have a protein shake in the mornings.”
“And I usually don’t start filming self-absorbed social media campaigns at dawn, yet here we are, adapting.” He pushed the plate closer to me. “Eat. We’ve got a long day ahead.”
I took a bite of waffle, if only to stop myself from responding with something equally cutting. The flavor caught me off guard—butter melted into every crevice, and the berries carried a tart sweetness that obviously didn’t come from a can. It was annoyingly, undeniably delicious.
“Okay,” I admitted after swallowing. “It’s… passable.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his face as I scarfed another bite. “Told you.”
We ate in surprisingly comfortable silence for a few minutes.
I used the opportunity to study him more carefully.
In the warm light of the café, Maddox Sullivan was even more attractive than I’d initially registered.
His dark hair was sleep-mussed, his jaw shadowed with stubble, and his gray eyes focused entirely on his food.
He wore a simple flannel shirt beneath a worn wool coat, practical jeans, and boots that had clearly seen years of actual mountain use rather than fashion runways.
He was the antithesis of the men I usually featured in my content—polished models and influencers who knew their angles and how to pose without direction. Maddox radiated genuineness in a way that made me simultaneously intrigued and jealous.
It was annoying as fuck that I’d taken twenty minutes getting camera-ready, and he’d managed to roll out of bed looking like a lumberjack thirst trap.
“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.
“I’m assessing,” I corrected, looking away. “You’ll be behind the camera, but you’re also my local guide. Your style will reflect on the project.”
He snorted. “My ‘style’ is functional and warm. Which yours should be, too, by the way.” He gestured to my outfit with his fork. “That fancy parka might look good, but it won’t cut it if we’re shooting outdoors all day.”
“It’s a Nordique Alpine Explorer,” I replied defensively. “Designed for extreme winter conditions.”
“Uh-huh. And those boots?”
I glanced down at my footwear—sleek, designer, and admittedly more suited to Milan Fashion Week than Montana wilderness. “They’re… transitional.”
Maddox rolled his eyes. “We’ll stop by the hardware store after breakfast. Get you some real boots.”
“I have plenty of—”
“Real. Boots.” He fixed me with a stare that brooked no argument. “I’m not dragging you out of a snowdrift when those glorified dress shoes fail you.”
“Fine.” I took another bite of waffle to hide my irritation.
“But anything I wear needs to feature Nordique prominently. That’s literally the point of this campaign.
” I couldn’t bring myself to admit Nordique didn’t sell winter boots.
I’d even tried to order the ones they used in their catalog shots but couldn’t find them on the boot brand’s website.
“Hence why I said we’d stop by the store. We sell fancy boots, but practical ones.” At my surprised look, he added, “Small town, remember? Sullivan Hardware has evolved. We carry everything from nails to high-end outdoor gear.”
He must have caught me staring at a man who’d just walked in wearing faded jeans, worn cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat because he grumbled, “And cowboy hats like that, if it’s what has you drooling.”
I blinked back at Maddox. “I was drooling over the pancakes, thank you very much. Just not sure I’ve seen an actual cowboy hat worn unironically before. That guy seems legit.”
He nodded. “Lennon Marian, cattle rancher. Owns a couple thousand acres outside of town. He’s Alex’s cousin. Stay for any amount of time in Legacy these days, and you’ll trip over a Marian.”
“So,” I said, forking another bite of pancake. “Tell me about Alex. What should I know before our date?”
Maddox’s expression shifted subtly, becoming more detached and professional.
“Alexander Marian. Moved here from California wine country a few years ago after his family started investing in Legacy. He runs Timber, which he renovated into a wine bar and gourmet pizza place a few years ago. He’s smart, friendly, loves the outdoors, makes the best wine pairings you’d never think of, and has an annoying habit of quoting obscure poetry when he drinks. ”
“Perfect,” I said, jotting notes. “Any topics to avoid?”
Maddox’s professional facade cracked, and a genuine smile appeared.
“Hmm. Our local fire chief and his random fire inspections? But I’m sure that won’t come up.
” He took a last bite of his breakfast. “Other than that, he’s an open book.
Just be yourself.” He paused, reconsidering.
“Actually, be a better version of yourself. The one that isn’t constantly thinking about camera angles and hashtags. ”
I ignored the jab. “And the hot chocolate tasting? What should I expect?”
“It’s a holiday meet-and-greet event put on by Alex’s family. The Marians bought the old Legacy Lodge and Inn about twenty years ago. It was historically significant to the town, but the town couldn’t afford to keep it up.”
He sat back and took a sip of coffee before continuing.
“As a gesture of goodwill, the family periodically opens up the main lodge for locals and tourists to visit, including offering these holiday hot cocoa flights. Over the years, the cocoa tasting has become a Legacy holiday tradition.” Maddox wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood.
“Ready? We should get those establishing shots while the light’s still good. ”
The next two hours passed in a blur of activity. True to his word, Maddox first dragged me to Sullivan Hardware, where he outfitted me with proper winter boots that, to my surprise, were actually the ones I’d tried to find. They were perfect—rugged but stylish enough to work on camera.
“These aren’t on their website,” I murmured, noticing they were more comfortable and warmer than they appeared.
“Limited distribution,” Maddox explained. “They test certain lines in specialty mountain shops before wider release.”
“That’s actually perfect for the campaign. Exclusive access is always good content. You could get some online orders if you have a shop set up.”
He didn’t bother responding with more than a huff of frustration, presumably due to the fact that I dared imply his business wasn’t fully modernized.
Properly equipped, we spent the morning capturing footage around town—the Christmas decorations along Founder’s Row, the historic buildings with their fresh blanket of snow, locals going about their morning routines.
Maddox’s instincts as a photographer were undeniable.
Where I would have staged carefully posed shots of quaint storefronts, he captured a pair of elderly men playing chess through a steamy café window, their weathered hands moving pieces with deliberate precision.
When I suggested a standard shot of the town’s Christmas tree, he instead directed me to a low angle that framed it against the mountains, making it appear to touch the sky.
Maddox was surprisingly skilled, catching moments I would have missed, finding angles that showcased Legacy’s charm without veering into cliché.
By nine thirty, we’d amassed enough B-roll to establish the setting, and I was feeling optimistic about the day ahead. We returned to my rental car to stow some equipment and check our phones before heading to the lodge for my first official date.
None of my messages or missed calls were urgent, but Maddox frowned at his screen.
“Problem?” I asked.
“Little bit.” He typed something quickly, then pocketed his phone and glanced back at me. “Alex can’t make it. We’re short one date for your date video.”
I felt a beat of disappointment before feeling unexpected excitement come over me like the Grinch’s slow grin.
“I know where we can find a stand-in. He’s grumpy as hell, but he’ll look good in front of the camera despite the scowl.”
Maddox’s eyes widened before narrowing again. The narrowing did something to his whole face—made it sharper, more dangerous… and unfairly hot. The scowl in question was present and accounted for. “Not on your life. Remember rule three?”
I smiled brilliantly. “Rules were meant to be broken, Maddox.”
#FuckRule3 #GrumpyButCute #HotCocoaHotWater