Chapter 5 First Date #2
“It’s like drinking a warm hug wrapped in cashmere,” I enthused. “The way the vanilla notes complement the richness of the chocolate is absolutely—”
Maddox set down his mug with a decisive thunk. “Let’s not get carried away. It’s good, but I remain steadfastly loyal to my grandmother’s own recipe. No offense, Mrs. Marian.”
She laughed warmly. “None taken. Your grandmother’s Christmas open house was the inspiration for our hot cocoa mornings.”
As she wandered off to grab our next round, I focused back on Maddox. “Was this an open house at the hardware store?”
“Another annual tradition featuring the Sullivan family recipe. Been served at the hardware store’s Christmas open house for over fifty years.” He wiped his lips carefully, checking for more rogue whipped cream. “She used real dark chocolate and a pinch of cayenne pepper for depth.”
“Sounds delicious. Tell me about it.”
His expression softened slightly. “It was my favorite day of the year growing up. The store would be transformed—lights everywhere, pine garlands on the counters, Mr. Peterson—the elder Mr. Peterson—dressed as Santa. And my grandmother standing behind a giant pot of hot chocolate, making sure every kid in town got a candy cane and a full mug.”
I could picture it vividly—the hardware store transformed into a winter wonderland, young Maddox wide-eyed at the magic of it all.
For a moment, I felt a pang of something like envy.
My own childhood Christmases had been elegant, formal affairs with catered food and professionally wrapped presents.
The kind of Christmases that photographed beautifully but rarely featured in any stories I told.
Nothing as messy or warm as what Maddox described.
The warmth in his voice was captivating. I found myself genuinely interested, the practiced conversation topics forgotten.
“And you still do it?”
His smile faded a little. “We try. It’s not the same without my parents, but Maya and I keep it going. Tradition matters, you know?”
I nodded, unsure how to respond to the unexpected vulnerability. The casual mention of his parents’ absence hung in the air between us. I wanted to ask what had happened but sensed it wasn’t the right moment. He struck me as someone who wouldn’t want to reveal too much on camera.
Before I could formulate a reply, Mrs. Marian arrived with the second round of hot chocolates—these topped with homemade marshmallows and chocolate shavings.
“Mexican chocolate,” she announced. “Cinnamon, vanilla, and a hint of chili.”
The moment broken, we returned to the tasting.
As we progressed through the flight, Maddox gradually relaxed, his commentary becoming less grudging and more animated.
He had strong opinions about the white chocolate peppermint (too sweet), enthusiastic praise for the dark chocolate orange (surprisingly complex), and outright skepticism about the final offering—a lavender-infused concoction with gold-dusted marshmallows.
“Fair warning,” Mrs. Marian teased before leaving us to the final tasting. “This one’s a little out-there, but it was a special request sent in via my granddaughter’s social media account by several fans of the tasting.”
After she’d moved far enough away to be out of earshot, Maddox made a face.
“This,” he declared, eyeing the purple-tinted drink like it had personally insulted his heritage, “is exactly what’s wrong with Instagram culture. Nobody needs edible gold or flowers in their hot chocolate. It’s pretentious nonsense.”
I laughed despite myself. “Not a fan of the nontraditional aesthetic?”
“It’s hot chocolate, not a fashion statement. It should taste good, not just look good in photos.”
“You know,” I said, leaning closer, “for someone who claims to hate social media, you seem to have a lot of opinions about it.”
“I have opinions about everything,” he retorted. “Ask anyone in town.”
“Oh, I plan to. I’m making a spreadsheet of ‘Maddox Sullivan’s Grumpy Opinions’ as we speak. I’m guessing by the end of our twelve dates, I’ll have enough material for a coffee table book.”
His lips twitched, fighting a smile. “Your dates,” he corrected. “Not our dates.”
“Our dates since you will definitely be there,” I corrected with a grin. “And if you thought I was implying something more than that, don’t flatter yourself, Sullivan.”
“Like I’d date someone who needs outdoor wear with fancy labels when the weather’s barely below freezing,” he shot back.
“Says the man who’s been checking out my fancy-labeled ass since yesterday.”
Maddox choked on his hot chocolate. “I have not—”
“Let’s circle back to this pretentious hot chocolate,” I interrupted, taking pity on him as his face turned crimson. “Is your objection to lavender specifically or all flowers in beverages? What’s your stance on chamomile tea? Discuss.”
“Don’t try to distract me with tea politics,” he growled, but I could see the humor in his eyes now.
Something about the banter felt easy, natural, as if we’d known each other longer than the mere day it had been.
I found myself forgetting we were on camera, forgetting the carefully constructed talking points, forgetting everything except the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he was trying not to smile.
I sat back and tapped the side of my mug, which seemed to be hand-thrown pottery, similar to a few pieces I’d seen at the gallery the other day. “There’s nothing wrong with making ordinary things beautiful. That’s what photography does, isn’t it? Finds the beauty in the everyday?”
Maddox studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. “There’s a difference between finding beauty and manufacturing it.”
“Is there? Or is it just snobbery in reverse—looking down on something because it’s polished rather than raw?”
He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, genuinely considering the question.
“Maybe,” he admitted finally. “Maybe my issue is more with showing the sunshiny, filtered version of something instead of making the effort to find the true beauty below the surface. Real authenticity as opposed to…” He hesitated. “Hashtag authenticity.”
“Authentic. There’s that word again,” I murmured, holding his gaze.
His smoky eyes offered more temptation than any of the hot chocolate varieties had.
I tried to stay focused. “What is authentic, really? If I genuinely enjoy this ridiculous, overly complex, lavender hot chocolate, isn’t that authentic?
Even if I also think it would look great in a filtered photo on my Instagram? ”
“The problem isn’t enjoying it,” he said slowly. “It’s changing the entire experience to make it photographable. It’s the difference between capturing life and staging it.”
“So you’ve never repositioned a subject for better light? Never asked someone to move slightly to improve composition?” I raised an eyebrow. “Because that sounds an awful lot like staging to me.”
Maddox smiled—a real smile that reached his eyes and transformed his face from merely handsome to devastating. My heart did a stupid triple-thunk before stuttering back to a normal rhythm.
“Touché, Hayes. Maybe you’re not completely superficial after all.”
“High praise indeed.” I returned his smile, surprised by how good it felt to crack through his defenses. “And maybe you’re not a completely judgmental asshole.”
“Don’t bet on it,” he warned, but the warmth in his eyes belied the gruffness of his tone.
“I still have eleven more ‘dates’ to prove you wrong.” His finger quotes drew my attention to his strong hands.
The kind of hands that snuck unbidden images into my head.
Things he could do to me with those hands if given the chance.
I cleared my throat. “Eleven more dates to change your mind about me, you mean,” I corrected, raising my mug in a toast.
Maddox clinked his mug against mine. “We’ll see who converts whom.”
Maya cleared her throat loudly. “Um, guys? We about done, or do you want to keep doing… whatever this is?”
The sound of other conversations and clinking mugs nearby seemed to burst the strange bubble we’d been in. I’d completely forgotten about the camera or the hot chocolate tasting.
Judging by Maddox’s startled expression, so had he.
“Right.” I straightened, professional mask sliding back into place.
“So that concludes our tour of the Marian family’s famous hot chocolate flight, the perfect holiday indulgence for visitors to Legacy, Montana.
Stay tuned for my next ‘Twelve Dates of Christmas’ adventure!
And a special thanks to Nordique for hooking me up with their delicious merino Selwyn trousers and what has to be the softest cashmere sweater I’ve ever worn.
” I held out my arm to show the sweater off to the lens.
Maddox surprised me by reaching over to run a hand up my forearm. “That is nice,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “My father had a Nordique fisherman’s sweater passed down from his father. It didn’t feel like this, though.”
I swallowed. “It’s, ah… it’s the Calden crewneck,” I said, trying to take advantage of the unexpected product-focused moment. “It also comes in a gorgeous mossy-green color.”
He blinked at me and stood up, scraping his chair against the wooden floor. “Cut. That’s… that’s good. Got what we needed. I should check in on Alex, make sure he’s okay.” He pulled out his phone, avoiding eye contact. “Maya, can you help pack up while I make this call?”
Without waiting for a response, he strode toward the door, already dialing as he went.
Maya watched him go, then turned to me with a raised eyebrow. “So that was…”
“A good start to the series,” I finished professionally, despite my confusion over Maddox’s behavior. “Your brother has a natural camera presence. Once he takes the stick out of his ass.”
“Uh-huh.” Her tone was heavy with implication. “That’s one thought. Another is that what the two of you just shot was the most chemistry I’ve seen my brother have with anyone since… well, ever.”
I felt heat rising in my cheeks and blamed it on the fire. “We were playing to the camera. That’s what content creation is—manufacturing moments that resonate.”
“You know he still has that sweater,” she said in a softer tone. “He keeps it in his desk at the store like a lucky charm. I didn’t realize it was Nordique. That’s kind of cool.”
Before I could respond, Maddox returned, his expression thunderous. “Alex isn’t answering. But Ella just texted to check how the shoot went, which is interesting, considering she was the one supposedly going over to nurse Alex.”
Maya suddenly became very interested in packing up the camera equipment.
“What are you saying?” I asked.
Maddox’s eyes narrowed. “I’m saying something is fishy about his last-minute cancellation.” He turned to his sister. “Maya, do you know anything about this?”
“Me?” She blinked innocently. “Why would I know anything?”
“Because you and Rosie Marian have been known to pull… shenanigans.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Maya protested, though her cheeks flushed tellingly.
“Maybe Alex really is sick. Or maybe he got a better offer. Or maybe the universe just wanted you two to have hot chocolate together. Cosmic alignment. Serendipity. Whatever. Don’t blame your adorable sister or her beloved former babysitter. ”
Maddox looked unconvinced. “You have five minutes to strengthen your defenses against a detailed interrogation,” he promised his sister before turning back to me. “I promise I’ll arrange a backup plan for your next date.”
I blinked. “What kind of backup plan?”
“In case we have another mysterious cancellation.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure the guy was just under the weather. Besides—” I gestured between us. “—this worked well. The footage will be good—honest reactions, genuine conversation. If tomorrow’s date falls through, we could always—”
“No,” Maddox said firmly. “Absolutely not. Today was a onetime emergency solution.”
“But—”
“No buts. I’m the videographer, not the date. That was the deal. Rule number three, remember? And today’s rule about only allowing one exception to that rule?”
I raised my hands in surrender. “Fine. Just trying to keep things simple.”
Maya coughed something that sounded suspiciously like “missed opportunity.”
Maddox ignored her. “We’ll meet Wednesday at nine at the Pinecone to coordinate.
Emerson’s Christmas Tree Farm opens at ten, and your date—a local firefighter named Marco—will meet us there.
” He emphasized the name as if daring the universe to interfere again.
“I’ll confirm again before I go to bed tonight. ”
“Sounds perfect,” I said, gathering my things while trying not to think of Maddox Sullivan in bed. “Nine it is.”
As we left the lodge, Maya fell into step beside me while Maddox walked ahead, texting furiously—presumably still trying to reach Alex.
“For what it’s worth,” she said quietly, “I think your followers are going to love what we got.”
“Thanks.” And that was my only purpose here, so nothing else mattered anyway. At least, that’s what I told myself as I tried unsuccessfully to tear my gaze away from Maddox’s retreating figure.
I watched Maddox’s ass as he leaned over to put his equipment into their truck and found myself replaying our conversation by the fire—the unexpected depth beneath Maddox’s gruff exterior, the way his eyes had lit up when talking about his grandmother’s hot chocolate.
For the first time since arriving in Legacy, I felt myself relax a little. Even when things went wrong, they seemed to work out okay. So far, we’d managed to avert a crisis at every turn.
And averting a crisis with Maddox Sullivan wasn’t so bad. In fact, spending time staring at him across the table while his face softened into memory or tightened in challenge had actually been pretty amazing.
I quickly pushed that thought aside. You’re here for content, Adrian. Nordique. Career trajectory, remember? Not about gawping over pretty assholes. Remember what Vic said, and don’t fuck this up.
But as I watched Maddox help Maya into the passenger seat, his strong hands moving with surprising gentleness, I couldn’t help but wonder if Legacy, Montana, might offer me more than pretty pictures after all.
#WhippedCreamOnTheNose #ReluctantlyAuthentic #TouchTheCashmereAgain #EyeCrinkleKryptonite