Chapter 19
#DEALSORFEELZ
ADRIAN
I woke up in stages—first to the sensation of warmth, then to the soft rasp of the world’s scratchiest sheets against my skin, and finally to the realization that it was Maddox Sullivan’s chest hair tickling my cheek in the most perfect way imaginable.
Snow fell steadily outside the bedroom window, muffling the sounds of Legacy waking up.
The only noise was the distant hum of the hardware store’s ancient heating system and Maddox’s steady breathing beneath my ear.
His arm was wrapped around my waist, holding me against him like I might disappear if he loosened his grip.
I didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to break whatever spell had been cast over this small apartment above Sullivan Hardware, where mismatched furniture somehow felt more welcoming than any five-star hotel I’d ever stayed in.
Where the scent of cedar soap and coffee and something indefinably Maddox made me feel safer than I could remember feeling in years.
This was what I’d been missing in my life. Not just the sex—though Christ, that had been incredible—but this. The quiet intimacy of shared space. The weight of another person’s arm around me, keeping me tethered to something real.
It had been seven days since the first time I’d shared this bed with him. Seven days since the night he’d invited me into his home and into his life.
In that time, we’d filmed four more dates for the project—including ice skating with Fannin (Maddox’s least favorite date), cookie making (Maya’s favorite), the barn dance at Nate’s place (my favorite because he’d been possessive as fuck), and Sullivan Hardware’s Holiday Open House just last night, where I’d been voluntold to play Santa for the kids in full beard and padding (which made it Maddox’s favorite).
Almost every night, we ended up together at his place or mine.
Maya was insufferably smug these days, but I’d overheard Maddox reminding her several times that this was only temporary.
Only temporary.
While the words were true—if I stuck to my original plan, I’d be leaving in just three days—the reminder had stung every time. With each passing day, I felt more and more at home in this quirky little town and with this warm, down-to-earth family.
Maddox stirred, his hand moving to brush across my cheek. “Morning, Santa,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
I tilted my head to look at him. His dark hair was standing up at odd angles, and there was a crease from the pillow across his left cheek. He looked rumpled and warm and completely open. Not a wall in sight.
“Morning,” I whispered back, not wanting to break the spell of quiet that surrounded us.
He leaned down to press a soft kiss to the top of my head, and I felt myself melt into even more of a ridiculous puddle than I already was.
“Coffee?” he asked, shifting to sit up.
“Only if you promise not to judge my inability to function before I get it down.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, city boy. This isn’t my first morning serving at the pleasure of Adrian Hayes’s caffeine addiction.”
Twenty minutes later, we were in his small kitchen, moving around each other with surprising ease. He handed me a mug that read “Duct Tape Saves Lives,” while he claimed one that said “I survived driving school. As the teacher.”
“Is that yours, or was it your parents’?” I asked, accepting the perfectly brewed coffee with gratitude.
“Mine. I will forever carry the scars from teaching my sister how to drive.” Maddox moved to the small stove, already reaching for eggs from the refrigerator. “We finally have some time for me to make you breakfast instead of grabbing something at the Pinecone.”
“You going to cook for me, Sullivan?”
“Only if you like eggs,” he said with a wink. “Fair warning: I’m about to show off.”
I leaned against the counter, content to watch him work. True to his word, he flipped the eggs with unnecessary flair, sending them spinning in the air before catching them perfectly in the pan.
“The man has hidden talents,” I accused, grinning into my coffee.
“Years of practice. Dad used to do the same thing every Sunday morning.” His smile softened at the memory. “Maya always insisted he was going to drop them on the floor eventually, but he never did.”
I moved to the toaster, determined to contribute something to our breakfast. “Well, prepare to be equally impressed by my toast-making skills.”
“This should be good,” Maddox said, not even trying to hide his amusement. “Do you remember what Chief Kincaid taught you last week about fire safety? Do you need me to pull up the footage?”
Five minutes later, the smoke alarm was going off, and I was staring at two pieces of what could generously be called charcoal.
“Nailed it,” I announced, waving a dish towel at the alarm until it stopped shrieking.
Maddox’s laughter filled the small kitchen. “You’re a disaster, Hayes.”
“A very sexy disaster,” I corrected, moving to wrap my arms around his waist from behind. “Besides, now you get to rescue me with your superior bread-toasting abilities.”
“My hero complex thanks you for the opportunity,” he said, leaning back against me.
For a moment, I let myself imagine this being routine. Waking up tangled together every morning. Burning toast while he made perfect eggs. Fighting over who got the last of the coffee. It felt so natural, so right, that the wanting of it was almost painful.
I’d never had anything like this. But I’d dreamed about it for a very long time.
The fantasy was interrupted by the sharp buzz of my phone from the bedroom. I ignored it, pressing my face into the space between Maddox’s shoulder blades and breathing in the scent of his skin.
The phone buzzed again. Then again.
“You should probably get that,” Maddox said gently. It wasn’t the first time he’d pointed out messages I’d tried my best to ignore. I’d been blowing off many of my responsibilities, including updates from Vic, for days now. Reality had no place here in my winter fantasyland.
“It can wait.” But even as I said it, it buzzed again. And again. My phone only went off like that for emergencies or career opportunities. Given that I was three thousand miles from any emergencies, it had to be the latter.
The thought made my stomach clench.
“Go,” Maddox said, turning in my arms to kiss my forehead. “I’ll rescue the toast situation. But first—” He gestured toward the kitchen window, where a large box truck had just pulled up. “Looks like we’ve got an unexpected delivery downstairs. Give me ten minutes?”
I nodded, watching him grab his phone and disappear down the stairs. As soon as he was gone, I padded to the bedroom and picked up my phone with the same enthusiasm I’d have for handling a live snake.
Seven missed calls from Vic. Twelve text messages. And one email marked “URGENT” from Nordique’s marketing director.
My hands were shaking as I opened Vic’s most recent text:
Vic
CALL ME NOW. This is it, babe. This is everything we’ve been working for.
I hit his number before I could talk myself out of it.
“Adrian! Jesus, I thought you’d fallen off a mountain or something.” Vic’s voice was practically vibrating with excitement. “Tell me you’re sitting down.”
“I’m standing. Just tell me.”
“Nordique wants to lock you in for a year-long exclusive deal. Global campaigns, resort partnerships, the works. But that’s not even the big news.”
I sank onto the edge of the bed, Maddox’s scent still clinging to the rumpled sheets. “What’s the big news?”
“The Solenne Collection wants you as their global brand ambassador. Permanent position, Adrian. Not a campaign—a career. Luxury hotels worldwide, first-class everything, unlimited travel budget. They’re calling it ‘Elevated Wandering,’ and they want your face on it.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. This was it. This was everything I’d worked for, everything I’d built my entire adult life around. Global recognition. Financial security. The kind of career that most influencers could only dream of.
“They want an answer by Friday,” Vic continued. “Which gives us time to negotiate terms, but Adrian… this is life-changing money. This is a legacy-building opportunity. You’d be everywhere.”
Everywhere.
I looked around Maddox’s small bedroom—at the quilt his sister had picked out for him, at the photo of his parents on the nightstand, at the view of Founder’s Row covered in fresh snow and the few eager holiday shoppers already wandering along the shoveled sidewalks.
This quiet, simple life that had somehow started to feel more real than anything I’d experienced in years.
“Adrian? You still there?”
“Yeah,” I managed. “I’m here.”
“This is what we worked so hard for,” Vic said, his voice softer now. “All those years of grinding, of building your platform, of proving yourself. This is why we did it.”
I didn’t love his easy use of the term “we.” Yes, he’d worked hard to procure many of my gigs, but I’d been the one to miss a connecting flight to Paris during a torrential rainstorm in Amsterdam, try to find an urgent care in Puerto Vallarta when I was sick with the flu, and get hit on by an aggressive hotel manager in Miami. All while #KeepingItReal.
The truth was, this job was a lot. Traveling all the time was exhausting. Social media followers were fickle. And platform algorithms were constantly changing.
But this was my job. Vic was right. I’d worked damned hard to be successful at it. And now, I’d finally gotten the recognition I’d wanted.
“Thanks, Vic,” I said, meaning it. “I… I’ll get back to you. I’m not sure what, ah… direction I want to go in.”