Chapter Two
Gil
I HADN'T EXPECTED HER to bid.
The gorgeous redhead from the food truck—the one who'd been glaring at my resort for months—had just spent eight hundred and forty-seven dollars to win me at a charity auction. Now she was sitting in my Range Rover as we pulled away from Heartstone Square, and I couldn't stop glancing at her.
Snow fell in fat, lazy flakes against the windshield.
Ruby's profile was striking in the dashboard light—the slope of her nose, those light freckles, the way she worried her bottom lip slightly as she looked out the window.
Her hands gripped her purse a little too tightly. Nervous, maybe. I found that endearing.
I'd noticed her before, obviously. Hard not to when someone parks their truck fifty yards from your main entrance. But we'd never actually spoken. Never been closer than opposite sides of a parking lot.
And now I had her for an entire weekend.
Six months of watching her from a distance, wanting this chance. And now she'd chosen me.
Beautiful. Intriguing. And mine for the weekend.
"So," I said, keeping my tone casual. "How long have you had Rise & Grind?"
"About six months." She turned to look at me with a slight smile. "It's been quite the adventure."
"You like it? The business side of things?"
She shrugged, the smile widening slightly. "It has its moments. Gets me out among people, lets me do what I love. Can't complain too much."
"What about you?" she asked, turning the conversation back to me. "You're not from here originally, right?"
"Colorado. Denver, then Boulder for business school. Spent the last twenty years moving around—wherever the properties were. This is my first real home in a long time."
"That must be nice," she said. "Putting down roots somewhere."
We pulled up to the main entrance of The Pinnacle. The building was lit up against the snow—warm golden light spilling from the windows, the stone and timber facade I'd spent months perfecting.
Ruby's breath caught. "Wow. It's gorgeous."
"Want a quick tour?" I asked. "Or we can head straight to the cabin."
"Tour," she said, and when she looked at me, there was genuine interest in those green eyes. "Show me what you've done."
I led her into the main lobby, my hand finding the small of her back as we stepped through the doors. She didn't pull away. Leaned into it slightly, even.
The stone fireplace dominated the space—massive, hand-built, the heart of the original building.
I'd made sure it stayed exactly as it was, just cleaned and restored.
Around it, everything else gleamed with careful renovation.
Leather furniture, local timber accents, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the mountain views.
"We used as many local materials as possible," I explained, gesturing around the space. "Sustainable practices, eco-friendly upgrades. The goal was to bring the property into the modern era while respecting what was here before."
Ruby turned slowly, taking it all in. When she looked back at me, there was something softer in her expression. "It's really well done. You can tell someone cared about the details."
"I can show you more tomorrow in daylight," I offered. "The ski runs, the spa, the guest cabins. But for now..." I nodded toward the back exit. "My place is this way."
We walked through snow-covered paths, pine trees heavy with white.
The air was sharp and clean, cold enough to see our breath.
Ruby walked beside me, close enough that our arms brushed occasionally.
At six-two, I was used to women feeling small next to me, but Ruby—barely over five feet—fit perfectly under my arm when I guided her around an icy patch.
My cabin sat tucked among the pines, private and separate from the guest accommodations. Lights glowed through the windows—staff had been through earlier to prep everything.
"Let me grab your bag," I said, reaching for her overnight bag.
"Such a gentleman," she said, and there was flirtation in her voice.
Inside, the fire was already crackling. "Make yourself at home," I said, nodding toward the living area. "I'll just put this in the guest room for you."
I carried her bag down the hall, set it on the bed in the guest room, made sure she had fresh towels in the attached bathroom. When I returned to the main space, Ruby was standing at the back windows, silhouetted against the glass.
"Come here," I said. "You can see it better from this angle."
She crossed to where I stood, and I pointed through the windows. Steam rose from the hot tub on the back deck, mountains dark shapes beyond.
"Now that," she said, moving closer to me, "is quite the setup."
The proximity was doing things to my pulse. She smelled good—something light and sweet that made me want to lean closer.
"Wine?" I asked, needing something to do with my hands. "Or I have champagne, if you're feeling celebratory."
"Wine sounds perfect."
I poured two glasses while she shed her coat, draping it over the back of a chair. The dusty rose sweater underneath clung to her curves in a way that made it hard to focus on not overfilling the glasses.
When I handed her the wine, she held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary, her fingers brushing mine as she took the glass. "Thank you."
We settled on the couch by the fire. She curled into the corner, angling toward me, looking more relaxed than I'd seen her yet.
"So," she said, sipping her wine, "what made you agree to be auctioned off? You don't seem like the type to enjoy being put on display."
I laughed. "Evelyn Hartwood is persistent. And honestly? A little terrifying."
Ruby's laugh was genuine, lighting up her whole face. "She really is. I think half the town is scared of her."
"Only half?"
"The other half just hasn't met her yet." She set her glass down, shifting slightly closer. "But seriously. What made you say yes?"
"The cause matters," I said. "The veterans' center needed help. And Evelyn made a compelling case that this would raise more money than a silent auction."
"She was right," Ruby said, her eyes sparkling. "Were you nervous up there?"
"A little," I admitted. "Not exactly my comfort zone."
"You didn't look nervous. You looked..." She paused, considering. "Confident. Like you knew exactly what you were doing."
"I was focused on you."
The words came out more honest than I'd intended, but she didn't seem to mind. Her smile widened.
"Good answer."
We talked easier after that. She asked about the resort, seemed genuinely interested in how I'd renovated the property. I asked about her food truck business, and she told me about building her customer base, her favorite pastries to make.
I'd told myself for years I didn't need this kind of connection—the easy conversation, the shared laughter, someone who made me want to stay. But sitting here with Ruby, I found myself not wanting the night to end.
"You know," she said after we'd been talking for a while, "you know what would be perfect right now? Something chocolate. Something sweet and indulgent." She gestured toward the kitchen with a playful smile. "It is Valentine's weekend after all. You have chocolate in that fancy kitchen of yours?"
"Should have some in the pantry."
She uncurled from the couch, stretching in a way that made my mouth go dry. "Perfect. Let me see what we can make."
I followed her into the kitchen, watching as she opened the refrigerator and scanned the contents with an expert eye.
"Valentine's weekend," she mused, pulling out strawberries. "We should make something appropriate."
She found chocolate in the pantry, along with cocoa powder, and started gathering items on the counter. "Chocolate-covered strawberries. Easy and decadent."
"You sure? I don't want you to have to work—"
"I want to," she said, glancing at me with a smile. "Besides, you've never tried my food. Time to fix that, don't you think?"
Hard to argue with that logic.
She moved through my kitchen with the confidence of someone who knew her way around professional equipment. Rinsing strawberries, setting up a double boiler for melting chocolate, arranging everything with quick efficiency.
"Where did you learn to work a kitchen like that?" I asked, leaning against the counter.
"Le Cordon Bleu," she said, not looking up from the chocolate she was stirring. "In Paris. Two years of training."
My eyebrows rose. "That's impressive."
"Best and worst decision of my life," she said lightly.
"Why worst?"
"Long story." She glanced up with a quick smile. "Involves a cheating ex and some burned bridges in Denver. I'll spare you the details."
"Fair enough." I watched her hands work. "You could always look for restaurant work again."
"Maybe. Or maybe I'll open my own place someday. When I figure out how to make that happen."
The way she said it made me want to help somehow, but I kept that thought to myself. Too soon for that conversation.
"Here," she said, moving closer. "Let me show you how to do this."
She guided my hands, showing me how to dip the strawberries just right, how to twist them so the chocolate coated evenly. Her smaller hands corrected my grip, her body close enough that I could feel the heat of her.
"You're good at this," I said, my voice coming out lower than I'd intended.
"I love baking. Cooking. There's something about working with your hands.
" Her voice took on a wistful quality as she continued dipping strawberries.
"Imagine a real kitchen—not a food truck, but a proper professional kitchen with a full team.
Where you're creating warm croissants by the hundred, not the dozen.
Where you have a pastry team executing your vision, and the equipment to make anything you can dream up.
The kind of place where you're not just surviving—you're creating art that people remember. "
The longing in her voice was unmistakable.
"Sounds like you miss working at that level," I said, watching her face.