Mr. Snowman (It Happened)

Chapter 1 Allergic to Christmas

ALLERGIC TO CHRISTMAS

LILAH CHILDS

By the time my rental car crawled up the last mile of switchback road toward Snow Quest Ski Lodge in Steele Valley, my fingers had frozen into claw-shapes around the steering wheel. I did not do well with roads that looked like a pack of crazy elves had designed them.

As my reward at the top, the beautiful lodge rose up out of the snow like something from a luxury-travel website. With details like stone, glass, and timber, warm lights glowing from the lobby invited me in. Icicles dripped off the roof as if auditioning for a picturesque Christmas card.

Too bad I was basically allergic to the holiday. My stomach tightened. Don’t think about the past.

Inside, the lobby of the lodge smelled like pine and fresh paint. A massive chandelier of antler-shaped crystal hung in the center above a crew wrestling a Christmas tree into place beneath it. Twenty feet tall at least.

The check-in desk gleamed with lacquered wood.

A woman with an HR badge popped out from behind it, smiling like she’d been waiting for me.

“Lilah Childs, you’re here! Welcome to Snow Quest Lodge and Ski Resort.” Toni stuck out her hand.

We’d talked through interviews over Zoom since the day she contacted me out of the blue about this position. I had no idea how she’d found me, but I’d been grateful enough not to ask too many questions.

Bright and wide-eyed behind her glasses, she’d kept everything pinned up and professional on video. In person, she wore jeans and a sweater, hair loose like she’d embraced the mountain truth that comfort came first.

“I’m so glad you could start today despite the storm,” she continued.

“Storm?” I echoed.

“Just look around.” She gestured at the chaos—boxes, ladders, people hauling decorations like their lives depended on tinsel.

“Two weeks until opening day, and we’re still a mess.

Like a storm of our own making.” Her laugh came out nervously.

“But somehow we’ll have everything ready by New Year’s Day. Follow me.”

She led me through a door behind the front desk, into a set of offices. A handful of cubicles sat out in the middle, and a few doors of offices held brass plaques—CFO, HR, and I assumed the General Manager’s, too, down at the corner of the space where the best view probably existed.

“We’re so glad you’re joining us. Ridley, who will be your assistant chef, has been going nuts trying to put together the opening week menu. I’m afraid her talents lie more in the supporting role,” she stated under her breath as if for my ears only.

“Don’t worry. I’m ready to dig in and get it all sorted out.”

“Perfect.” She led me inside her office, where a clipboard waited with my employment contract, NDA, staff housing assignment, and a crisp new name badge.

As she went over some basics of employment, I only half listened. My fingertips traced the badge, and my throat tightened. Chef Childs. For a split second, hope fluttered anew. This could be it. The place where I’d prove myself once again, and my phone would start ringing with opportunity.

I signed the employment contract Toni placed before me without another thought.

“Welcome aboard,” Toni said brightly. “Here’s the keycard to your suite upstairs until your employee accommodations are ready.

The construction crew is behind on finishing staff cabins thanks to all the snow we’ve been hit with, but I have no doubt you’ll enjoy staying here at the lodge as long as it takes.

” She smiled. “Now—let me bring in the owner. He wants to greet you personally.”

“The owner?” My knee started bouncing before I could stop it.

Toni’s grin widened. “Don’t worry. He’s excited to have you on board. He’s very hands-on around here.”

I’d researched my new employer just enough to make sure there were no obvious red flags. During interviews, I’d met Toni and Charles, the CFO. The Quest Company website didn’t name an owner but sold luxury ski packages to anyone with money in New York and beyond.

Toni pressed a button on her desk phone. “Mr. West? Chef Childs is here.”

“W-west?” I stuttered. No. Could it be…?

The door swung open, and in walked Holden West.

My stomach dropped—annoyingly, butterflies fluttered to life there, too, resurrected from the dead. Not him. Anyone but him.

His woodsy bergamot cologne hit the room first, like it was determined to bulldoze my defenses. It almost worked. But I’d spent years building a wall; it would take more than his sudden reappearance to knock it down.

I hardly recognized him with his hair longer, windswept and messy.

A dark mustache and beard hid the dimples I remembered.

Rugged now in flannel, he looked nothing like the clean-cut groomsman in a tailored suit I’d met five years ago—Brad’s old friend, smiling in the background right before my wedding day had imploded… partly thanks to him.

When his gaze landed on me, it should not have been as warm as it was. Yet there he stood—six-foot-something of masculine trouble, a sly smile on his mouth, and unfairly sexy as sin.

“Lilah.” His voice was too deep and familiar, dragging up feelings I didn’t want. “I’m glad you’re here. I had hoped Toni would finally wear you down and persuade you to join our team. Merry early Christmas to me.”

I stood so fast the chair squeaked. “You’re the owner?”

He had the audacity to grin. “Surprise.”

“No, absolutely not.” I snatched the contract from the desk. “I’m not working for you.”

Holden’s smile vanished. “Lilah—”

“Nope.” I attempted to rip the contract in half. Damn premium paper. “This was a mistake.”

Toni gasped softly. “Oh, Chef Childs—”

“Toni,” Holden said, tone gentle but firm, “would you give the chef and me a minute, please?”

“Yes, sir.” She gave me a sympathetic twitch of her lips and slipped out, closing the door behind her.

I spun on Holden. “I can’t work for you—”

“Calm down.” His voice stayed infuriatingly controlled. “I went to great lengths to find you. When I built this resort and restaurant, there was only one chef I wanted at the helm. You.”

I snorted and planted my hands on my hips. “Right. You want a washed-up has-been leading what I’m sure was a hefty investment into this lodge with your first foray as a restauranteur? What are you expecting, miracles?”

“I know your talent. I believe in you. That’s it.” He crossed to the window and peered out, hands in pockets.

Why did my eyes drop to his perfect ass? I turned away to avoid it. Oh God. This wasn’t happening.

Holden’s tone gentled. “I didn’t expect you’d say yes.”

“Who wouldn’t take a job like this with the pay and benefits offered?” I snapped. “Especially someone like me, who hasn’t seen a serious offer in I don’t know how long. But if I’d known it came from you—”

“You wouldn’t have taken it.” He exhaled, slow and turned back to side-eye me. “Because you think you hate me.”

“Think?” I rolled my eyes.

Holden stepped close enough that the heat from his body could have melted me. “Look, whatever you heard me say to Brad at your wedding—whatever piece of that conversation you caught—was taken out of context.”

My heart lurched at the memories resurfacing.

Brad was everything to me back then, the man I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with.

But that was before I learned of the twisted games he played.

Ultimately, I called the wedding off, ran away with my bridal gown still on, and I partly held Holden to blame after all this time.

My jaw set, glaring at his face in front of me now in the office. “You’re just like him. I know what I heard.”

“No, you really don’t.”

His eyes set on me with regret? Or shame? Either way, my pulse stumbled.

“Believe what you want, but I’m not your enemy, Lilah. And you definitely deserved better than Brad.”

He presumed to know what I deserved? My ribs squeezed. I wanted to believe Holden, but the words pressed too close to places I’d barricaded.

I huffed and moved toward the door.

“You know you’re out of options.”

The sentence stopped me mid-reach.

My bloodstream ignited. “Excuse me?”

He winced. “I mean—”

“Oh, please enlighten me,” I said, turning back—but avoiding his eyes, because eye contact with Holden West felt like stepping onto thin ice.

He braced his hands on the edge of Toni’s desk, expression serious.

“Word in the industry is you’ve been drifting through Europe.

Arguing with staff. Walking out. Inconsistent employment.

” His head tilted. “Anyone who thinks you’ve lost your touch is an idiot.

You were—are—brilliant. But you and I both know the gossip isn’t helping you win Michelin stars. ”

I swallowed hard. Damn him.

He continued, “That’s what you desire most, isn’t it? A shot at culinary fame and glory?”

I snorted, because what chef wouldn’t want all of that? “Hiring me does not give your lodge credibility in your quest for Michelin status.”

His jaw flexed. “Not at first. But I think we’re a lot alike. We’ll fight for what we want.”

My breath hitched. I knew a little about Holden. He had a shot at Olympic gold until one fall down a mountain and resulting surgeries stripped him of any chance at it.

We both had a shot at our dreams, and we both failed. What did he think? We could rise from the ashes together?

“Do you want to know why I bought this mountain, Lilah?”

I snorted. “Because your ego needed something to brag about? Or maybe you were simply overcompensating for some sort of size deficiency?” I dropped my eyes below his waistline. Oh God, did I really go there?

His nostrils flared. We glared at each other, the air thick with history and tension.

Finally, he commanded, “Stay.”

“No.”

“You want to cook, Lilah. You want the stars. And my new restaurant can launch you right into them.”

I hated that he wasn’t wrong, that my heart beat loudly like a traitor, because he believed in my talent when I could barely remember what belief felt like. It didn’t help how my pulse reacted to his face and his stupid flannel and his ass in denims. But what were my options right now?

“Fine.” I exhaled.

Relief flashed across his face so quickly he couldn’t hide it.

“But,” I added, holding a finger up, “you stay out of my kitchen. You don’t hover. Don’t interfere. And you don’t ‘pop in’ whenever you like. I will bring you Michelin stars, but you don’t get to be part of the process.”

He lifted both hands, surrender-style, lips twitching. “Deal.”

“And don’t use that smoldering gaze on me, as if that’d make me like you,” I warned.

He smoldered harder. “I know for a fact it works, sweetheart.”

“Not on me.”

He laughed with a warm, rich rumble, and suddenly my eyes snapped to his. Those sexy crinkles at the corners took my breath away. How I wished I could see those deep dimples too, all sexy and—

“You look really good, Lilah, after all these years.” He caught me off guard with his tone turning too familiar when I didn’t ask for it.

Dammit, I fell right into his trap and his sweet gaze. Oh, no. Absolutely not. I could not and would not fall for Holden West.

I marched straight out. The first woman I came upon in the lobby introduced herself as Rita, the head housekeeper. She pointed to where the kitchen door was. I practically ran to it, like it was my haven, as far as I could get from Holden, for now.