Chapter 7 Ice Melting
ICE MELTING
LILAH
My stomach growled loud enough to believe a predator was in the room. But nope, it was me, and time to make something for dinner. Then maybe I’d have a nice bubble bath and rest all night, cozy under a blanket with a good book in my suite.
At least I could be grateful for being temporarily housed in a suite here in the lodge instead of one of the staff cabins around the property. Doubtful that I could even find a cabin now in this weather.
I pulled my hair into a messy knot and headed for the employee bathroom before making myself something to eat. Only, light spilled from under the employee lounge door.
When I pushed it slowly in, my eyes first set on the vending machine sitting wide open like someone had raided it.
Then I spotted Holden at one of the round break-room tables like a toddler at a buffet, a paper napkin tucked bib-style into his shirt.
He hovered over a paper plate with a mound of food on it haphazardly as if the vending machine had exploded. He brightened when he saw me.
“Ah, Chef Frosty! Just in time,” he announced, gesturing to his tray. “Dinner is served.”
I ignored the nickname because I probably deserved it, and stepped farther in, surveying the carnage. “What do you have there?”
“Ritz crackers with peanut butter. A meat-and-cheese snack pack. Veggie sticks. Powdered donut holes. And a fruit roll.” He gestured across his plate with a goofy grin, like he’d attempted fine dining plating and failed spectacularly.
“This is not food.”
He scoffed. “This is survival. And technically all the food groups.”
“That is not a food group.” I pointed at the fruit roll.
“It’s fruit.”
“It’s sugar dehydrated into leather.”
He picked it up, stuck half of it in his mouth, and chewed dramatically, jaw working up and down.
“Well, someone banned me from the kitchen,” he complained through the chew. “May I remind you—this is my lodge, and yet here I am.”
I winced. Okay. Probably not my finest leadership decision to starve my boss for the weekend.
“I worked up an appetite,” he went on. “After cleaning up the lobby tree mess, I’ve been busy trying to find those towels Rita stated we needed in every room before opening day.”
“And did you find them?” I asked.
“No.” He shrugged. “I may have fucked up the tree, but if I can get the towels in every room, then maybe she won’t be too upset. But I searched everywhere. They weren’t in housekeeping.”
“They’re in the laundry downstairs.”
He blinked. “Downstairs?”
I stared at him. “You built this place. Don’t you know where anything is?”
He picked up a Ritz cracker and examined it deeply, as if he were philosophically offended.
“It’s a hundred-room luxury lodge. During the blueprint meetings, I wasn’t exactly paying attention to anything other than the lobby, the suites, and the ski lift.”
Right. Because why would a rich man care about the inner workings of the lodge he owns?
I rubbed my temple. “Fine. For Rita’s sake, when you’re done with your… cheap charcuterie situation, I’ll show you where the laundry room is.”
He popped a powdered-sugar donut hole into his mouth. “Cool. I’m done. Lead the way.”
White sugar billowed from his mouth like smoke. I bit back a laugh. Against my will, Holden could be entertaining.
I led him down the service hallway, past storage closets and staff offices, then down the stairs to the basement laundry room. When I flicked on the lights, he gasped theatrically, like it was Christmas morning and Santa had outdone himself.
Mountains of clean, thick white towels sat folded in neat stacks. A note from Rita was taped to the wall in her perfect handwriting:
4 bath towels, 4 hand towels, 4 washcloths per room.
Holden dragged his hands down his face.
Holden dragged his hands down his face. “Of course I built a hundred-room luxury lodge. That’s twelve hundred towels. With luck, I’ll finish by next Christmas.”
He glanced at me. “Unless… you want to help?”
I shot him a look that clearly said Sir, you’ve lost your damn mind.
He clasped his hands together and begged. “Please? Rita is a saint. She works so hard. Everyone adores her. Think of it like a Christmas gift.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You just don’t want her mad enough to quit.”
“That too,” he admitted easily. “But I know the value of good people. Rita is a single mother at home enjoying Christmas time with her daughters. She deserves to come back after the storm and have smooth sailing into the open house.”
I exhaled sharply. In the short time I’d been here, she’d made an impression on me, too. I hated to see her face when she realized the demise of the lobby tree she’d worked so hard on.
“Fine. But I’m only doing this for her sake.”
His eyes lit up like a golden retriever’s. I grabbed a rolling cart before I changed my mind. We loaded towels, washcloths, and hand towels until it looked like we were opening a linen store. Then we took the service elevator.
“Thanks for helping, really. It means a lot.” He grinned. I purposely checked my phone to avoid talking.
In the first room, I showed him the proper folds—clean lines on the towels, rounded edges on the washcloth rolls, hotel-level precision for placement on the towel bars and shelves. Just a few things I’d picked up on my travels through Europe over the years.
He watched carefully, surprisingly focused. In the next room, he mimicked everything exactly as I showed him.
I cocked a brow. “Looks like we finally found something you’re good at. I’ll leave you to the rooms on this side of the hall, and I’ll do the other side. Oh, and don’t touch the plumbing. Or lighting. Or breathe too close to anything that might break.” I flashed him a sarcastic smile.
“Hey, what’s that on your face? A grin? Because if so, that’s almost as good as a Christmas present.”
“I take it back,” I chuckled.
“Nope. I saw it. It happened,” he called after me as I crossed the hall into the other room, getting to work.
Focus, Lilah, focus… This wasn’t Christmas vacation, and any flirtation with him needed to be nixed right now.
Room by room, we worked in silence, floor by floor. Hours later, we wheeled the empty carts back toward the elevator.
“Wow, that was a lot,” he said, scrubbing the back of his hand across his brow.
“A good day’s work never hurt a rich man,” I teased.
My phone buzzed with a call before he could respond—first from Mom. Then Dad. Then my sister.
I silenced them all like the phone burned.
Holden noticed. “Is everything okay?”
“Just family,” I clipped. “I’ll call them later.”
We pushed the carts into the elevator, squeezing in together for the ride. Somehow our shoulders brushed on this ride down, as if he intentionally stood closer this time.
“They’re probably worried since you didn’t go home for Christmas,” he observed. “I’ll bet you miss them, too.”
“No. I’m not ready to face them yet.”
He lifted a brow. “Does your family still run that diner in the city, and the bagel company?”
“Yep.” I hated how much he knew about me. It’d be easier to work for a boss I had no history with. “Mom and Dad want me home, back in the business with them.”
Holden studied my face a little too hard, making me squirm. “No. You’re definitely meant for more, Lilah. Why do you think I wanted you here working for me?”
I sucked in a breath and swallowed at his observation of me. He wasn’t wrong. I never wanted to settle for the diner life like my family.
“I always aspired to what my grandfather achieved.” A renowned culinary artist with worldwide respect, he even landed on TV and in books. Perhaps because his own son was only a diner owner in Brooklyn, Pops instilled bigger dreams in me long ago. Better kitchens. Michelin stars. Fame, maybe.
“Now that you’re at Quest, you’re on the right track. Surely, your family can respect your wishes. Although it doesn’t hurt to return home now and then for a traditional family holiday meal. I’ll bet your mother cooks up a good one with ham and all the fixings.”
“I haven’t been back since—the wedding disaster.” After everything with Brad ended, he’d immediately closed our restaurant in Lucerne. That place was to be my pride and joy, a wedding gift to build my name on. Instead, my life fell apart. Opting out of Christmas became the easiest thing to do.
I stared at the empty laundry carts, a metaphor for my life somehow. “Christmas stopped being magical for me long ago.”
“I wish I could erase everything that happened on your wedding day.” His gaze grew dark and intense. “If we could talk about it, I think it’d help,” he added. But the elevator doors opened, saving me from going there.
Back on the basement floor, he took the cart from me, our hands brushing once again. The spark jolted me, tempting me into a conversation I didn’t want to have, and a connection I hadn’t asked for. Then my gaze fell on his ass as he put the carts away.
No, no, no!
I turned and ran before he could look too closely at the cracks in my walls. Behind me, I heard him swear under his breath.
I took the stairs, reprimanding myself on each step.
I don’t want a man.
Or disappointment.
Or risk vulnerability and anything that could break open what I’d spent the past several years keeping closed.
I had one job: to make Quest by West the best restaurant this mountain valley had ever seen.
Not ruin everything by softening in front of the man who could model flannel wear for any designer.
His concern for me was more than I could handle.
My ice was melting around Holden every minute I was around him.