3. Three-Legged Horse
Chapter 3
Three-Legged Horse
Tessa
I settled into the cozy corner booth at the Hungry Pine Café, inhaling deeply. The aroma of fresh-baked bread and roasted garlic was enough to make me forget about my morning’s awkward encounter. Well, almost.
After fleeing the resort in my rental car, I’d spent the morning exploring the charming mountain town of Alpineville. I’d picked up a few paperbacks from a bookstore that had more cats than shelves, found a cute new scarf and hat set, and discovered this gem of a café.
The menu read like food porn. Not the mass-produced, obviously photoshopped kind you find in chain restaurants, but the someone-cares-about-food kind. My inner chef was doing cartwheels.
“I’m Cecilia, the owner. How is everything tasting?” A woman about my age stopped by my table, her dark curls escaping from a messy bun.
I gestured to my half-eaten plate of herb-crusted salmon with roasted root vegetables. “This is exactly what I needed after the breakfast disaster I had this morning. The sauce… brown butter citrus?”
Her face lit up with the kind of genuine pride only a true food enthusiast could understand, and she leaned in like we were trading state secrets instead of sauce ingredients. “I add a hint of preserved lemon to brighten it.”
“It’s brilliant.” I fought the urge to lick my plate clean. “Seriously, this makes up for the sad, rubbery eggs I suffered through at Sterling Pines.” The memory of that breakfast made me want to stage an intervention in their kitchen.
The warmth in her expression faded like someone had turned down a dimmer switch. “Oh, you’re staying up at the resort?” Her tone shifted ever so slightly, carrying that small-town inflection that suggested there was a story there—one that probably wouldn’t make it into Sterling Pines’ glossy brochures.
“Yeah, though I’m starting to think I should’ve booked in town instead.” I laughed, but Cecilia’s expression had turned wistful.
“It wasn’t always like that.” She slid into the booth across from me. “When Gavin was alive, that place was incredible. He had such vision. The restaurant was top-notch and really pushed me to up my game.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I fiddled with my napkin, folding and unfolding the corner as I searched for the right words that probably didn’t exist. I never knew what to say in these situations, but really, who did?
“He passed away suddenly. Only thirty-three.” She shook her head, her bottom lip trembling briefly. “Left the whole place to his three college friends. They were supposed to start some big business venture together years ago, but something happened. Now they’re stuck there together and...” She trailed off, catching herself. “Sorry, small-town gossip. I shouldn’t?—”
“Those three idiots couldn’t run a lemonade stand together, let alone a resort,” came a gruff voice from the next table. I turned to see an older gentleman in a plaid shirt leaning toward us. “Pardon my interruption, ladies, but I couldn’t help overhearing. Name’s Frank. I do some maintenance work up there sometimes.”
“Frank,” Cecilia warned, but he waved her off.
“Those boys can’t sell the place for two years as part of Gavin’s will. They have to live and work there the whole time too. Probably thought it’d force them to work out whatever happened between them.” Frank’s weathered hands wrapped around his coffee mug as he delivered this bit of local gossip with the expertise of someone who had been watching the drama unfold from the front row.
Well, that explained the tension I’d witnessed between Archer and Evan. And the state of... everything I’d seen so far. The cold war happening at that front desk suddenly made a lot more sense. Being forced to live and work with someone you clearly couldn’t stand was a recipe for disaster.
“That’s either brilliant or cruel.” I dabbed at a spot of sauce with my bread, considering how I’d feel if someone had tried to force me to work things out with my ex by trapping us in a business together. The mere thought made me want to scream and cry.
“Bit of both, if you ask me. Gavin always did have a twisted sense of humor.” He shook his head with the fond exasperation of someone remembering an old friend’s shenanigans.
Cecilia stood up, straightening her apron. “Well, I should get back to work. But please, come back anytime. It’s nice having someone who appreciates good food.”
I watched her walk away, my mind spinning with this new information. Three former friends, forced to live and work together for two years? No wonder the resort seemed like it was having an identity crisis. It was set up for a reality TV show.
And I had a front-row seat for the next two weeks.
I took another bite of my salmon as Frank settled more comfortably into his chair, clearly warming to his subject. “You know, it’s a damn shame what’s happening up there. There’s nothing like that property for a hundred miles. The views alone...” He shook his head. “And the infrastructure is solid. Gavin made sure of that.”
“So, what’s the problem?” I was genuinely curious, leaning forward to hear better. “Besides the obvious ‘three guys who hate each other’ situation.” And boy, was that obvious, and I hadn’t even met the third man yet.
“They’ve only been running it about three months.” Frank took a sip of his coffee. “Each one thinks they know best. One wants to cut costs, one wants to renovate everything, and one... well, they’re about as coordinated as a three-legged horse in a derby.”
“That explains some things.” I thought about the shuttle service and the sad excuse for breakfast… and let’s not forget about the room décor.
“Those boys better figure it out soon, though. The bad reviews are piling up faster than the snow outside.” He stood up, adjusting his plaid shirt. “Shame to see Gavin’s legacy taking hits like that. But hey, what do I know? I’m just the guy who helps out occasionally.”
After Frank left, I pulled out my phone, suddenly very interested in these reviews he’d mentioned. When I’d booked this place a year ago, it had a near-perfect 4.9 rating. Now...
“Four point four?” I whispered in horror, nearly choking on my water. How do you drop half a point in three months?
I scrolled to the most recent reviews, and oh boy, was this better than my current romance novel:
“Two stars - Honeymoon Suite, more like Honey-DOOM Suite. Tacky décor that looks nothing like the photos. It was like I was sleeping inside a Valentine’s Day card from a serial killer. If I wanted to celebrate my marriage in a heart-shaped pink bed, I would have called up my niece and borrowed her room.”
(At least I wasn’t alone in my assessment of the room.)
“Three stars - Used to be amazing, but the recent visit was disappointing. Food was barely edible and tasted microwaved. I know food is all-inclusive, but damn. What happened to the chef?”
(Where was Gordon Ramsay when you needed him?)
“One star - We booked a couple’s massage. One masseuse showed up thirty minutes late, and the other one never came. Reception said they’re ‘restructuring their spa services.’ Save your money.”
(Mental note: cancel my couple’s spa appointment.)
“Four stars – A beautiful location, but services are hit or miss. Half the hot tubs were out of service. Shuttle service randomly canceled. Staff seems confused about who’s in charge.”
(Hit or miss was generous.)
“Two stars - Warning: DO NOT book the Honeymoon Suite unless you want to feel like you’re trapped inside the 80s. Also, jets in the tub didn’t work, and they charge fifteen dollars for a handful of nuts!”
(Hey, I think I found my soulmate.)
I sat back, processing this information while absently twirling a strand of my hair. The resort was hemorrhaging stars faster than a Hollywood celebrity after a scandal. And wasn’t that perfect? It was par for the course that I’d end up at a resort that was falling apart, much like my own life.
Maybe we were kindred spirits, Sterling Pines and I—both of us trying to maintain a glossy exterior while everything crumbled behind the scenes. At least the resort had the excuse of apparent mismanagement. My excuse was spectacularly bad choices and an ex who’d mastered the art of crushing dreams while calling it being practical.
Either way, my two-week stay was starting to look less like a sad honeymoon replacement and more like a front-row seat to what Frank had accurately described as a three-legged horse attempting to win the Kentucky Derby.
And honestly? I was kind of here for it.
I stared at the boots in front of me like they were alien artifacts. “Are they supposed to feel like medieval torture devices?”
Booking snowboarding lessons had been a mistake. This was supposed to be a couple’s activity where Declan and I could enjoy a day on the slopes together. Instead, here I was doing something I never thought I’d do.
“They’re meant to be tight,” Liam, my reluctant-looking instructor, replied with all the enthusiasm of someone explaining tax law. He was devastatingly handsome in that “I could probably survive in the wilderness with just a pocketknife” kind of way, but his expression suggested he’d rather be wrestling bears than teaching me how to snowboard.
“Tight like ‘snug but comfortable’ or tight like ‘goodbye forever, circulation in my toes’?” I wiggled my feet, wondering if I’d ever feel them again. “Because right now I’m leaning toward the latter.”
He sighed, checking his watch for what had to be the fifth time in ten minutes. “They’re fine. Now, about your partner?—”
“Just me!” I chirped, perhaps a bit too brightly. “The other half of this couple’s package is... unavailable. Permanently. Well, not dead-permanently, just not-with-me-permanently.” I was babbling. Why was I babbling? “He’s probably already found a new perfect fiancée who wants two point five children and likes to attend to his every desire.”
Liam’s eyebrows shot up, and for a moment, something that might have been sympathy flickered across his face. Or gas. Hard to tell with the stoic mountain man vibe he had going on.
“Right.” He grabbed a board that looked way too small. “This is your practice board. It’s shorter than standard because you’re a beginner and—what are you doing?”
I had attempted to stand up while wearing the boots and nearly face-planted into a rack of helmets. “I’m testing my new center of gravity. Spoiler alert: I don’t have one anymore.”
Once I managed some semblance of balance, we made our way outside to a bunny hill’s smaller, less ambitious cousin. A few other beginners were scattered around, all managing to look more coordinated than I felt.
“Okay, first we’re going to practice strapping in.” Liam dropped the board onto the snow. “Left foot goes?—”
“Wait!” I interrupted, suddenly remembering a crucial detail. “I’m not sure which foot should go forward. I’m right-handed, if that helps?”
“It doesn’t.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ll figure out if you’re regular or goofy?—”
“I’m definitely goofy,” I muttered, thinking about my display at the front desk earlier… and last night.
“—by doing a push test.” Without warning, he gave me a gentle shove from behind.
I stumbled forward, letting out a very dignified squeak. “A little warning next time? I might have signed the liability waiver, but that doesn’t cover instructors pushing me off the side of the mountain!”
“Left foot forward.” He ignored my commentary like he hadn’t even been listening. This guy was a grade-A asshole. “You’re regular.”
The next fifteen minutes were spent in an elaborate comedy routine involving me, a snowboard, and the complete abandonment of my dignity. Turns out, strapping yourself to a board while wearing boots that feel like concrete blocks is not as simple as those X-Games athletes made it look.
“No, your other left,” Liam instructed for what had to be the dozenth time as I twisted myself into yet another pretzel-like position.
“I only have two lefts!” I shot back, finally clicking the last strap into place. “Success!”
“Great.” His tone suggested it was anything but. “Now stand up.”
I looked up at him from my seated position on the snow. “You’re joking, right?”
He crossed his arms, waiting, but I didn’t move. Was my ass already starting to go numb? Yes, yes, it was.
“Are you one of the grumpy owners?” The question had been on my mind since I’d met him. He fit the bill—tall, handsome, and ice cold.
His lips turned up briefly before he quickly schooled his features. “I’m not grumpy, and yes, I’m one of the owners.”
“And this is how you treat a paying customer?” I wasn’t going to let the fear of coming across as a bitch stop me from standing up for myself. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
Liam’s mouth opened and closed a few times, making him look like one of those singing fish people mount on their walls. Finally, he seemed to decide on how to respond, his cocky demeanor faltering a bit as he extended his hand. “I apologize.”
I stared at his offered hand like it might bite me, but eventually reached up to accept his help. Of course, that’s when the universe decided to remind me that I was, in fact, still me.
The oversized glove I’d borrowed from the resort’s rental shop—which I hadn’t tightened after strapping in—decided to abandon ship at that crucial moment. My hand slipped right out of it, and I landed back on my already-numb behind with an undignified “oof!”
The glove dangled from Liam’s hand like a limp fish, and for a moment, we both stared at it in surprise.
Then, something magical happened. Liam laughed. Not a polite chuckle or a condescending snort, but a genuine, full-bodied laugh that transformed his entire face and made his blue eyes lighten. And damn if it wasn’t infectious.
I gestured to myself, still sitting in the snow. “This is pretty much a perfect metaphor for my life right now.”
“Here.” Still grinning, he helped me secure the glove this time, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he adjusted the strap around my wrist. “Let’s try this again.”
With the glove attached to my hand and Liam’s steady grip, I managed to get vertical. The board felt weird beneath my feet, like I was standing on a skateboard that had lost its will to roll.
“Ready to try the hill?”
I looked where he was pointing. “That’s not a hill. That’s barely a speed bump with snow on it.”
“Perfect for beginners.” Was that encouragement in his voice? Who knew Mr. Ice King had it in him?
After unstrapping to go up the bunny hill and strapping again at the top, Liam positioned himself beside me. “Remember, bend your knees, keep your arms relaxed, and look where you want to go, not at your feet.”
“Right. Like life—look forward, not down.” I took a deep breath. “Though looking down has helped me avoid numerous puddles and dog presents.”
He snorted. “Less philosophy, more snowboarding. Ready?”
“No, but let’s do this anyway.” I shifted my weight forward like he’d taught me, and suddenly I was moving.
The wind whipped past my face as I glided down the baby slope, and for a moment, I felt like I was flying. Then I remembered I had no idea how to stop. “Where are the brakes?!”
“Lean on your back edge!” Liam called out, easily keeping pace with me.
I did as instructed, and miracle of miracles, I came to a gentle stop at the bottom. No face-plants, no tragic wipeouts, no emergency room visits.
“I did it!” I threw my arms up in victory, promptly lost my balance, and sat down hard in the snow. But I didn’t care—I had snowboarded! “Take that, Declan! Who’s impractical now?”
“Who’s Declan?” Liam came to a graceful stop beside me.
“My ex.” I beamed up at him and accepted his help standing up again, this time not losing my glove. “So, can we do it again? This time I promise to philosophize less and snowboard more.”
“I don’t know... the philosophy was kind of entertaining.” He grinned, and man, was it a nice smile. “I mean, how many students do I get who can draw parallels between snowboarding and dodging dog poop? It brings a whole new intellectual dimension to my lessons.”
“Was that... a joke?” I gasped in mock horror. “Alert the media! The mountain man has a sense of humor!”
“Don’t spread it around. I have a reputation to maintain.” He crossed his arms in mock seriousness.
Maybe there was hope for him yet—though I’d keep that observation to myself. No need to spook him.