Blurb
In need of work and a change of scenery, Aussie ex-pat Jayden Turner agrees to a short-term chef position at a Bed and Breakfast over the Christmas holidays. After all, how hard could it be in a small town in the mountains of Montana? What he finds is a grand old house in a beautiful town, and his new boss is gorgeous, gay, and single.
After his divorce, Carter “Cass” Campion bought his great-aunt’s rundown country manor in his home town, and he’s determined to get it ready for the busy holiday period. Recently out as gay, he’s been focused solely on his business and hasn’t had time for a man. Not that many gay men come through Hartbridge . . .
As his new clients arrive, and being away from his two kids, celebrating Christmas is the last thing on Cass’s mind. But his new chef has other ideas. And if there’s one thing on his Christmas Wish List this year, Jayden can make it come true.
Chapter One
Jayden Turner
I wasn’t sad about leaving Missoula, Montana, behind. Sure, I’d miss some of the folks I’d worked with over the last year, but when my co-worker-with-benefits decided he wanted benefits with the boss instead, I knew it was time for me to leave.
I saw an ad online for a temporary chef position in a small town over the Christmas period and decided to apply. Temporary suited me. It’d get me through the holidays until I figured out where I wanted to go next, so I could start somewhere new in the new year.
That was the plan.
So I packed up my car, loaded the town into my phone maps, and without so much as looking back, I headed northwest on I-90.
Was it always so easy for me to just pack up and go?
Kinda.
I’d been in the US for twelve years. I came here with my folks at fifteen when my dad was offered some great job to move his family from Australia to LA. It was so great that he then moved us from LA to Vegas to Denver in the space of three years.
I’d moved so many times trying to graduate high school, in the end I scraped by enough to graduate and enrolled in culinary school. My dad’s great job gave way to an even better job back in Melbourne, so when they moved back to Australia, I decided to stay.
Not even twenty years old and completely on my own, but I liked it here. I had a job I enjoyed, a good teacher at culinary school, and figured why not give it a crack by myself.
Since then, I’d lived and worked in Denver, Salt Lake City, and then Missoula. I didn’t move for any reason other than wanting to find somewhere that felt right.
I wanted somewhere that felt like home.
Not that I really remembered what home felt like, and I was beginning to wonder if I should just pack up one final time and move back to Australia.
I didn’t really want to do that.
I was twenty-eight. I was sick of moving around and packing everything I owned into a car. I needed to find somewhere that felt right and find some permanence. I was sick of being alone, sick of working all the time just to get by, sick of feeling so . . . disposable. I wanted more in life. I wanted better.
As I drove, the elevation got higher and the passing scenery got prettier. There was a thick blanket of snow over almost everything, though the skies were blue, the sun was out, and the roads had been cleared. Traffic was fine, conditions were good.
Admittedly, when I first got to the States, driving in snow hadn’t been my favourite thing. But after so many years, it was no longer a big deal now. The key was to be prepared and to be cautious. The truth was, I loved the snow.
I loved American winters in the mountains. I could have chosen somewhere south like Florida and avoided all chance of snow, but there was something amazing about snow on the mountains, on the trees, the biting air . . . I was drawn to it.
As long as there was heating and my feet weren’t wet.
And as I turned onto a road called Hartbridge Main, the snowbanks were taller, the mountains steeper, the roads slipperier. But trusty old Google Maps hadn’t let me down yet, and before I knew it, I turned the corner and drove into what must have been the prettiest town in America.
Hartbridge.
There were old-fashioned shops with awnings, Christmas decorations, the cutest street lamps, planter boxes with trees and most likely flowers come spring time. People were talking in the street, smiling, shopping, waving to someone in a passing car. Even the snow clumped on the sidewalks was still pristine white, not slushy grey.
Idyllic was an understatement. I felt like I’d gone back in time.
I was tempted to pull over and stretch my legs, maybe grab a coffee, but figured I should go sort out my employment first. Considering it was also my accommodation, it was kind of a priority. I was early, but I’d take early over late any day.
I drove down the main street, which was actually called Main Street, past the diner, the barber, and the mechanic, and headed south. The map said Ponderosa Road was just one more mile out of town . . .
But there was no road.
There was the occasional driveway, by the looks of them. Not that I could see the houses from the road. There was nothing but snow and trees, and the snowbanks made it difficult to see what was what, but there was definitely no road.
What the hell?
There wasn’t really anywhere I could pull over but a driveway, so I found one and hoped no one came out to yell at me. Maybe if they did, I could ask them where the hell Ponderosa Road was.
Taking my phone, I zoomed in on the map, but cell reception chose this particular time to be sketchy and it wouldn’t load correctly. Why didn’t I download the map in case it went offline?
Ugh.
Carefully reversing out of the driveway, I headed back towards town, slowing down to a snail’s pace to double-check there was definitely no road where the road should have been.
Nope.
I found myself back in Main Street and parked out the front of the hardware store. Certain someone in there would be able to help me with directions, I went inside.
The doorbell rang above my head and I was hit with the smell of wood shavings and paint. As strange as it sounded, it smelled like childhood memories. I saw rows of shelving with nuts and bolts and chains and saws on my way to the counter.
“Morning,” a guy said. “How can I help you today?”
He was a big guy, burly build, but a friendly smile and kind eyes. He wore a dark red apron and a name badge that made him out to be Ren.
“Ah, yeah, I think I’m lost?” I said. “I’m looking for a Ponderosa Road. It’s on the map and I drove out there, but there was no sign. Actually, there wasn’t even a road from what I could tell.”
Ren’s smile widened. “Well, at least you didn’t drive headfirst into a snowbank.”
I blinked. Uh . . . “Pardon?”
“Your accent. You’re Australian, right?”
Not many people picked it up straight away, given I’d been here so long, my accent was starting to fade. “Uh, yeah.”
“Last time an Australian tried to drive up here, he almost died.”
The way he was smiling, I was beginning to think I should have tried asking for directions at the diner instead.
Then Ren turned and hollered, “Hamish?”
“Um, I just need . . . you know, I can ask across the road . . .”
Just then, a guy appeared with a dark beard, holding a fluffy black dog. I assumed he was Hamish. He wore a pink beanie . . . The guy did. Not the dog. But the dog was wearing shoes. Little leather dog shoes, but still.