“Yes, I’m here. She took ages to pee. You know she doesn’t like going in the snow,” the guy said. He was looking up at Ren, who was smiling at me, and only then seemed to notice I existed. “Oh, is there something I can help you with?”
He had a very familiar accent.
Definitely Australian.
Ren spoke before I could. “I was just telling this customer of the last Australian guy who tried to drive in snow.”
Hamish rolled his eyes. “It was three years ago. I’ve driven in the snow plenty since then and have never had an accident. Well, except when you moved the mailbox.”
I was beginning to think I’d walked into an episode of Eureka. You know that TV show set in the small town where everything was weird? Maybe that was the reason why this idyllic little town had stayed so small.
Before I could back out slowly, Ren laughed. “This is Hamish,” he said warmly.
“Hi,” I said, trying to be normal. “You’re Aussie, right?”
Hamish’s whole face lit up. “Yes, and so are you? Where are you from?”
“Originally? Melbourne. Been here a while now though.”
“Oh, nice. I’m from Sydney. Been here three years.” He put the dog down and pulled off his beanie and held out his hand to shake. “Hamish Kenneally.”
I shook his hand. It was actually nice to hear his accent. “Jayden Turner.”
“What brings you up here?” Hamish asked.
“Work, actually. I was looking for Ponderosa Road but it’s not where the map said it should be.”
Hamish grimaced. “Directions, I’ll leave to Ren.” He put his hand on Ren’s arm in a manner that was not just friendly. It was an affectionate touch. They were a couple? Hamish was definitely a little fem, but that didn’t mean anything. And Ren was a big lumberjack kind of guy. They made a hot couple. “You don’t want to take directions from me. There’d be no saying where you’d end up.”
I smiled at that but took out my phone and showed them the map. I pointed to the road that wasn’t there.
Ren nodded. “They closed North Ponderosa Road a few years ago,” Ren said. “And those maps don’t update too often. You just need to keep on the road you were on for four more miles and you’ll see signs to West Ponderosa Road.”
“Oh. Okay, thanks.”
He gave me a curious look. “You said work?”
“Yeah,” I replied, not sure how much I should give away to this albeit friendly stranger. “There’s a B&B out there. I’m a chef. The owner’s expecting me today.”
“Nice,” Ren said. “Yeah, the B&B’s really coming along. Or so I’ve heard. The house was huge, from what I remember as a kid. We’d ride our bikes out that way in the summer, along the river.”
The bell above the door rang and it was a good cue for me to leave. “Thanks so much,” I said. “And nice to meet you, Hamish. It was good to hear a familiar accent.”
“Same,” Hamish said. “If you want to chat about how much you miss Chicken Crimpies or Twisties, or proper coffee, you can find me here. Not all the time, but some of the time. I don’t actually work here. I’m just getting married to this lug.” He gestured to Ren. “And this is his second home.”
I found myself smiling at him. “I haven’t thought of Chicken Crimpies in a long time.”
Hamish sighed. “I need to find a supplier.”
“Excuse me, Jayden?” Ren said. He was now standing with some guy at the side of the service counter. “The owner of the B&B who’s expecting you? This is him.”
Holy shit.
The guy he gestured to was in his mid-thirties, had short brown hair, slightly greying at the temples. He had greyish blue eyes, some stubble, and a dimple in his left cheek. He was wearing a blue jacket, dark jeans, and boots. And not just pretty boots for show. These were working boots, scuffed and dirty, which told me he wasn’t afraid of hard work.
He looked like he stepped straight out of a magazine full of ruggedly handsome middle-aged country men.
He was sexy as fuck.
And he was holding his hand out to me. “Carter Campion,” he said. “Most people call me Cass.”
His touch was warm and strong, calloused. I somehow managed to stumble over my name. “Jayden Turner. Nice to meet you. I just stopped in here to ask for directions. I couldn’t find the turn-off for your address.”
Cass smiled at me, and I swear time seemed to do some weird little blip. He turned to face Ren and I needed a second to catch my breath. “That’s what I came in for,” he said. “Ren, I need some supplies to make a sign.”
Chapter Two
Cass Campion
My to-do list was a mile long, and every time I crossed off one thing, I found another two things to add.
Eighteen months of planning and a lot of hard work was coming down to days, and while I was really excited to get started and finally see some income coming in, I was also dreading it.
Maybe dreading it was a harsh call. But I was nervous and worried sick.
I couldn’t fail at this.
I’d thrown the last year and a half into this place, into this business. I’d also thrown a lot of money into it.
I needed it to work.
It wasn’t my only income, but making it my only income was the long-term plan.
Renovating a once-grand old country manor and turning it into a Bed and Breakfast was no small plan, either. Some days I thought I had to have been crazy. Some days I was sure I was.
My parents sure thought I was.
But totally renovating my great-aunt’s house to its former glory to be my home and business, while being able to claim some of it back as a taxable write-off, wasn’t crazy.
It was long hours, some back-breaking work, but it was rewarding to see my hard efforts pay off. I did almost everything myself. Of course, things like electrical rewiring and plumbing upgrades were done by professionals, but the rest was all me. I pulled up carpets, sanded floors, sanded back the walls, stripped ghastly wallpapers, put new stringers on porch steps, fixed fence palings, graded and gravelled the driveway, and painted.
So much painting.
And that was just to name a few of the jobs I’d done myself.
I could decorate the guest rooms just fine, and I could refurbish old pieces to new again, buy new linens to make it all match and look like a million dollars. But one thing I couldn’t do was cook.
Well, I could cook a little. Your basic home cooking to ward off starvation, I could do. I’d advertised this holiday period to include all meals, not just breakfast. I figured it was a good draw card for a brand-new business that had no reviews.
Breakfast, I could stumble through. Cook fancy lunches and dinners for a number of people, I could not. Especially Christmas Eve lunch and dinner. They were special events, and there were no DIY videos or magazines that were going to get me through that.
And I had to get the food right. If guests loved the food and ate well, they’d be happy. So I did what any sane and savvy business person would do.
I asked Carl at the diner if he wanted to cater for me. I mean, I knew he was busy . . .
Anyway, after he stopped laughing, he suggested I advertise for a temporary chef for the holidays.