Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 93942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Then he walked off down the hallway.
Christmas Day was exhausting.
As predicted, we were all incredibly busy. Asher was making special meals in the restaurant, running himself ragged to make sure every dish was perfect. I was all over the resort, helping guests, making sure everyone had what they needed, trying to ensure they were having a great day.
Even Kai and Landon helped out. There were no ski lessons, but they pitched in wherever they could—delivering presents, flowers, and meals to rooms. Directing guests, stepping in when extra hands were needed.
In passing, we said we’d celebrate together some other time. But Christmas Day itself was just work.
That evening, I collapsed on the couch in the hideaway between Kai and Landon. Usually I sat between Kai and Asher, but I was too tired to move, and they were too tired to suggest switching. I fell asleep almost immediately, my head on Kai’s shoulder.
Later, someone picked me up, carried me back to my bed, and tucked me in. For the first time since I’d been here, I didn’t even know which twin it was. I was that exhausted.
But then I woke up in the middle of the night.
I checked my phone. 3:17 a.m.
Something was bothering me, though I couldn’t say what. I used the bathroom, then found myself pausing by Landon’s door. I pressed my ear against it, worried he might be upset and still awake. But I heard his deep, even breathing.
I paused by Kai’s door next and heard light snoring.
Then I went and stood outside Asher’s room. I didn’t hear anything at all.
Maybe he was just a quiet sleeper. But something was telling me to look inside.
I opened the door carefully. The bed was still made.
He wasn’t there.
I got dressed quickly and walked through the halls of the resort, taking the tunnels that led from the hideaway back to the main lodge. My feet carried me straight toward the restaurant.
The dining room was empty and closed for the night. I skirted around tables in the darkness, heading for the kitchen.
The lights were on in there. And I heard a voice.
His voice.
Who was he talking to? Suddenly I got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. What if he was talking to a woman? Like that beautiful blonde who’d been flirting with Kai?
I told myself it shouldn’t matter. I had no claim to any of them. We were just having fun during the break.
But my heart was beating harder, anyway.
I moved silently toward the kitchen entrance. The roll-down shutter was covering the pass, so I couldn’t inside. Silently, I opened the kitchen door.
Asher was at the stove, cooking. Oh. Okay. I guess he was hungry and making himself a snack? But people usually did that silently.
Then I noticed several strange things all at once.
First, there were lights everywhere. Really bright lights, including an extra, portable one sitting on the counter, pointed directly at him.
Second, he was talking while he was working. Demonstrating. “You want to let the vegetables sweat for about five minutes,” he was saying. “Not too high heat—you’re looking for translucent, not brown.”
Third—and this was the really strange thing—his shirt was off.
I froze, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Why was he talking to himself? Then I saw the phone propped up on the counter, camera facing him.
He was recording.
Was he making a private video for a girlfriend? But he was speaking loudly and clearly, like he was actually teaching people how to cook. Like a tutorial.
But why did he have his shirt off? Not that he didn’t look hot as hell that way, but none of this made sense.
I pulled out my own phone, staying out of his view. I typed into the search bar: cooking lesson young man no shirt.
A lot of results appeared on the screen. Then I saw it—a cooking channel called “The Shirtless Chef.”
My heart stopped.
Hesitantly, I clicked on it. The profile picture was definitely Asher, bare-chested with a cocky smile, holding a whisk. The subscriber count made my eyes widen. Nearly a million followers.
I scrolled through the videos. There were dozens of them. In the thumbnails, he was always shirtless, always cooking something different. I opened one but didn’t turn on the sound, just scrolled through the comments.
“OMG he’s so hawt!!!”
“Who cares about the recipe, I’m here for the view!”
“I’d let him cook for me ANY DAY!”
“I wish he’d be a pantsless chef too!!”
A few people commented on the actual recipe or asked questions about technique. But most of the commenters were thirsting after him.
My stomach twisted. All these women fawning over him. Saying explicit things about what they’d like to do with him—or what they’d like him to do to them. And I’d had no idea.
I kept scrolling, trying to process this, when I realized it had gone quiet, and I looked up.