Opposites Attract on the Mountain, page 1
Opposites Attract on the Mountain
Pippa Brook
Copyright © 2024 by Pippa Brook
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Contents
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Epilogue
Chapter 1
Willa
I tap my toe impatiently as I wait for the coffeemaker to do its thing. Some mornings, it’s a struggle to get out of bed. But not today. Because today is a delivery day.
Through the window I watch Stan, a local lumberjack, slam the tailgate of his rusty old truck. He climbs into the cab and drives away. As the truck rolls down the gravel drive, Stan sticks out a hand to wave goodbye without so much as a glance in my direction. He doesn’t need to look my way to know that I’m here, watching his truck disappear around the bend, desperately awaiting his departure so I can check out the new wood he’s brought me.
A recluse in his early forties, Stan’s not a fan of people. And chatty women like me are his Kryptonite. The poor guy probably breaks out in hives at the mere thought of being trapped in a conversation with me. But he respects my art, and he’s my best supplier, so we’ve worked out an arrangement: he brings me logs and timber to work with—and I stay in the house until he’s gone. We communicate solely through email and text messages.
Too impatient to wait for the last few drops of coffee, I yank out the pot. As I dump the fresh brew into my thermos, the final drops fall from the coffeemaker and land in the drip tray with a hiss.
Coffee in hand, I dash from my tiny house to the much larger workshop in the backyard. My boots sink into the snow, but the morning sun is warm on my face. Before long, the snow will melt and dandelions will emerge, heralding a new season on the mountain. But whatever the season, delivery day is always like Christmas morning for me. I twirl in the sunshine with my arms outstretched. With new wood waiting to be transformed into beautiful works of art, it’s guaranteed to be a fabulous day.
Larger than an airplane hangar and kept at the perfect temperature for woodworking year-round, my workshop is my pride and joy. I skip the last few feet to the door and then stop short. My heart sinks as I spot the keypad on the door. It was installed yesterday, along with a state-of-the-art security system, at millionaire Gavin Wheeler’s insistence—and at his expense.
Gavin’s my biggest client, and he’s commissioned me to do a lot of work in recent months. His newest restaurant, Omnivore Tavern, is practically a museum of my work. After seeing some of my chainsaw art for sale at Frosty Crest Haven, the local ski resort where Omnivore Tavern is located, he hired me to create one-of-a-kind pieces for the restaurant. When I suggested customizing the tables and chairs, he gave me free rein to do whatever I’d like. Since then, I’ve put my mark on just about anything in the restaurant that’s made of wood. From the chairbacks to the doorframes to the crown molding, I’ve carved intricate designs into it all. And Gavin’s paid me a king’s ransom for it.
He'd be a dream client if he wasn’t the most vexing man on the face of the planet.
A couple of days ago, I let it slip that I never lock my warehouse. Gavin flipped out and threatened to stop doing business with me if I didn’t take steps to protect his investment. Those were his exact words.
But did he give me time to take steps? Of course, not.
Within hours of our conversation, there was a work crew in my warehouse, installing a security system that I didn’t ask for, didn’t want, and can’t seem to get the hang of.
“Vexing man,” I grumble, punching the code into the keypad. A moment later, the keypad flashes red and emits a low note. It’s an unpleasant sound, reminiscent of a wrong answer buzzer on a gameshow.
I groan. When a crewman showed me how to use the keypad yesterday, it hadn’t flashed red or made that terrible sound. On the contrary, the beep yesterday had been as pleasing to the ear as a songbird’s trill, and it was followed by the click of the lock opening.
Holding my breath, I try the code again. No good.
What happens if I get it wrong too many times? Knowing Gavin, there’s probably a direct line to Sheriff Thompson.
I growl in frustration. This is ridiculous. I can’t get into my own warehouse!
Angry tears spring to my eyes. Stan didn’t seem to have any issues getting into the warehouse this morning, and he didn’t even have an in-person tutorial. He’d just spoken to Gavin on the phone for a few minutes yesterday. Maybe I could call Stan? He hasn’t been gone long. Maybe he could just turn around and unlock the door for me?
But Stan and I have strict rules about communicating. He won’t answer my calls, and seeing my name on the phone screen might cause him to panic and wreck his truck. And it’d be irresponsible to text him when I know he’s driving.
Which leaves me with only one choice…
Sighing, I pull my phone out of my pocket to call Gavin.
He answers on the first ring. “Code, pound sign, enter.”
My eyebrows knit into a scowl. The fact that he’s anticipated my call annoys me to no end. And I hate it even more that he’s right. I’d forgotten to hit the pound sign before pressing enter.
Reminding myself that it’s delivery day and not even Gavin Wheeler can ruin my mood, I take a deep breath and prepare to lie through my teeth.
“As a matter of fact, I had no issues at all with the door today, thank you very much. I was just calling to tell you that the arbor for Wren and Sebastian’s wedding will be ready this afternoon. Don’t let either of them see it before the wedding. I know that may be difficult since they’re getting married at Omnivore Tavern and Sebastian is the head chef, but do your best, okay? Keep it covered with a sheet or something. I may add more details before the wedding, but I can do that once it’s installed in the space. You know how I’m never quite finished, always whittling on things, adding finer details. Speaking of which, did you notice the tableau I added to the baseboards in the lobby? I know it's a bit more whimsical than the rest of my work, but it was the perfect space for a scene with rabbits and, well, they’re just baseboards, you know? So, if you hate them, they shouldn’t draw too much attention—”
“Willa,” Gavin interrupts, “do you ever pause for breath?”
Heat rises to my cheeks. Yes, I tend to babble. I’m a babbler. So, what? It’s part of my charm. My family and friends find it amusing. Sure, a few people find it annoying, but why should I care about that? It’s never bothered me before what other people think. I don’t try to be a jerk on purpose, of course. But if someone thinks I’m a jerk just because I talk a lot? Well, I think that says more about them than me.
But Gavin’s the exception. I pretend like I don’t care about his opinion of me, but I do. I really, really do.
And a part of me hates him for that.
“Obviously,” I say through gritted teeth. “If I didn’t pause for breath, I’d be dead.”
He chuckles. “I’m not so sure you’re human, Magpie.”
I wince at the nickname. I hate it when he calls me that. “Will you just answer my question?”
“Did you ask a question?”
I purse my lips. “When are you sending someone to pick up the arbor?”
“You never asked me that question,” he points out. “You just said it’d be ready to pick up this afternoon.” I can feel him smirking through the phone, and I want to slap the smirk off his face.
Or kiss it off…
Whoa. Where did that thought come from? I don’t want to kiss Gavin Wheeler’s smirking face, no matter how ridiculously attractive the man is. Do I? Now that the thought’s out in the universe, I can’t seem to reel it in.
“Still there, Magpie?”
“Still here,” I confirm, “and still waiting for your answer.”
He chuckles. “I’ll come by this afternoon.”
“You’re coming yourself?” Since when does Gavin run errands? He usually sends one of his minions.
My heart is suddenly pounding in my chest. Gavin and I have been alone dozens of times. But now that kissing is on my mind, I feel… nervous. Annoyed, too. And maybe just a little bit hopeful?
“Is that a problem?” he asks.
“Why would it be a problem? There’s no problem. No problem at all. No hay problema.” Now, I’m babbling in Spanish. Get it together, chica.
“Hey, Magpie…” His voice is lower, huskier, than before.
I lick my lips nervously. “Yeah?”
“I love the baseboards. Coming into the restaurant and seeing your additions have become the highlight of my day. You’re a master at your craft, Willa. A true talent.”
A fluttery feeling spreads through my body, as it always does when Gavin compliments me. It’s kind of pathetic how much I live for his praise. I’m like a dog sitting at his feet and waiting for a pat on the head.
Why does he get to me so much? I know I have talent. I don’t need Gavin to tell me that. I was making a full-time living with chainsaw art before he came into my life. It wasn’t as nice of a living, but it was enough.
The thing is, I’m a better artist because of Gavin. His confidence in my ability and his willingness to let m
“Oh, and Magpie? Try to remember…”
“What?”
“Code. Pound sign. Enter.” His laughter rings through the phone, and I swear I can still hear it when I hang up.
“I hate him,” I mutter, punching the code into the keypad. This time, it flashes green and the lock slides open.
Chapter 2
Gavin
Grinning like an idiot, I tuck my phone into my pocket. Teasing Willa McAllister is just so much fun.
Sebastian, my head chef at Omnivore Tavern, peeks his head into my office. “Have a second to discuss the changes I’ve made to the menu?”
I nod, using a hand to literally wipe the grin from my face.
Sebastian’s mouth quirks into a smile. Shit. He busted me.
“It’s strange to see you looking so… cheerful,” he says. “You’re not usually a morning person.”
“The menu looks great,” I say, ignoring him. “Will you be serving the new dishes at your wedding?”
At the mention of his wedding, his face splits into a smile. “Wren and I have selected a few specials for our guests. I’ll let you see the limited menu beforehand, since you’ve generously agreed to let us close the restaurant for the weekend for the wedding festivities.”
I wave a hand in the air dismissively. “If Wren hadn’t agreed to marry you, I’d have lost my executive chef. So, I’ll do whatever it takes to help you lock this thing down.”
He laughs. “Speaking of women, who has you grinning like a fool so early in the day?”
I suppress a groan. He’s not going to let this go, is he?
Of all the people in Frosty Crest, Sebastian would understand my attraction to Willa. She’s one of his fiancée’s identical sisters. The McAllister triplets are undeniably beautiful women. No one can deny that. But Willa stands out, even among her sisters. She dyes her hair bright colors, is a brilliant artist, and she can spit out sentences faster than the speed of light.
I shake my head at Sebastian. “It’s too early to be smiling about a woman.”
He nods. “I suppose none of your supermodel girlfriends would be awake at this hour.”
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. The tabloids greatly exaggerate my love life. While it’s true that I usually date models and actresses, they seldom get more than a few dates. I’d never call any of them a girlfriend. They’re just women who are easy to be around and look nice on my arm at events. They’re always career-oriented, too, so they know how to behave in public, and they appreciate that being linked to me, even if only for a short time, brings additional attention to them.
They’re the anti-Willa. If I took her to a red-carpet event, she’d have me laughing too hard to pose for pictures or to respond to interviewer’s questions. No one would ever take me seriously with Willa on my arm.
But would that be so bad?
Maybe it’s time to step out of the limelight.
I have plenty of money at this point, and I never really wanted to be a celebrity. I just wanted to be a restaurateur with a Michelin-starred establishment. Now, I have several of them—and I have no doubt that Omnivore Tavern, my latest venture, will be joining the ranks. With Sebastian at the helm, and Willa’s art showcased throughout the space, reservations are already impossible to get, and we’ve only been open for a few weeks.
“Okay, fine,” Sebastian says, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll stop pressing you about it.”
“Good,” I say with a nod. “Are the elk short ribs ready to taste, yet?”
Sebastian grins. “I was just about to check. They’ve been cooking low and slow all night, so they should be falling off the bone now.” He holds his fingers to his mouth for a chef’s kiss. “Perfection.”
My mouth waters in anticipation. I’ve been dying to try this dish since Sebastian first suggested we add it to the menu.
Popping up from my desk, I gesture toward the door. “Lead the way.”
When we enter the kitchen, there’s already a flurry of activity as the staff prepares the ingredients for the day’s dishes. A skinny man with a patchy beard pulls a wooden spoon out of a cabinet and bursts into laughter.
He holds it up for everyone to see. “Looks like Willa’s been here.”
Sebastian groans. “Gavin, please ask her again not to mess with kitchen supplies.”
I hold my hand out for the spoon, running my fingers over the intricate swirls that she’s carved into it. It’s beautiful. I squeeze the spoon in my palm.
Sebastian is a stickler in his kitchen. According to him, Willa’s carved utensils and cutting boards are harder to clean. I haven’t had the heart to tell her that the kitchen is off limits, so I’ve just been adding the pieces to my personal collection and buying replacements as needed. So far, she’s made her mark on two cutting boards, four spatulas, and this spoon.
“I’ll mention it to her,” I lie.
A station chef shakes his head. “I came in the other day while she was carving the baseboards. The baseboards! Who does that? I think all that sawdust is getting to her brain.”
I feel my face grow stormy, but before I can say anything, Sebastian speaks up.
“Watch what you say in my presence, Gene,” he warns. “Willa is my friend and she’ll be my sister, soon.”
Another chef laughs, ignoring Sebastian’s threatening tone. “Was she carrying on a conversation with the baseboard bunnies like they’re her best friends in the world?”
Everyone in the kitchen erupts in laughter, even Sebastian. I glare at him, and the look on my face must be ferocious, because he takes a step backward.
“He didn’t mean anything by that, Gavin,” Sebastian says. “Willa’s chatty. You know that as well as anyone.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “She isn’t chatty while she’s working.” On the contrary, when she’s in the zone, she’s one hundred percent dedicated to her craft.
Gene chuckles. “Really? Because every time I see her, her mouth is open.”
A young station chef whose name I don’t know walks into the kitchen. “Are you talking about Willa McAllister?”
“Who else?” Gene says.
“I can think of one way to occupy her mouth,” the young chef says, gesturing to his crotch.
The blood in my veins turns to molten lava in an instant. I want to kill the kid. I want to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until his head pops off.
Sebastian wheels on him, but before he can say anything, I bellow, “You’re fired!”
Everyone turns to stare at me. Even Sebastian looks taken aback.
“Boss,” Sebastian says uneasily, “Tad was way out of line and certainly warrants disciplinary action but firing him seems a bit harsh. Kitchen banter is commonplace.”
“Save it,” I snarl.
“Sheesh,” Gene says, “Is she your girl or something?”
I glare at him. “You’re fired, too.”
“Fine,” he retorts. “We’ll just sell this story to the tabloids, won’t we, Tad? I bet they’d pay a pretty penny to know who the great Gavin Wheeler is banging in Frosty Crest.”
“Get out!” My voice shakes with rage, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to chase after the men and pound them to a pulp with my bare hands.
As they leave the kitchen, Sebastian turns to frown at me. “You just fired two of my best station chefs.”
“They deserved it. They were sexual harassment suits waiting to happen.”
“Be that as it may, we’re now severely understaffed.”
Sighing, I turn to leave the kitchen. “I’ll call in additional staff for today, and we’ll post the job openings on Omnivore’s social media pages. It shouldn’t be hard to replace them.”
“Boss…” Sebastian calls.
I spin back to look at him. “Yeah?”
He gestures to the kitchen door, and I follow him through it. When we’re out of earshot of the rest of the kitchen staff, he turns toward me.
“Are you dating Willa?”
“It’s none of your business,” I say icily.
He crosses his arms. “Actually, it is. She’s my soon-to-be wife’s identical sister, which means we could get caught up in your love affair, too. Our wedding is this weekend. You couldn’t have waited one more week to lose your shit?”
