When my eyes landed back on the table, I noticed he’d been joined by a teenager I assumed was his sister, Maya. She had hisdark hair and something of his features, but where he radiated tension, she practically bounced with enthusiasm.
“Hi,” she announced, grinning widely as she approached me. “This is the best thing to happen all year.”
Maddox sighed. “Maya, this is Adrian Hayes. Adrian, my sister, Maya.”
“TheAdrian Hayes,” Maya corrected, shaking my hand. “I follow your Instagram. Your Amalfi Coast series last summer was incredible.”
I smiled, instantly warming to her. “Thank you. It’s an amazing place.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Maddox warned. “She’s already way too excited about this.”
Maya rolled her eyes. “Ignore him. He’s allergic to social media. And fun.” She shrugged off her coat, revealing a Sullivan Hardware sweatshirt beneath. “So I’m all yours for two hours, then I’m meeting up with a study group. What’s the plan?”
Rebecca Marian, the owner of the lodge who’d originally shown me to a table, approached us wearing a dark red apron and a reindeer antler headband. “Welcome, Sullivans, we’re so glad to have you.”
As she confirmed everything with Maddox and apologized for Alex’s cancellation, I assessed the table she’d set up for us by the fireplace.
The lighting was excellent—natural illumination from the windows, combined with the warm glow of the fire. The rustic wooden table against the stone fireplace would frame the scene beautifully, and the colorful hot chocolate station nearby provided visual interest.
“This looks great,” I assured her. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem. Just let us know what you need. I’ll be out with the first round in just a moment.”
After Maya took off after her in search of the ladies’ room, I glanced over at Maddox. He was nose down in setting up a tripod for the best angle, and it currently looked like he wanted to murder it.
“Sure you’re okay with this?” I asked.
“What? It’s fine.”
“Fine. Yes. Great.” I eyed him up and down. While strikingly attractive—and let’s be honest, doing a lot of things for me personally—the man’s current look was hardly date-appropriate. “Should we, ah, do something about what you’re wearing?”
“Yes,” he said, stopping his adjustments and locking eyes with me. “We should be grateful for it, in the way of beggars not being choosers.”
I opened my mouth to argue when I realized maybe his haphazard “I woke up and threw on the shit in the corner of my room” look might make the Nordique clothes I had on appear even better than usual by comparison.
“Solid plan,” I said with a nod. “Now, let’s go over what we’re going to discuss on camera.”
Maddox looked pained. “Can’t we just… talk? Like normal people?”
“Normal people don’t have a million followers analyzing their every word,” I countered. “We need themes, talking points, organic but strategic conversation starters.”
“This is why I hate—” He caught himself, exhaling slowly. “Fine. What were you going to discuss with Alex?”
“This historic lodge, his bar and restaurant, how Legacy became an LGBTQ+ friendly destination…” I flipped through my notes. “Perfect segue to highlight Nordique’s commitment to inclusive luxury.”
“Sounds rehearsed,” Maddox observed.
“It’s not rehearsed; it’s prepared. There’s a difference.”
“Not to viewers, there isn’t.” He crossed his arms. “If you want authentic, you need to be willing to go off-script.”
His words hit a nerve. The most successful content of my career had always been the unplanned moments—a luxury hotel’s rooftop infinity pool where I’d genuinely gasped at the sunset view, an unscripted interaction with an elderly Italian chef who’d insisted on teaching me his great-aunt’s pasta technique. Those rare glimpses of real emotion had garnered more engagement than any carefully choreographed campaign. But they were also terrifying—uncontrolled, unpredictable, impossible to replicate.
“I’m not proposing a script. It’s like you’re deliberately trying to paint me into a box of your own making,” I said, trying not to snap.
Thankfully, his sister returned, all smiles. “We ready? Mrs. Marian is on her way out with the hot cocoa.” She looked back and forth between us. “I’m going to channel my innerBachelorfilm crew, right?”
“Not exactly,” Maddox interjected with an obvious attempt at remaining calm. “Less reality TV and more like two people having a normal conversation over hot chocolate.”
