Chapter 2 fire and ice
By late afternoon, the kitchen was already hot, humid, and a mess of half-prepped ingredients. Izzy had her hair tied up in a high knot, apron tight around her waist, sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her knives gleamed on the counter like soldiers awaiting orders.
Jonah hovered beside her, bouncing on his heels. “So, uh… should I start chopping? Or peeling? Or—oh! I make a mean salad dressing, if you—”
“Jonah.” Izzy didn’t look up from her cutting board. “Breathe.”
He sucked in air so sharply he nearly choked. “Right. Breathing. Got it.”
The kitchen door banged open and Marlene swept in, clipboard tucked against her chest. Her heels clicked across the tile. “Clarke.”
Izzy’s shoulders tensed. “Yes?”
“You’ve got ten guests tonight. That’s ten mouths that expect perfection. And among them”—Marlene’s voice dropped, sharp as glass—“is Richard Dane. Dick. He’s one of our top spenders. When he’s here, everyone jumps. Especially you.”
Izzy set her knife down carefully. “Jump? As in, fetch slippers and wag my tail?”
Marlene’s gaze pinned her. “As in, keep him happy. If Dane’s wallet closes, this lodge bleeds money. We’re talking hundreds of thousands every year. Tonight alone, dinner and drinks will run him five grand. He’s here to be entertained—and impressed.”
“I’ll impress him with food.” Izzy forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s my job.”
Marlene leaned closer, her perfume sharp and expensive. “You don’t get it. Dick Dane doesn’t just buy meals. He buys attention. Charm. Pretty women laughing at his jokes. If he flirts, smile. If he compliments you, take it. If he offers something… don’t be stupid. Understand?”
The knife in Izzy’s hand itched to slice through something other than carrots. “Crystal,” she said, tight and bright.
From the kitchen doorway came a dry sound—like a laugh but not quite.
Beck Shaw leaned against the frame, arms folded, his storm-grey eyes on Izzy. He didn’t say anything. Just looked at her like he already knew she’d fail.
Marlene straightened. “And you, Shaw—try not to glower at Dane this time. The man’s money keeps your paycheck alive.”
Beck’s mouth barely moved. “Didn’t know my job description included kissing ass.”
“It doesn’t,” Marlene snapped. “It includes keeping our high rollers safe, not looking like you want to strangle them in their chairs.”
His gaze flicked to Izzy again, heavy, unreadable. “No promises.”
Heat prickled the back of Izzy’s neck. She turned back to her cutting board, trying to ignore the way Beck’s presence filled the room, big and suffocating.
Jonah, oblivious, piped up from the corner: “So, uh, I once read carrots actually taste sweeter if you—”
“Jonah,” Izzy and Marlene barked at once.
He shut his mouth, ears flaming red.
The dining room glowed with firelight and whiskey glass reflections. Ten men sat around the long oak table, laughing too loud, their parkas shed for cashmere and Rolexes.
Izzy carried out the first course herself—plated trout with herbed cream, crisp vegetables shining under butter glaze. Jonah followed with a tray, his hands shaking as though the plates weighed a hundred pounds.
“Easy,” Izzy whispered. “Don’t drop them.”
Jonah gave her a thumbs up and nearly clipped one guest in the shoulder.
Laughter roared.
At the head of the table, Dick Dane raised his glass. “Gentlemen, our dinner has arrived. And might I say—” His eyes slid to Izzy, slowly, indecently. “The chef herself is the most exquisite thing on the table tonight.”
The men hooted. One whistled. Another shouted, “Careful, Dick, she’ll burn your steak if you keep that up!”
Dick’s grin widened. “If she burns anything, I’ll forgive her. A woman with such delicate hands shouldn’t be handling knives anyway.”
Izzy forced a professional smile, her cheeks hot. “Delicate hands are how you get this presentation,” she said smoothly, setting down the next dish. “You should try holding one sometime—though you might drop it.”
The table erupted in louder laughter, half at Dick’s expense. His smile stiffened, then curved back into something hungrier.
Across the room, at a small corner table with Gus and a couple of maintenance staff, Beck sat in the shadows, watching. His hands were wrapped around a glass of water like he wanted it to be someone’s throat.
Gus elbowed him. “Careful, boy. You’re starin’ like you wanna kill him.”
Beck didn’t answer. His eyes never left Izzy.
After the main course, Izzy ducked into the kitchen for the final touches on dessert. Beck was there already, leaning against the counter like he owned the place.
“You enjoying the show?” Izzy asked, setting down a tray of molten chocolate cakes.
“Depends which part,” Beck said. His tone was calm, but his jaw ticked.
Her brow arched. “You mean the part where I wowed ten billionaires with perfect plates, or the part where your pal Dick tried to undress me with his eyes?”
“Not my pal.”
“Funny. Looked like you were enjoying it from the corner.”
His eyes cut to hers, sharp enough to make her breath hitch. “You think I enjoy watching him slobber all over you?”
Izzy smirked, though her pulse raced. “What, jealous?”
He pushed off the counter, stepping closer. “I don’t get jealous, princess. I get realistic. Men like Dane—he’ll chew you up and spit you out before you even know what’s happening.”
“I can handle myself.”
“Sure you can,” he said, voice low, biting. “You’re gonna last about as long as that lipstick does in the snow.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Newsflash, Shaw—I’m not here for approval. Especially not from you.”
Beck’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Good. Because you won’t get it.”
The kitchen door swung open. Jonah popped his head in, eyes wide. “Um. Dessert?”
Izzy exhaled hard, grabbing the tray. “Yes, Jonah. Dessert.”
When she brushed past Beck, her shoulder bumped his chest. Neither of them moved aside.
Izzy set the tray of molten chocolate cakes down with a flourish, the scent of espresso and dark cocoa rising into the air. Ten forks gleamed in the firelight.
“Gentlemen,” she said evenly, “your dessert.”
“Now we’re talking,” one of the men grunted, clapping Dick on the back.
Dick leaned forward, fork in hand, but his eyes weren’t on the cake. “Sweet, delicate, and sinful. Just the way I like it.”
Laughter rippled.
Another guest chimed in: “Careful, Izzy, if you don’t serve him seconds he might try to eat you instead.”
More laughter. Dick smirked and waved his fork lazily. “Why settle for just dessert when the chef herself is standing right here? Tell me, Izzy—do you ever taste-test with someone? Share a spoon? Or are you the selfish type?”
Heat rushed into her face, equal parts anger and embarrassment. She pasted on a bright smile, even as her knuckles whitened on the tray. “I don’t share dessert. Especially not with men who think licking the plate counts as table manners.”
The men roared. Dick’s smile faltered for a heartbeat, then returned, tighter.
Across the room, Beck sat stone-still in the shadows. His glass cracked faintly in his grip. Gus muttered, “Boy, you’re gonna snap that thing in two,” but Beck didn’t move.
Izzy excused herself briskly, heels clicking back into the kitchen before her temper could spill onto the table.
She slammed the empty tray onto the counter, chest tight. Her reflection in the steel oven door showed flushed cheeks, hair falling from her bun. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, pacing. “If one more man calls me delicate I’ll—”
“You handled it wrong.”
She spun. Beck stood in the doorway, shadows stretching around him, eyes cool and unreadable.
“Excuse me?” she snapped.
“You let him get to you. Should’ve ignored it.”
Izzy laughed, sharp. “Oh, thanks, wilderness Yoda. I’ll be sure to smile politely next time a billionaire suggests I spread my legs between courses.”
His jaw flexed. “Don’t twist my words.”
“Then say what you mean.”
He stepped further into the kitchen, close enough she could smell the smoke of the fire clinging to his shirt. “What I mean is—you don’t belong here. And all that pretty plating? They don’t give a damn. You’re cooking for rich men who want meat, potatoes, whiskey. Not… frilly city food dressed like art.”
Her stomach dropped. “Frilly?”
“That’s all it is,” Beck said flatly. “Looks good, but it won’t stick. Not out here.”
Her pulse hammered. “Newsflash: I didn’t come to Alaska for your approval. But if you think feeding ten men in the middle of nowhere is frilly, you’re more full of shit than I thought.”
For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the oven.
Beck leaned in slightly, eyes burning into hers. “You won’t last.”
Izzy tilted her chin up, refusing to flinch. “Watch me.”
The air between them crackled—sharp, dangerous, almost something else—until Jonah barged in carrying a stack of dirty plates.
“Uh—wow. Am I interrupting… something?”
Izzy’s cheeks burned. “Yes, Jonah. You are.”
He froze, glanced between them, then scuttled out like a guilty crab.
Beck smirked. “Your sidekick’s got better timing than you.”
Izzy glared. “Get out of my kitchen.”
He didn’t move right away. Just stared at her a beat too long before finally turning, voice low as he left: “Not your kitchen. Remember that.”
Izzy spun back to her counter, pretending to check the oven temp. Her hands trembled just enough that she shoved them into her apron pockets.
Behind her, the heavy tread of boots didn’t retreat like she’d hoped. Instead, they came closer.
Her breath caught.
“You think this is a game?” Beck’s voice was low, rough. “That man out there would eat you alive if you let him.”
Izzy turned slowly, her back pressing into the counter. Beck stood so close now she could see the flecks of steel in his grey eyes, the faint scar along his jaw, the stubble that shadowed his mouth.
She forced a smirk. “Relax, Shaw. I’ve dealt with worse than a sleazy billionaire with too much money.”
“Doesn’t look that way.”
Her pulse thudded. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I saw your face.” His eyes flicked to her mouth, just for a second. “You hate it. You pretend it’s fine, but it’s not. You don’t belong in his world any more than you belong in this one.”
Her throat tightened. She hated that his words hit harder than Dick’s smirk ever could.
So she snapped, “At least he knows how to say thank you. You just stand there and glare like a cave troll.”
Something flickered across Beck’s face—amusement, annoyance, hunger. Then he stepped even closer, boxing her in. His palms landed flat on the counter on either side of her hips.
Izzy’s breath stuttered.
He leaned down, his face inches from hers, voice a low growl. “Careful, princess. Keep poking, and you’ll find out just how wrong you are about me.”
Her heart banged against her ribs. “Maybe I want to be wrong.”
The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. His breath was warm against her cheek, his lips so close she could almost taste them.
For a heartbeat, Izzy swore he was going to kiss her.
Then Beck’s jaw tightened. He pulled back, slow, controlled, like he was yanking himself out of a fire. His eyes burned into hers as he straightened.
“Not tonight,” he muttered, and pushed off the counter.
The kitchen door swung shut behind him, leaving Izzy shaking, furious, and more turned on than she’d ever admit.