Starting Over (Blossom Ridge Book 1) Read online

  STARTING OVER

  BLOSSOM RIDGE, BOOK ONE

  BECCA JAMESON

  Copyright © 2022 by Becca Jameson

  Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. And resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  Newsletter

  Acknowledgments

  About the Book

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Also by Becca Jameson

  About the Author

  Join my newsletter to stay up to date on all things Becca Jameson!

  Becca’s Newsletter Sign-up

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I have to thank my amazing assistant, Michelle, for always listening to me and helping me plot when I’m desperate. She came up with the story for this first book, and she named the series!

  Thanks, Michelle. Can’t do this without you. :)

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  Amelia

  This is my dream job. Head chef at a mountain resort.

  Sure, it’s a resort for a very specific group of patrons.

  I belong to Surrender, so I know the owners and I’m familiar with the lifestyle.

  I’m not little myself. Or at least I don’t think so.

  And then I meet Foster, and he makes me doubt everything I know to be true.

  Foster

  I’ve worked alone at Blossom Ridge for five years.

  Now, Roman has turned it into a resort, and I’m good with that.

  Until Amelia shows up with her excitement and adorableness.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve had a little, but I’m drawn to her.

  I just have to convince her it’s the life for her and that she’s mine.

  PROLOGUE

  Amelia

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving me, Amy,” Stella grumbles jokingly as she lifts a chair and flips it over to set the seat on top of the table. “You’re the best pastry chef I’ve ever had.”

  I giggle as I push the mop under the table to clean the last section of the café. “It’s not like you’ll never see me again. I’ll only be an hour away. Besides, you can come visit me. Blossom Ridge is gorgeous. You’ll never want to leave.”

  Stella scrunches up her face. “I can’t see myself fitting in at Blossom Ridge.”

  I wink. “Never say never.”

  Stella rolls her eyes as she chuckles. “How long have we known each other?”

  I grin and proceed to answer the question unnecessarily. “Well, let’s see… We met at Surrender five years ago, and I’ve been working for you three years.”

  Stella narrows her gaze, though she’s also smiling. “And in all that time, have I ever shown a tendency toward being a Little?”

  I shrug. “I’m not exactly a Little myself.”

  “You’ve at least dabbled.”

  “Alone. In my apartment. Not at the club. Not in public. Not at work. A handful of times.” I shudder. “I’m not intending to pursue a new kink just because I took the job as head chef at Blossom Ridge.”

  “I know. I know. I hate losing you. And I’m going to miss you like crazy. But it’s a great career move for you. You’re also perfect for the job because you’ve at least spent enough time in the kink community to not be judgmental. Leah and Craig are lucky to have you.”

  Stella moves in and gives me a huge hug.

  I hug her back. “I’m going to miss you and this café,” I mumble.

  She holds my shoulders and meets my gaze. “Try to…live a little, will you? You’ve been alone for too long. Let someone into your heart. You’re such a kind soul. I hate that you’ve been single for so long. Time to start over.”

  I shudder at the thought. “We’ll see.”

  Stella lifts a brow. “I know that asshole Brock did a number on you, but it’s been a long time and he’s gone now. He’s not even in the state anymore. Not everyone is a shithole like him. There’s a man out there for you. Maybe you’ll meet him at Blossom Ridge.”

  I giggle and roll my eyes. “Doubt it. It’s a relatively small staff. Slim pickings. But I’ll be fine,” I assure her. “I like being single. It suits me. No one to boss me around,” I joke. I’m not kidding though. It’s not funny. I’ll never let a man boss me around again. Never.

  CHAPTER 1

  One week later…

  Amelia

  “What is that awful smell?”

  The booming voice coming from the back of the kitchen has me spinning around to face the newcomer, half scared out of my mind. I wasn’t expecting anyone.

  “Oh, hi.” I glance up and down the man’s frame, deciding he must be the groundskeeper I’ve heard about—based on the grass clippings all over his work boots. “You must be Foster Stimson.”

  I’m glad Leah described this man because he’s indeed as imposing as she suggested. Six-four. Broad. Messy brown hair. He looks more like a lumberjack. Leah said he played football in college. That’s not hard to believe.

  Foster draws in another breath and cringes. “Please tell me you’re not the new chef. It smells like rotten eggs in here.”

  I set my hands on my hips, feeling defiant. I stand as tall as I can—which isn’t saying much since I’m only five-two. This man has more than a foot on me, which is obvious even from across the room. “If you must know, I’m cleaning the oven. It appears to have sat here unused for several years.”

  He rubs his nose and smirks. “That explains it. But it hasn’t been completely unused. I’ve turned it on from time to time to ensure everything was in working order.”

  “Have you ever cooked anything in it?”

  “Nope. I’ve got my own oven.” He stares at me a moment and then turns back toward the open glass door he apparently entered through. Without another word, he stomps off.

  I stand frozen for several seconds before shuffling toward the wall of windows facing the gorgeous landscape along the back of the mansion. The view of the mountains and valleys in the distance is also amazing, but this time I watch Foster amble across the perfectly manicured lawn and disappear around the side of the house.

  My heart is racing. What a surly man. Leah didn’t mention him having a sour disposition.

  “Everything okay in here?”

  Leah’s sweet voice has me spinning around, once again startled. I slap a hand over my heart.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I thought I heard voices.” Her long brown braids swing as she comes to a stop. Sometimes her hair is braided like this; sometimes it’s up in curly pigtails.

  I draw in a deep breath and let it back out, brushing a lock of hair from my face. “I think I just met Foster.”

  Leah glances out the windows. “You’re not sure?” she jokes.

&nb
sp; “Nope. He didn’t introduce himself. He simply complained about the smell of oven cleaner and stomped off as if I’d inconvenienced him.”

  Leah’s eyes widen. “That doesn’t sound like Foster. He’s usually friendly.”

  “Well, not today. Today he’s angry and condescending.” I flinch. Maybe I shouldn’t be attacking the groundskeeper in front of my new boss. “Sorry.” I wave a hand between us. “Maybe he was just having a bad morning.”

  Leah frowns. “Weird.” She pinches her nose and giggles. “It does smell bad. He wasn’t wrong.”

  I scrunch up my face. “True. I didn’t want to start using the oven until it was clean. Burned crusty food from a decade ago would add odd flavors to my muffins.”

  “Makes sense. I should have checked it and had someone come clean it before you arrived.”

  “No worries. It will all be fine soon. I’ll leave the back doors open for a while to air out the kitchen.”

  Craig appears behind Leah, having emerged from the front of the house. He sets his hands on her shoulders. “There you are. I thought you were writing this morning. I looked in your office and you weren’t there.”

  Leah turns around and wraps her arms around Craig’s waist. She’s about my age, thirty, but most of the time when I see her, she’s in her Little space so she often seems younger. Right now she’s wearing hot pink leggings and a matching frilly top that makes her look very young.

  “I got stuck,” she tells him. “I decided to wander around a while and think about the plot.”

  He tugs one of her long braids, pulling her head back before kissing her on the lips. “Maybe you need something to motivate you?” He lifts a brow.

  I try to read his expression. It’s half-serious, half-joking. An odd combination considering I have no idea what he might be implying.

  Leah seems to know though because she’s blushing and she swats his chest playfully. “Daddy…”

  Part of me feels like I’m intruding on a very sweet personal interaction, but they’re in my kitchen, so… Plus, they’re adorable. No one can disagree with that assessment.

  I met both of them through Surrender, though I’ve known Leah much longer. She and I joined Surrender years ago. She’s an amazing submissive. When she performs at the club, she draws a large crowd. Always has.

  I never knew her to dabble in age play until she met Craig, but somehow this new dynamic suits her. She’s just as mesmerizing as a Little.

  Leah twists her gaze toward me. “I’m sorry. If we’re making you uncomfortable…”

  I shake my head. “Goodness no. I don’t mind at all. This is your resort. I’m well aware the guests will all be involved in age play to some degree. I wouldn’t have taken the job if I were a prude about it.”

  “It’s not really our resort. Master Roman and Lucy own this mansion,” Leah points out. “We’re just managing it.”

  I shrug. “It’s your brainchild. And it’s going to be amazing.”

  “She’s right.” Craig runs his hands up and down Leah’s arms. “It’s going to be fantastic, but right now I know a Little girl who needs a solid spanking. Would you like me to do that here in front of Amy or in private?”

  “Private, Sir,” Leah murmurs, her gaze lowering. It’s fascinating how she slides into a Little headspace so easily.

  I’ve seen plenty of people getting spanked, so I don’t personally care where Craig chooses to spank Leah, but either Leah prefers to keep her age play discipline private or she’s opting not to mix her fetish with her job. I’m not sure yet. She might not be either.

  I smile as the two of them disappear and return to check on the oven, which has apparently caused quite the disturbance this morning. Luckily, the cleaning cycle is done. Next, I open the two sets of double doors along the glass wall to let the kitchen air out.

  I love this kitchen. It’s hard to keep from clapping my hands together and grinning like a loon. Every time I glance around, I’m excited all over again. It’s huge with stainless-steel appliances, white tile, white cabinets, and white counters. So clean.

  Time to get started.

  I want to make a few batches of muffins, tweaking my recipe for each one until I settle on one that will become my signature muffin for guests—something I serve every Sunday morning. I’ll have a variety, but it’s the cinnamon ones I’m going to tackle today.

  I pull a hair tie off my wrist and gather my wavy curls on top of my head. My hair is thin and blond and often draws attention. People ask me if it’s my real color all the time.

  Most of the time, especially when I’m working, I keep it in a messy bun on top of my head. I’m not the kind of gal who spends hours on hair and makeup. Wash and go is more my style. But when it’s time to get down to business in the kitchen, I pull it away from my face and hope for the best. Tendrils will escape to frame my cheeks throughout the afternoon, but it can’t be helped.

  Several hours later, I’m covered in flour and cinnamon with multiple batches of muffins scattered around the giant island when I feel a presence at the back door again.

  This time I don’t lose one of my nine lives as I meet Foster’s gaze.

  He’s standing in the doorway, same as last time, hands on his hips again. He takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Much better.”

  I smile, deciding to brush off our odd interaction from this morning. I’m going to have to work with this man. We need to get along. “The smell? Yes. The oven is officially clean. Would you mind trying my muffins? I’m going to need a few opinions before I settle on a recipe.”

  “Not a chance.” He shakes his head firmly.

  My stomach drops. What the hell?

  He steps closer, but now I’m trembling. He’s so damn huge. His frame seems to eat up the entire room, and it’s a gigantic room. His shadow looms over my workspace.

  “I’ll take a muffin, Amelia, but there’s not a chance I’m going to critique them.”

  “Amy,” I inform him, surprised he even knows my name.

  He lifts a brow. “People call you Amy?”

  “Yes.” Why is this shocking? It’s a nickname.

  He stares at me, his gaze roaming up and down my frame several times until I’m no longer trembling but shaking and a bit unnerved. “Nope.” He shakes his head. “I don’t see it.”

  “You don’t see what?” I’m confused. My brain is scattered.

  “You’re an Amelia. That’s your name. It’s pretty. It suits you. I’ll be calling you Amelia.”

  My brows shoot up. I don’t think I’m breathing. There’s something so very…dominant…about this man. That’s it. He’s overbearing, and I can feel my instinct to submit to him pulling hard.

  I can be submissive. I know this. But I usually keep that side of me to the hours at the club. I don’t submit to anyone outside of Surrender. I’ve never even felt the urge before.

  This man has me tongue-tied and close to kneeling at his feet, which is also aggravating because he’s so…surly. That really is the best word for him.

  “Umm…” That’s all I manage to murmur.

  Foster glances at the various batches of muffins. “Cinnamon is my favorite. Which one would you like me to sample?”

  “Uh…”

  He meets my gaze. “Amelia?”

  When he says my name this time, my nipples stiffen and my panties grow wet. No one has called me Amelia besides my mother when I was very young. I insisted on being called Amy after my first day of kindergarten when the cute boy next to me misunderstood and called me that by accident.

  I clear my throat and jerk my gaze from his, as if I might get sucked into another vortex if I don’t. I glance at the muffins. “You’re supposed to try all three,” I murmur. Why is this concept so difficult? I only have three people to use as a test group: Foster, Leah, and Craig. There isn’t anyone else staying at Blossom Ridge yet. We don’t open for another week.

  When Foster makes no move closer nor speaks, I finally glance up at him again.

/>   He searches my face and runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I owe you an apology for earlier. I was snippy for no reason. You caught me off guard. I…” He shakes his head. “Never mind. The point is I’ve already insulted you one too many times. It won’t happen again. So, no, I won’t critique your muffins. I’ll eat any or all of them, but I’ll tell you they are fabulous no matter what.”

  I flinch. “Oh.”

  He gives me a slow smile, the first one he’s graced me with. He looks even sexier when he smiles. It’s much better than the brow-furrowed, brooding look.

  “Just out of curiosity…” He tips his head to the side. “Did you really move here alone? Leah and Craig said you’ll be staying in one of the one-bedroom employee cabins. You don’t have a Master or a Daddy?” He looks stern again as if this detail annoys him greatly.

  I’ve never been more confused by the signals from a man in my life. I lick my lips. “I don’t have or need either.”

  His brows shoot up.

  I narrow my gaze and cock my hip to one side. “Why is this so surprising? Just because I’ll be the chef here doesn’t mean I’m in the lifestyle full-time. It just means I’m not judgmental.”

  Another long stare. “You’re a member of Surrender, right? I’m sure Leah told me that.”

  “Yes.” I shrug, trying to keep from reacting to this infuriating man.

  “You’re obviously submissive,” he points out.