Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

WINTER

The cheery tinkling of bells followed by three swift knocks on my office door interrupts my focus from the manuscript. I grit my teeth and exhale an annoyed breath as I force a smile on my face. The door clicks open, and Oaklee pops her head in, shaking jingle bells as she exclaims, “Merry Christmas, Winter!” The forced smile melts into a frown, but at least I don’t roll my eyes.

“I figured you wouldn’t be at the Christmas party tonight, so I wanted to say goodbye before I leave and give you this.” She carefully slides a red foil envelope across my desk. “I-I just want you to know that I appreciate you, and I hope you have a nice holiday.”

I glance at the envelope offensively, then school my features. I don’t want to hurt Oaklee’s feelings; she means well. But I hate Christmas.

“Thanks, Oaklee. I have something for you too.” Her eyes alight with glee as she nervously fidgets her hands. I pull the desk drawer open and withdraw a dull white envelope, then hand it to her. She rips the envelope at the seam quickly, then pulls out the slip of paper. Her eyes widen in shock before she looks up at me.

“Oh my… Winter, a-are you… Oh my.” She gulps as she stares at the check in what I assume is disbelief. “You’re not a Grinch after all.” She giggles as she dabs at the mist of tears.

“Eh, don’t get too carried away. Consider it a performance bonus. Not a gift. And certainly not a Christmas gift.” She grins like the Cheshire cat, and I roll my eyes at her. “Stop, Oaklee. You earned it. You had a great year, your clients appreciate you, and I appreciate you.”

“But this is… Wow, this is more than I could have ever expected. Surely more than a performance bonus. This is genuine kindness.”

Ugh, I should have expected her excitement, but it makes me nauseous, nonetheless. Oaklee is the kindest soul, but even her jovial personality and childlike enthusiasm can’t crack the ice around my frigid soul. “You’re welcome, Oaklee.” I save the manuscript and then power off my computer.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to the party?” she asks, hope laced in her delicate tone.

I pin her with a deadpan glare. “Not even if my life depended on it,” I grouse.

Her cheeks tinge red as she dips her head. “I-I understand. I appreciate the bonus, Winter, and I hope you have a wonderful Chri—” She pauses abruptly, then rolls her bottom lip between her teeth. “I hope you have a nice break. Are you staying in the city or do you have plans?”

“Working, as usual.” I don’t indulge in polite conversation because I already know Oaklee’s plans. It’s all she’s talked about since November 1 st , when she started celebrating this dreadful holiday,

“Well, I guess I should be going. The party has probably already started without me,” she says as she turns toward the door.

“I’ll see you in a couple weeks, Oaklee. It’s snowing, so be safe going home tonight.”

She looks back over her shoulder and nods. “Merry Christmas, Winter.” She doesn’t wait for a reply as she pulls the door closed behind her.

I call Ben and ask him to pull my SUV around to the entrance. I gather my bag and coat, then take the stairs to the lobby to avoid being stuck in an elevator with anyone.

Ben tips his hat at me as I approach, a soft smile reaching his tired blue eyes. “I should have known you’d skip out on all the fun.” He chuckles.

I smirk and roll my eyes playfully as I hand him a white envelope. “Enjoy your time off with Clara and your precious grandbabies, Ben. I’ll see you after the new year.”

“Indeed you will. And you can frown and grumble all you’d like, but I do hope you have a very Merry Christmas, young lady.” His blue eyes twinkle as he winks.

I nod then continue out into the snow-fallen night and climb inside the warm SUV, thankful that Ben was thoughtful enough to set the heat. The city is alive with people rushing from shop to shop to find the perfect gift for their loved ones, while imposters dressed in red velvet trimmed in white fur collect donations for those less fortunate. Horns blare in every direction in the bumper to bumper traffic, but I slowly work my way toward the exit for the interstate without allowing road rage to set in.

It’s no secret that I hate Christmas.

It’s just another Hallmark gimmick to line the pockets of corporate greed. Parents should be ashamed of themselves for outright lying to their children about a jolly old asshole and his stable full of deer that fly him around the world to deliver toys all in one night. Absolutely absurd. Don’t get me started on the stupid jingles and holiday songs that play on every radio station before the skeletons have even been taken down from Halloween. It’s all too much, and I hate it. Every single strand of tinsel and twinkling light and stupid little elves with their freakish faces and pointy ears. That’s why I’m escaping the city for the next two weeks to stay in my small hometown of Whispering Peaks, North Carolina.

When my daddy died two years ago, I had no idea what I would do with the family cabin where we’d spent every Christmas. I couldn’t bear the thought of selling it; it holds too many memories of simpler times. Fortunately, my dad’s friend owned a property management firm and offered to manage the cabin as a vacation rental year round, with the exception of the last two weeks of the year. That’s when I hide away from the world and release the stress of running an up and coming publishing firm. Emails, meetings, manuscripts—none of it matters when I’m back home. It all fades away as I pour my soul into writing.

The hours fade into mere minutes as I turn off the interstate and make my way into the small town. It’s like I’ve transported to a different world, where blankets of glistening snow cover the ground, instead of the slush, dirt-coated snow in the city. Soft white lights sway from building to building and illuminate the snow-covered streets, and boughs of holly hang from every lamppost. It’s a picturesque vision of the perfect small town at Christmas, and even I can appreciate it’s beauty.

The small town fades behind me as I navigate through the outskirts and toward the mountain. Suddenly the steering wheel wobbles beneath my grip, and a dull thud fills the air as I ease onto the shoulder. I put the SUV in park and click the hazards before I turn off the ignition.

I climb out of the vehicle and round the hood to find the front right tire is flat. Sweet Jesus, just what I need. I open the passenger door and grab my phone to call a tow company, only to realize I don’t have service.

“Seriously?!” I slam the door and swipe my phone through the air as I pace along the shoulder, living on a prayer that I’m just in a dead spot. I know better, though. Whispering Peaks hasn’t quite caught up to the twenty-first century yet. That’s part of the small town charm—living in yesteryear. I pop the tailgate and lift the tire well panel. The tire is nestled in the space, along with what I assume is the jack and tire iron, but hell if I have a clue what goes where. There’s only one option—walk to the general store. There’s a payphone there, and hopefully it’s still in working order. I grab my purse, scarf, and gloves then dress hurriedly. I click the lock button on the key fob and begin the three-mile walk.

I swipe my phone through the air as I walk, hoping to gain signal. Not watching my steps, my feet slide across the icy surface, and I fall flat on my ass. “Damn it!” I probably should have just stayed in the city. This night is going to hell in a hand basket fast. I pick my phone up and push up on my feet slowly. I click the home button, but the now shattered screen remains black.

I inhale the bitter cold and blow it out on a rough, angry breath. I continue walking along the road, my ass sore from the fall. The soft glow of headlights break into the dark night, and the deep thrum of a motor can be heard in the distance. I whisper a silent prayer whoever is approaching isn’t a serial killer. Perks of being a romantic suspense author—my thoughts are often dark and daunting. As I contemplate self-defense tactics and the location of my mace, the old truck slows as it approaches then pulls to a stop on the side of the road.

Do I keep walking or wait?

“Excuse me, do you need help? It’s awfully cold to be walking this late at night.” I turn and squint my eyes at the familiar voice. “Winter?” The hinges squeak as he pushes the door open and climbs out of the truck. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders inward, cowering to the brisk night air as he approaches, a friendly smile on his face.

Remember when I said this night couldn’t get any worse? I was absolutely wrong about that.