Chapter One

Eve

The bell over the front door dings, announcing my arrival. “I just love it when it snows,” I insist, smiling from ear to ear as I enter my mom’s salon, The Beauty Studio.

Mom glances up from the head of hair she’s cutting, a faint grin on her own lips. “Good morning to you, Eve.”

“Hi, Mom. Hello, Mrs. Fenski,” I greet as I slip off my winter coat and stomp my boots onto the industrial welcome mat in front of the entrance.

“You look lovely, Eve. Did you do something different with your hair?” the older woman asks as she watches me in the mirror in front of her.

“I did,” I boast proudly the moment I slip my stocking cap off my head and run my fingers through my hair. “Mom added a rich chestnut color a few days ago.”

“It really makes her green eyes pop, doesn’t it?” Mom asks, knowing how much I love the new color. Not that there was anything wrong with my honey-colored brown locks before, but the chestnut definitely gives me a fresh, fun vibe.

Mom owns The Beauty Studio, one of two main beauty salons in downtown Snowflake Falls. Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed of working in this very spot, side by side with my mom. Once I finished high school, I went on to cosmetology school, and nine months later started working full time in the salon. I’ve never been more content in my life.

“Thank you, thank you,” I reply, kicking off my snow boots and placing them on the boot tray near the entrance. Carefully, so I don’t step in a pile of melted snow, I walk over to my station and retrieve my athletic shoes. One thing I learned early in my career, when you’re standing on your feet eight to ten hours a day, you need good shoes.

“Joy made a delivery,” Mom announces as she continues to trim Mrs. Fenski’s hair. I’ve known the older woman my entire life, and for as long as I’ve known her, she’s had the exact same hairstyle.

My mouth waters and my eyes move to the table in the back. “What is it today?” I ask, my nose following the scent of cinnamon and sugar.

“A cranberry white chocolate crumble muffin and caramel apple cinnamon bread.”

I’m practically drooling.

“Shut the front door,” I mutter, diving into the container of sweet treats. With a mouth full of caramel apple cinnamon bread, I ask, “Mrs. Fenski, did you try some?”

The older woman sends me a knowing smile. “I had a little sample of both, yes. I’ll be going next door as soon as my appointment is over to purchase some for Ralph,” she says, referring to her husband.

Once I’ve enjoyed a slice of my sister’s fresh bread, I move on to a muffin. I’m not a huge fan of cranberry, but I’ve learned to trust Joy Campbell. She’s simply amazing when it comes to flavors and recipes. Plus, I know she bakes with cranberries a lot this time of year. They’re a Christmas staple in our small town.

My sister is the proud owner of The Sweet Escape, a small bakery right next door to us. She specializes in fresh cookies, pastries, breads, and cakes, and on occasion, she’ll make her own jams and jellies. Ever since she was given her first Easy-Bake Oven for Christmas, she’s had her hands in some sort of dough or coating something in icing. When she was only a sophomore in high school, she was baking pies and cakes for bake sales and church gatherings. She was being slipped cash under the table for her famous lemon loaves, as if she was some sort of fifteen-year-old dealer.

She hasn’t looked back since.

Of course, now she holds degrees and licenses to sell her baked goods, which is a huge improvement over the back door dealings in my parents’ kitchen. Her bakery is small but is the perfect size for her. The front houses glass display cases, a fancy coffee machine, and a few bistro tables for anyone who wants to sit and enjoy their tasty treats. Personally, I love to sit by the window with a hot cup of flavored coffee and whatever specialty Joy asks me to try. It’s the best place to sit in her store and watch the snow fall, something I could do every day and never get tired of it. The cold doesn’t bother me, as long as there’s beautiful snow to see.

“Why must she prove me wrong with these cranberries?” I ask no one in particular.

My mom chuckles as she reaches for her blow-dryer. “Cranberries are a delicious superfruit.”

I’m able to fire off before she turns her dryer on, “Without being baked with flour, sugar, cinnamon, and white chocolate, cranberries are gross.”

Laughter is drowned out by the blow-dryer, and since my first client is due in about fifteen minutes, I take the time to make sure my station is set up for the day. Waves of anticipation and exhilaration sweep through me. My first two clients are cuts, while the next three consist of different color treatments, but that’s not why I’m so excited.

Today, I’m adding the finishing touches to the decorations in the salon for Christmas. December first marks the official start of the holidays in Snowflake Falls, and throughout November, the town transforms from their fall décor into a Christmas winter wonderland. And the fact it’s snowing today—the official kickoff to the holiday spectacular—only adds to the delight. It’s like the cherry on top of the triple fudge brownie sundae.

With sprinkles!

Before I can run to the back and retrieve the last of the totes to decorate the tree, the bell over the door sounds once more. I glance up and find my first client of the day, Ariel Lehman, entering. “Good morning,” I greet one of my oldest friends with a huge smile.

“Your tree’s not up,” she states with a gasp.

“Dad is delivering a fresh one this afternoon, so it will be up and decorated later today,” I tell her matter-of-factly.

She grins as she slips off her coat and hangs it on the hook. “I figured. I was just giving you a hard time. The place looks great,” she insists, taking in the Christmas décor around the salon. Since Christmas is my favorite time of year, we go all out.

“Thanks. Mom and I got it done right after Thanksgiving. Now all we need is our tree, and it’ll be finished,” I boast as I lead Ariel to the washing station.

Just as she takes a seat and I prepare to wash her hair, the front door bursts open once more. “Good morning, everyone!”

My heart does this lurch in my chest, just as it does every time Roxie enters the salon. It’s not Roxie, per se. It’s the man following in her wake.

“Morning,” I mutter, but it’s drowned out by a loud male voice. “Good morning, ladies.”

I hear my mom’s cordial greeting, but it lacks any heart or emotion. I gaze down, meeting Ariel’s concerned, sad eyes. I shrug my shoulders and turn on the water, hoping to save myself that particular conversation for another time. Plus, it keeps me busy in hopes he doesn’t come over and try to strike up a conversation.

He would be Andrew Detweiler, Snowflake Falls’ resident cheating, scumbag mortician.

AKA: my ex.

“Tell me what’s going on with work,” I say to Ariel as I wet her hair and reach for the shampoo.

“Same ol’, same ol’. Busy season for me, as you know. I’ll start covering all the festivities beginning this weekend.”

Snowflake Falls is home to about twenty-eight hundred and is nestled in the Rocky Mountains in the heart of Colorado. This picturesque little town sits in the valley, gorgeous mountain views to the west with a tranquil picture of the Colorado River. Not only are the views breathtaking, but the town is known for its amazing Christmas spirit.

The annual Snowflake Falls Festival gets underway this weekend and will feature events and activities for the whole family every weekend through the end of the year. This Saturday is one of my favorite nights, the Miss Snowflake Falls contest. Someone will be crowned Miss Snowflake Falls and reign over the festivities throughout the entire event. Add in a carnival, ice-skating, vendor booths, live music, and delicious food in the town square, and I just don’t understand why anyone would want to be anywhere else this time of year.

“You’ll be there, right?”

I roll my eyes. “Of course I will. The pageant is my favorite part,” I proclaim, even though I’m certain Ariel is well aware. As a former Miss Snowflake Falls, it’s my honor and duty to watch a new princess crowned each and every year.

“Wanna sit together?” she asks as I lather up her hair.

“Sure. We’ll be by the big oak tree.” That’s where we usually sit. Mom, Dad, Joy, and me. It’s a tradition we enjoy together as a family, especially since my sister and I both participated.

“Sounds good.”

Just as I grab the hose to rinse Ariel’s hair, a face leans in and presses against my cheek. “Hello, Eve.”

I jump a foot in the air and squeeze the nozzle. Water shoots out, hitting me square in the chest. “Cheese and rice, Andrew! What the hell?”

“So jumpy,” he teases, a cocky smirk on his smug face.

Blotting my sweater with a towel, I narrow my eyes and glare at him. “You didn’t have to say hello with your face against mine,” I counter, wishing I had sprayed him with the water instead of myself.

He just continues to smile. “Well, I was afraid you didn’t hear me earlier, since you didn’t acknowledge my greeting.”

I sigh, turning away from him and returning my attention to my client. “It was loud with the hair dryer going,” I insist, even though I’m certain he knows I’m lying.

Completely ignoring Ariel, he props his hip against the second sink and crosses his wimpy arms over his chest. He’s wearing a designer suit, as he always does, this one black with a red tie. His shoes are expensive too. He buys them from some fancy store in Denver and has them shipped to his house.

“Don’t you have to go to work?” I ask, my annoyance evident in my words.

He just smiles.

“Yes, but I had to walk Roxie to work. You never know what kind of riffraff you’ll encounter on the streets of Snowflake Falls.”

Keeping my sights on Ariel, I roll my eyes dramatically. One, Snowflake Falls doesn’t really have riffraff. Sure, we have the occasional theft or altercation, but this town is as safe as they come. Our streets are filled with familiar faces, and most of those aren’t troublemakers. The other part that bothers me is the fact Andrew never walked me to work. Ever. He always insisted he be at his family’s funeral home thirty minutes before they opened and never cared that I might need some sort of protection from the “riffraff” of our small town.

No, I’m certain his insistence on walking her to the salon has more to do with the fact he can rub his relationship in my face. Not that I care, because I don’t. I was over him the day I found out he was screwing the administrative assistant at the funeral home and called off our wedding. Okay, maybe not that day, but any feelings I had for Andrew Detweiler died a painful death after his betrayal.

“Well, you’ve done your chivalric duty and walked her to work. You’ve said hello and made your presence known. Time to go,” I state, reaching for the conditioner and lathering up Ariel’s hair.

His chuckle grates on my nerves. “So testy.”

“Andrew!” Roxie bellows happily, interrupting any further conversation.

Thankfully.

“Hello, my love. I was just saying a quick hello to Eve,” he informs her, and even though I’m not looking at them, I can hear him pull her into his arms and kiss her.

Ariel’s eyes widen as she mouths, “Gross.”

I flash her a quick grin and begin to rinse the conditioner from her hair, ignoring the mini make-out session beside me. Once the product is rinsed, I grab another towel and wrap it around her head. I move, watching the ground and spotting Andrew’s expensive loafer directly behind me. Without a care in the world, I take a step back—hard—coming down on top of Andrew’s foot. A bubble of satisfaction pops in my chest as I twist my ankle and apply just a bit more pressure with the ball of my foot.

“Oops, sorry,” I sing sweetly.

His teeth are clenched in pain as his brown eyes narrow slightly. “Accidents happen.”

My stomach twists as he says the same words he said two years ago when I questioned him about his alleged infidelity. “So I’ve heard,” I reply, an innocent smile on my face.

He sighs and reaches for Roxie’s hand, bringing it to his mouth and making a big production of kissing her knuckles. “Well, my love, I must be going to work. I’ll see you at lunch?”

“Yes,” she replies with a giggle. “I should be done by noon.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he replies, pulling her into his arms once more and kissing her lips.

Ignoring the tonsil hockey session, I step around them, leading Ariel to my station. I don’t have to look over at Mom to know she’s watching me. I can feel her concerned, sad eyes following my every move. She knows my feelings for him are long gone, but the big jerk hurt me pretty badly, and those scars usually never fully heal. Plus, she’s aware his daily show of affection for the third stylist in the shop is most definitely for my benefit, which makes it worse.

Not only did he cheat, but he blamed me for it.

“Trimming?” I ask, giving my full attention to the client in my chair.

“Yes, please,” she replies as the bell chimes over the door and Andrew leaves the building.

Finally.

“Oh, I was talking to my sister, Shannon. She’s doing a big write-up in the Snowflake Falls Gazette since this year is the thirty-fifth anniversary of the pageant. Would you all be interested in a quick interview? You, Joy, and your mom. She’s trying to put together something that will run sometime late next week,” Ariel asks, glancing over at my mom. Her sister, Shannon, recently took over as editor of our local newspaper.

“I’d be honored,” Mom replies with a smile. She was the very first Miss Snowflake Falls thirty-five years ago, so it seems fitting she’d be interviewed by the newspaper.

Ariel gives her a quick smile. “Great. I’ll have her get in touch with you to set something up. I’m sure it’ll only take about ten or fifteen minutes,” she adds. Looking up in the mirror, she watches me expectantly.

“Sure, I’d love to, but you know Joy didn’t win,” I reply, combing through her tangles.

“We know, but she was first runner-up, and since she’s still around, Shannon thought she’d still get her take on her experience.”

“I’m sure she will do it,” I reply, reaching for my scissors and gently positioning Ariel’s head down. “Hold still.”

I work my way through her cut and wave goodbye to Mrs. Fenski as she leaves the salon. By the time I have Ariel’s cut complete and am working on her style, she says, “Oh! I forgot to ask. Have you met your new neighbor yet?”

I pause the flat iron I’m about to run through her hair. “New neighbor?”

“Yeah, I heard the old Blackwood house sold. Do you know who bought it?”

I blink a few times, trying to wrap my head around the fact the house next door to me finally sold. It’s been on the market for about six months, and, from what I was told, the family of old man Blackwood refused any offer below their asking price, which was high to begin with. It sat empty for more than a year, ever since the older man passed away. The family moved away long ago and have paid someone to maintain the house and yard, waiting for a buyer. Now, it sounds like it’s finally happened.

I glance over at my mom. “Have you heard who bought it?”

Something flashes in her eyes, but it’s gone quickly. “No,” she says, reaching for her broom and sweeping up discarded hair on the floor around her station.

“I heard it was a younger guy, not from here,” Roxie states as she adds highlights to her client’s hair.

“Really?” I ask, a bit concerned by this news. Mr. Blackwood was a grumpy old man, but he was a good neighbor. He was meticulous about his lawn, especially the garden, and I’d often help him with some of the weeding throughout the summer, since he struggled to get up and down the last few years. In fact, since he passed, I’ve continued to maintain it, hoping the next owners will have a green thumb and take good care of it. The thought of some young guy buying the house and letting the garden go—or worse, removing it completely—doesn’t sit well with me.

For the rest of the day, I worry about the new neighbor. Even after Dad delivers our Christmas tree to the salon and I spend time decorating it, I still wonder about who the new owner is. What if we don’t get along? What if he trashes the place and I have to look at mountains of crap in the yard and driveway? What if he ruins the gorgeous curb appeal of the house by painting it seafoam green?

What if he doesn’t hang Christmas lights?!

As I round the corner by my house, just three short blocks from the downtown square, my eyes zero in on the moving truck in the driveway. Parked beside it is a large Chevy truck with out-of-state plates that looks big and loud. Since my bedroom window is on that side of the house, I’ll probably hear him coming and going all the time. A young guy probably doesn’t care that his neighbors like to sleep at night.

I slowly walk past the house, trying to look in the windows, but all of them are covered with blinds or curtains. When I reach my own sidewalk, I let out a sigh, realizing I’m no closer to finding out who my new neighbor is than I was this morning when I heard the house sold.

Slipping my key into the door, I release the lock and push it open. The familiar scents of home assault me. I flip a switch on the wall, bathing the entire room and everything that will stand still in bright white Christmas lights, and smile. I love this holiday and the warm, comfortable feeling I get every time I arrive home.

Just as I step through the door, something brushes past my leg, making me jump. I spin around, terrified Miss Snowflake ran past me and is now outside, but when I turn around, I don’t see my cat. Instead, I catch movement inside my house as a black and gray one darts down my hallway.

“What in the world,” I mutter, running inside and almost forgetting to shut the door behind me. I chase after the cat that isn’t mine, frantically searching the first room for the stray.

A noise catches my attention. It sounds like my cat’s being…murdered!

I take off running, following the sound into my bedroom. When I cross the threshold, I gasp in shock at the sight. Right there, in the middle of my bed, is a big tomcat, and he’s having his wicked way with Miss Snowflake. I’m so surprised, all I can do is stand there in horror as the scene plays out in front of me, right in the middle of my snowy village Christmas quilt.

Finally, when I find my voice, I open my mouth. “Get off my cat!”