Chapter 1

1

FELICITY

N ew York City, New York

Tick-Tock. Tick-Tok. Her great grandmother’s mantle clock ticked away. Somehow Felicity felt as if it were tut-tutting her in addition to marking the passage of time.

In the small, dimly lit apartment of Felicity Hart, shadows danced across the walls, cast by the flickering screen of her laptop. Felicity sat hunched over her cluttered desk, the only sources of light in the room were the small lamp she’d had purchased at one of the local thrift shops and several candles scattered about the room that added a warm ambiance. The cursor on the blank document taunted her, a constant reminder of her struggle to write the perfect words for her novel.

The sharp, bitter scent of stale coffee hung heavy in the air, evidence of Felicity's many sleepless nights spent trying to capture her ideas on paper. With a defeated sigh, she pushed her laptop away and rubbed her tired eyes, hoping for a moment of respite from the daunting task at hand. Her gaze wandered around the room, searching desperately for any hint of inspiration.

Poor Hattie had taken a chance on her when they’d met at a book convention. Felicity had won a ten-minute pitch spot with the famed senior editor for one of the largest and best independent publishing houses. Hattie had hated the book Felicity pitched but had invited her for a drink later and had subsequently taken her on.

“As I said, I didn’t like the book you pitched to me,” Hattie had said while sipping a chocolate martini, ‘but I do think you have talent. What else do you have to show me?’

Stunned almost into silence, Felicity had quickly gathered her thoughts, trying desperately to remember any of the finished or half-finished novels she had stored on her laptop. ‘I have several cozy mysteries…’

“The market is saturated…”

“A murder mystery like the old Mary Stewart novels…”

“Do they have sex in them?”

“Uhm, no, but I suppose I could add some…”

“Maybe later. What else? The holidays are not too far off to be thinking of trying to launch you with a holiday novel. Anything like that?”

“Well, I attended the snow globe presentation earlier today. I think I could write one of those.”

“Perfect,’ Hattie had exclaimed. ‘Their popularity is increasing, but the field isn’t too overcrowded. Do you think you could write a concept by the middle of next week?”

“Absolutely,” Felicity had answered, wondering if she actually could.

To her astonishment, not only had she banged out a concept, but Hattie had loved it. They’d been working together ever since on Felicity’s debut novel—a cozy holiday romance set in a snow globe, tentatively titled, Let It Snow.

Her desk was a chaotic mess—notebooks and sticky notes littering every inch of space. In one corner sat a jumbled collection of pens—a haphazard mix of colors and sizes that reflected Felicity's attempts to organize them. Amidst the disarray, one collection stood out—delicate snow globes lining the shelves above her desk.

Felicity's eyes landed on them with a sense of longing. They were the one thing from her family that had been passed down. From one woman to another from the time the first had been acquired at the dawn of the twentieth century. Each one held its own miniature world under glass—tiny villages dusted with fresh snow, skaters gliding gracefully across frozen ponds, horses pulling beautiful sleighs, evergreens adorned with glistening frost. In these little globes, everything was perfect and serene—a stark contrast to Felicity's own chaotic reality.

With a heavy heart and a long, drawn-out sigh, she gave one of the snow globes a gentle shake, watching as snowflakes fell delicately over the scene inside. She wished changing her life, or finishing her debut novel, was as simple as shaking a snow globe—where everything could be controlled and manipulated to perfection.

But neither writing nor life was like that—no matter how hard she tried, everything she tried felt forced and contrived. With frustration bubbling inside her, Felicity impulsively replaced the main character's name with her own, knowing she would have to come up with something better later on.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered to herself. Her dream of becoming a published author seemed further away than ever before.

Her laptop screen continued to mock her, the blinking cursor a constant reminder of her struggles and self-doubt. What if she wasn't good enough? What if she never finished this book, let alone got it published? Despite landing a publishing contract, which now felt like the sword of Damocles, and moving to New York with hopes of pursuing her passion for writing, Felicity found herself working as a part-time barista, pouring lattes for impatient customers while her dreams slipped through her fingers like sands through an hourglass.

The truth was hard to accept—maybe she wasn't cut out for this after all. Maybe she would never finish this book, never achieve her dream of becoming a writer. The thought sent a chill down her spine, like snowflakes melting in her hand.

Felicity let out a heavy sigh, her eyes tracing the delicate hands of the antique clock on the mantle. The minute hand ticked closer to midnight, each second ticking away as if to remind her that one more day had passed; one more day closer to her deadline with nothing to show for it. She pushed back from her cluttered desk and stood, a sense of defeat hanging heavy over her. In an attempt to ward off the chill creeping in through the drafty windows of her small apartment, she grabbed an oversized cardigan, wrapping it around her.

Outside, the city buzzed with life as cars honked, and the notes of holiday songs clattered up from the busy streets below. But above the glow of the streetlights, the sky was a dark canvas dotted with only a few stars and a wintery moon peeking from behind the clouds. Felicity leaned against the cold windowpane, staring up at the glittering lights as she thought about how far away they seemed from her lonely existence.

A shooting star streaked across the sky, leaving behind a trail of shimmering light. For a moment, Felicity's heart skipped a beat as she whispered a wish into the night. She felt foolish for even daring to hope that it might come true, but that was what shooting stars were for, right?

“I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight… I wish I could finish this damn book,” she murmured quietly, and then hesitated before adding, “and because you’ve never granted any of my other wishes, I wish I could find the love of my life.”

She laughed bitterly at herself, wondering how someone like her could ever be lucky enough to experience something so magical—either finding real love or becoming a successful novelist. But deep down, a small part of her held onto hope that maybe wishes really did have power.

Shaking off her idle thoughts, she turned back to her laptop and began typing furiously. Her fingers raced across the keys as inspiration struck, but exhaustion set in, and they slowed to a crawl. Eventually, they stopped altogether, and Felicity's head drooped onto her desk as she succumbed to stress and exhaustion.

In that moment, a strange presence filled the room. The snow globes on Felicity's desk glimmered in the soft light, their miniature worlds seeming to come alive. A sudden draft swept through the apartment, causing her papers to rustle and her candles to flicker. It was as if some unknown force was there, holding its breath in anticipation.

And then just as quickly as it had arrived, the feeling dissipated. Felicity slept on, unaware of the magic she had just set in motion. The only sound was the soft hum of her laptop, still open to the unfinished manuscript and her name standing in as a placeholder for the fearless heroine she hadn't yet created. The presence lingered for a moment longer before disappearing into the night like a will-o'-the-wisp.

Christmas Valley, Vermont

As Felicity's eyes slowly opened, a warm and inviting aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg enveloped her. She sat up in bed, her surroundings unfamiliar yet strangely comforting. The room was quaint and cozy, with wooden beams stretching across the ceiling and a stone fireplace crackling soothingly across from her. Soft, twinkling fairy lights adorned the mantel, casting a magical glow over an array of festive decorations.

Felicity swung her legs over the edge of the bed and felt the smooth wood plank floors beneath her bare feet. Though the room was slightly chilly, it was not unpleasant, hinting at the possibility of snow outside.

Standing up slowly, Felicity took in her surroundings with wide eyes. This couldn't possibly be real. She had to be dreaming. She rubbed her eyes and tried to focus them—the same lovely setting remained. But that couldn’t be. Just hours ago, she had been in her cramped New York apartment feeling overwhelmed and defeated.

But here, in this charming room where she had a view of snow falling outside the window, it almost felt like she had stepped into one of her own stories or one of her snow globes. Her gaze fell upon a small table in the corner, adorned with a plate of freshly baked cookies and a steaming mug of hot cocoa. And on a nearby chair lay a warm coat and a pair of boots, as if someone had been expecting her arrival.

Felicity's mind raced as she tried to piece together what was happening. And then she saw it—a full-length mirror hanging near the door. With hesitant steps, she approached it and gasped at the reflection staring back at her.

It was her, but different somehow. The reflection had her same curly blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, an oversized sweater hugging her curvy frame... but there was a radiant glow to her cheeks and a sparkle in her blue eyes that hadn't been there before—not just lately, but ever.

She approached the window, reaching up tentatively with her hand to touch the cold glass pane as she leaned against the window, her breath fogging up the glass as she looked out at the winter wonderland below. The street was blanketed in a thick layer of freshly fallen snow, just like the one in her unfinished manuscript. She could almost see the characters from her story walking along the sidewalk, their footprints creating a path through the pristine white snow. The scene outside mirrored the one in her mind, and for a moment, she felt like she was living inside her own imagination.

Her heart thumped loudly in her chest as she whispered in disbelief, "No way."

She stepped away from the window, shaking her head before looking around the room and then moving back to gaze at the street below. There was no way this could be possible. This couldn't be happening. She recognized the town that was laid out before her. As she scanned the charming main street, she knew without a doubt this was Christmas Valley.