Chapter 4

4

JACE

J ace drove back into town, parking his Range Rover at one end and getting out to reacquaint himself with Christmas Valley. His boots crunched rhythmically through the freshly fallen snow, each step an echo in the quiet morning. Around him, Christmas Valley stirred to life, shop windows flickering with warm light and festive melodies weaving softly into the crisp air from hidden speakers. Yet, the whimsy of twinkling lights on lampposts and wreaths adorning every door failed to lift the heaviness that sat like a stone in Jace's chest.

Tugging the brim of his knit cap down tighter against the biting wind, as if to shield himself not just from the cold, but from the thoughts swirling like a blizzard in his mind, Jace walked on, trying not to think of the deplorable state of the lodge. No wonder his uncle had been losing money. Jace felt guilty for not having known and offering his uncle some kind of support. He dismissed the idea as foolish as he wasn’t omnipotent, and he hadn’t spoken with his uncle in more than two decades.

The bank manager had agreed to meet with him to discuss the Northwind Lodge’s financial prospects. The meeting, an ominous presence that seemed to loom overhead, blotted out the sun struggling to rise above the horizon.

Jace’s breath showed in the air as visible proof of life amidst the encroaching landscape of snow and dread. The Northwind Lodge, his unexpected inheritance and reason for leaving Boston behind, hung precariously at the edge of failure. But it was more than a business; it had been in his family for generations and was a bastion of memories and dreams. Now, it was balanced on the precipice of oblivion, desperate for salvation.

Muscles tensed beneath layers of flannel and down, Jace clenched his jaw, determination pulsing through his veins like fire. Today he noticed the various shops and businesses that were boarded up—closed for business. He hadn’t noticed them yesterday. He couldn't—wouldn't—let the lodge join them. The lodge and this village, with its pristine slopes, crackling hearths, and gingerbread trim was meant for laughter and love, not the hollow silence of abandonment.

As he strode through the awakening town, the mountain's silhouette loomed in the distance, its peaks crowned with white, like a promise of challenges yet to be conquered. Each step felt purposeful, a silent vow to breathe life back into the old lodge, to restore its walls and fill them once more with the warmth of guests and the glow of evening fires.

The thrum of his heart kept time with the crunch of snow beneath his boots, a steady beat that whispered of resilience and new beginnings. In that moment, Jace was not just a man weighed down by impending financial woes; he was a warrior bracing for battle, a guardian of traditions and joys yet to be kindled in the heart of Christmas Valley.

Oh god , he thought to himself, I’m beginning to sound like one of those cheesy holiday movies.

The cold snapped at his skin, sharp enough to slice through the fog of worry shrouding his mind. A siren song from his past life in Boston tempted him with the ease of retreat, yet he banished the thought with a determined shake of his head. His gaze was steely, reflecting the green of pines blanketed in snow—a silent oath that surrender wasn't an option. The lodge's fate hung precariously, yes, but surrender? Not on my watch .

The world around him bloomed slowly to life, its colors muted but warm against the crisp whiteness. Jace's green eyes, ever searching for solace amidst the storm, found momentary respite as they spied Cozy Cravings. The bakery's awning, stripes of red and white, danced playfully in the wind, a beacon of comfort during Christmas Valley's waking hours. Its chalkboard, scripted with promises of sweet indulgences, teased his senses—gingerbread men standing guard over fantasies of peppermint and chocolate, hot cocoa a liquid hug against the chill.

That scent, cinnamon mixed with sugar, wove through the air, a perfumer’s dream distilled into a single, heartwarming note. Pine and clean, crisp air competed for attention, grounding the sweetness with their earthy tethers, each aromatic note striking against the heaviness he felt inside, coaxing it to unfurl like a flower reaching for the sun.

The unexpected indulgence, the dance of scents and sights, stirred something deep within him. It was a reminder, however fleetingly, that beauty persisted even when cloaked in adversity's harsh mantle. And perhaps, just maybe, this charm-laden valley held the key not only to the lodge's salvation but to mending the fissures in his own guarded heart.

Jace smirked—something he would never admit to—a solitary gesture that cradled the echo of laughter. Heather, with her no-nonsense brows and sharp wit, would have dismissed the festive storefronts and their saccharine promises with an elegant roll of her eyes. The memory of her—sharp as needles of ice on his skin—lingered, bittersweet and edged with what-ifs.

As the smirk faded, dissolving into the morning air as Jace's boots continued to map out the rhythm of his new life, Christmas Valley unfolded around him in a slow pirouette of light and shadow, whispering secrets of yesteryears wrapped in tinsel and twinkling bulbs.

He rounded the corner, the weight of the impending bank meeting and worries about the lodge tethered to his steps like a shadow. Then, chaos—sharp and sudden—clawed him back to the present. A clatter, a gasp, a cacophony of startled cries. His eyes snapped to the source, instincts honed by city reflexes springing to life.

The world narrowed to this unexpected break in routine, the heartbeat of the street skipping erratically as if jolted by a wayward current. It was life in a small town, raw and unscripted, unraveling before him in the spilled colors of gingerbread dreams and the shock of eyes meeting his own.

"Whoa—!" The sharp cry sliced through the frosty air, a thread of alarm woven into the fabric of Jace's morning.

He came to a halt, his boots crunching against the snow in abrupt punctuation. Up ahead, a woman's feet betrayed her as she danced across the icy sidewalk in a desperate pirouette. Her silhouette tilted—a moment suspended—as if deciding whether to succumb to gravity's cruel whimsy.

Jace's breath caught, his heart thrumming against his ribs as an echo of adrenaline surged through him. He watched, helpless but captivated, as she wobbled, the ballet of disaster choreographed on this frosted stage.

As her arms whirled, a tray of delicious-smelling gingerbread cookies arced skyward. For an instant, they seemed to be suspended in mid-air like stars flung from a careless hand against the canvas of a winter dawn. Then came an abrupt descent as an array of confectionery soldiers tumbled from their brief flight to the ground. Cookies collided with reality, some finding their end in soft thuds against the unforgiving ground. Others met the snowbank, a cascade of sugary artillery rebounding in sweet chaos.

Jace's pulse raced, his blood singing with a strange cocktail of concern and something else—something warmer, more exhilarating. Something he hadn’t felt since he and Heather had come undone. Witnessing the unexpected spectacle, there was a flicker of connection, a spark stirred by the sight of her distress.

Without a second thought, Jace lunged forward—each stride bringing him closer to the woman caught in winter's treacherous embrace. He reached her just as gravity was about to declare victory. His muscles tensed as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her upright before her ass could kiss the ground.

The sensation of her against him was unexpected, a jolt of electricity that coursed through his veins. Her body, cocooned in layers meant to ward off the chill, pressed close, and though layers of clothing separated skin from skin, the heat of the moment knew no such barriers.

"Got you," he murmured, the words more felt than heard.

Their breath mingled as Jace held her steady. The morning's silence returned, save for the shared rhythm of their breathing—an intimate cadence against the backdrop of Christmas Valley's awakening charm.

Jace's world narrowed to the woman in his arms, her presence eclipsing all else. The pressing concerns of the lodge, the steel chill of the wind—everything faded into a soft blur against the sharp clarity of her sapphire gaze. They were a startling blue, those eyes, lit with a spark that sent an unfamiliar heat racing through his veins, melting the frost that clung to his heart.

"Whoa," she whispered, her breath a ghostly puff in the chilled air. “That was close.”

Her fingers gripped his arm, delicate yet urgent, as though anchoring herself to him was the only thing that mattered in this slip of time. Curly tendrils escaped from beneath her red hat, framing her face in a halo of warmth that defied the winter's bite. Her cheeks, flushed from the cold—or perhaps it was the rush of their unexpected collision—added to the ethereal glow that surrounded her.

"Close indeed," Jace replied, his voice a low rumble that resonated between them. He felt her shiver, whether from the lingering threat of a fall or the proximity of their bodies, he couldn't tell. But it stirred something protective within him, a primal urge to shield and hold her safe.

She steadied herself, still holding onto him, a lifeline in the icy world they inhabited. In that moment, under the weight of her gaze, Jace sensed a shift deep within his core, a stirring of something he’d thought gone forever. Desire. A desire not just for warmth, but for connection, for the bright laughter he could see dancing within the depths of her eyes.

"Thank you," she murmured, finally releasing her grip on his arm to stand on her own. Yet, the space between them remained charged, electric with the promise of unknown possibilities. Felicity glanced down at her scattered pastries, a casualty of ice and gravity, and then back up at Jace. An unspoken question lingered in the air, a silent inquiry about what came next on this snowy canvas of fate.

Jace forced his fingers to ease from around her waist. The heat from her body seeped through layers of wool, denim and cotton, a contrast to the chill that gripped Christmas Valley. He blinked, the world snapping back into focus as his voice emerged rough with concern. "You okay?"

Her laughter danced in the frosty air, light and unburdened as she brushed a dusting of snow from the fabric of her coat. "Yeah, just... not my most graceful moment." Her breath misted between them, weaving silver threads through the space where silence lingered.

He watched the flush of her cheeks deepen, a rosy hue that made her eyes sparkle with something akin to mischief. The sight tugged at something within Jace—a yearning to stand witness to all of her unguarded moments, graceful or otherwise.

"Grace is overrated," he teased, a smile playing at the edge of his lips. His gaze held steady, drinking in the lively animation of her features, the way the soft curve of her mouth hinted at secrets he longed to uncover.

Jace’s heart gave an unexpected skip as he watched her fingers linger at the hem of her coat, as though she were rediscovering herself after the tumble. Her eyes met his, and in that moment, something shifted. It wasn’t just relief from a near fall—it was something warmer, something that felt like a spark catching, an ember of connection flickering to life between them, small but steady, as if the universe had nudged them closer for a reason.

"Apparently, so is balance," she quipped, the words tumbling out like notes in a melody—a song of shared laughter and newfound camaraderie.

The corners of Jace's eyes crinkled with genuine delight, a reflection of the joy that seemed to radiate from her. It was a look that spoke volumes, one of gratitude for her levity that cut through the fog of his earlier trepidation.

"Balance can be learned," he replied, his tone carrying the weight of experience—of past falls and the determination to rise again. "But a sense of humor? That's a rare gift."

A breeze whispered past, stands of hair that escaped her hat, and he resisted the urge to reach out, to tuck the stray strands behind her ear. Instead, he stepped back, granting them both the space to breathe, to exist in this sudden pocket of serendipity.

"Thanks for catching me," she said, her voice softer now, threaded with sincerity that reached deep into his chest, squeezing gently.

"Anytime," he promised, and even as the words left his mouth, Jace wondered at their truth—how he meant them more profoundly than he’d expected. For a woman he'd just met, for a moment that defied the ordinary, for the hope that perhaps he’d found something in Christmas Valley that could make staying worthwhile.