Chapter Two

Logan

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was how quiet it was. Not the flat hush of an empty house, but a soft, muffled stillness that only deep snow can create. I lay there for a moment, staring at the wood-paneled ceiling of my small guest room at the North Star Chalet, listening to my own breathing. The old radiator hissed gently, giving off a steady warmth. Outside, the blizzard still had the world in a chokehold…

Perfect…

Just perfect.

I rolled my shoulders and swung my legs over the bed, feeling a familiar twinge in my knee. Once upon a time, that knee had been a piece of machinery tuned for professional hockey—now it was a reminder of what I’d lost and left behind. Today, it was just another ache, a dull whisper that I’d learned to live with.

I stood and padded to the window, pushing aside the thick curtains. Snow blanketed the landscape, turning Pine Ridge into a silent, pristine world. Evergreens bowed under heavy drifts, and the sky was a pale gray, hinting that the storm hadn’t finished its assault. From here, the North Star Chalet looked snug and self-contained, a holiday postcard made real. Inside, I imagined guests stirring, staff shuffling about, and the scent of coffee drifting through the halls.

Coffee. That thought spurred me into action. A quick, hot shower helped clear my mind. I dressed in comfortable jeans, a navy henley, and wool socks that reminded me of days off-season spent in other small mountain towns—times before I’d made it big, before I’d crashed down hard. Even though I’d returned to the game I loved and was now making a name for myself again as the coach of the Denver Warlords, I still had more to accomplish. And being snowed-in wasn’t part of my original plan. I was supposed to finalize talks with the owners about hosting off-season hockey clinics. There was grant money at stake, a chance to help young players train without the glaring spotlight of professional arenas. Now all that was on hold, trapped under layers of snowfall.

And Emberleigh Quinn. Just the thought of her name made my chest feel tight. I had no idea she’d be staying at the chalet; no clue I’d run into the one person whose eyes I avoided watching on TV interviews and highlight reels. She’d been furious—well, maybe not furious, but she definitely hadn’t looked happy to see me. Could I really blame her though? After all, I’d disappeared on her years ago after my injury. I never explained, never reached out. Shame had done that to me. It felt easier to vanish than to show my weakness, to let her see me broken. Now, I had no choice but to face the consequences of that choice with her closed-off body language and snarky comments.

I shook my head at myself, raking a hand through my hair, and left the room. The hallway smelled faintly of lemon polish and pine. A few doors down, I heard muffled laughter—sounded like the newlyweds I’d been introduced to last night. Jenna and Tyrese, if I recalled correctly. Holly Joy, the sprightly front desk manager who was as perky as a Christmas elf, had introduced them. They were probably still wrapped up in each other’s arms underneath the covers. Envy suddenly washed over me like the Grinch had tipped a bucket of the nasty green stuff over my head.

Trying to shake it off, I continued on my way through the building. Descending the main staircase, I took in the chalet’s cozy grandeur: high ceilings, wooden beams, a chandelier decorated with pinecones and ribbons. The lounge area off the main lobby was busier this morning. I smelled coffee before I saw it, and that alone lifted my spirits. A self-serve breakfast station had been set up near a window showcasing a panoramic view of snow-capped mountains. I poured a mug of brew, black and strong, and sipped carefully. It was decent coffee, not the watery stuff I sometimes got on the road.

After grabbing a giant peach-walnut muffin and a banana, I found a seat at a nearby table and scanned the room, recognizing a few faces from last night. Pearl and Norman Fletcher were nestled into armchairs. She had a ball of soft-looking emerald green yarn in her lap and the knitting needles between her fingers clicked rhythmically, weaving together what looked to be a scarf that trailed inch by inch closer to the floor as I watched. Her husband glanced up at me over the rims of his glasses from the large book he was reading—a thriller—and smiled in greeting. Nearby, a glamorous woman wearing a faux-fur vest—Sasha Kim, the influencer—stood by the window, phone in hand, tapping her screen with a bright red nail. The newlyweds wandered in as I ate the last bite of muffin. Sure enough, they looked young, in love, and blissfully out of touch—Must be nice.

No Emberleigh yet. A mix of relief and disappointment stirred in my gut. Part of me wanted to see her immediately, while another part dreaded her glare. Well, she couldn’t hide forever, and this chalet wasn’t large enough for real hiding anyway.

I took another sip of coffee, savoring the warmth, when a voice sang out, “Logan!”

I glanced up to watch Sasha saunter over, a dazzling smile on her face, her phone clasped tightly in her fingers. Her long dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her makeup was as heavy as if she were about to perform on a theater stage.

“Morning, Sasha,” I said politely.

I barely knew her, but she’d made sure to introduce herself last night as some sort of social media maven, always filming or snapping, her phone connected to her like another limb. She’d already tried to involve me in her content, dropping hints that a narrative involving me would boost her views as well as my team’s presence in the public mind. I’d brushed her off then, but she didn’t seem discouraged.

She pressed closer. “How are you enjoying this unexpected holiday stay? My followers are going wild over the idea that we’re trapped in this cozy lodge. Romantic ambiance, star hockey coach…it’s like a reality show they never knew they needed.”

I forced a neutral chuckle. “It’s not what I planned, but making the best of it.”

Sasha’s eyes lit up. “Exactly! That’s the spirit. I’ve been telling my viewers I’m snowed in with you—none other than Logan McKenzie, former hockey pro, now a coach guiding others to greatness!” She gestured dramatically.

I tried not to grimace. “I’m just here for business, actually…Had a meeting that got derailed by the storm.”

“Right, right.” Sasha waved off what I’d said. “But business or not, we’re stuck. And I’ve been hinting that maybe you and I…” She shot me a suggestive glance. “We might just give my followers the perfect holiday romance.”

I cleared my throat as my nose wrinkled reflexively. The chemicals in whatever expensive perfume she was wearing were overpowering my senses. “Sasha, I’m flattered, but I’m not interested in playing a role. I’m just trying to wait out the storm.”

Her smile tightened. For a second, I saw a flicker of annoyance. Then she turned it back on, brighter than ever. “Of course! Just keep it in mind. There’s a huge audience out there. And besides, we have great chemistry, don’t you think?”

Before I had to answer her, Holly Joy entered the lounge. Today, she wore a sweater emblazoned with the words “ Merry their house neat but not overly fancy. Ours ended up a bit haphazard, as Sasha spent more energy filming than decorating. Pearl and Norman’s was symmetrical, aside from a gumdrop that Norman defiantly placed off-center. The newlyweds created something impressively detailed—a gingerbread chalet that looked like a mini replica of the lodge itself.

“All right,” Holly Joy sang, “everyone step back and admire these creations!”

We stood in a half-circle, examining each other’s work. Sasha tried to lean against my arm again, but I took a small step forward to examine the newlyweds’ house, murmuring something about their perfect icing lines. They beamed at the compliment.

Time to vote. We weren’t allowed to vote for our own. I appreciated Pearl and Norman’s candy symmetry, but I ended up casting my vote for the newlyweds’ house, which genuinely impressed me. The others spread their votes around, but it quickly became clear that Jenna and Tyrese were the crowd favorite. They clapped with delight when Holly Joy declared them the winners.

The rest of us offered grudging applause. Sasha pasted on a wide smile and snapped a photo of herself. Emberleigh looked relieved it was over, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. She and Dante exchanged small smiles, as if pleased they survived the ordeal.

Just then, Emberleigh caught me looking at her again and offered a tight, impersonal nod before turning on her heel. She left the dining area with Dante trailing behind, the cook adjusting his apron and looking as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

I watched her go; chest heavy. I hadn’t done anything to improve our situation. In fact, I might have made it worse. From Emberleigh’s perspective, I’d just spent the last half hour allowing Sasha to flirt shamelessly, posing for her camera, playing along with the influencer’s antics. Emberleigh had no way of knowing I felt trapped, that I kept trying to put distance between Sasha and me without causing a scene. I guess I could have been firmer, but then again, Sasha hadn’t done anything overtly wrong—she was just persistent, and annoying.

The others dispersed, but I remained at the table a moment longer, staring at the remnants of icing and broken candy. This sweet setting had done nothing to ease the bitterness between Emberleigh and me. If anything, it confirmed that I needed a real chance to talk to her, to tell her how I regretted vanishing after my injury. She deserved an explanation, and I deserved a shot at making amends.

Sasha sidled up; phone lowered for once. “That was fun,” she said, though her tone lacked enthusiasm. “Shame we didn’t win. My viewers love a winner’s angle, but maybe I can spin it into a ‘humble effort’ story.” She eyed me, then glanced at the door Emberleigh had exited. “You know, if you show a little more chemistry, it might boost engagement. Audiences eat that up.”

My jaw tightened. “Sasha, I told you, I’m really not interested in creating a fake storyline.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself, Logan. But if you change your mind, I can make sure you leave this chalet a social media sensation.” With a final toss of her hair, she walked away.

I exhaled, running a hand over my goatee. A social media sensation? Exactly what I didn’t need. My coaching career required respect, stability, and trust, not viral flirting with an influencer. I’d left the drama of professional play behind me. Coaching was my second chance at hockey, at contributing something meaningful to the sport I loved. The last thing I wanted was to turn into a spectacle.

The dining area felt too warm now. I grabbed my coffee mug from where I’d left it, only to find it cold and unappealing. Setting it down again, I made my way back toward the lounge. Maybe I could find a quiet corner where I could sit and think, or maybe even catch Emberleigh alone somewhere. Unlikely, since she seemed intent on avoiding me.

As I passed into the lounge, I noticed Dante hovering near the kitchen door, glancing nervously at Holly Joy, who was busy tidying up Christmas decorations. The young cook looked like he wanted to speak up but didn’t dare. He caught me looking and managed a small, awkward grin before disappearing into the kitchen. Guess everyone here had their own little dramas going on.

Outside, snow still fell, and inside, we were all prisoners of circumstance. I wondered how long we’d be stuck. The roads probably wouldn’t clear until after Christmas, which meant more forced togetherness, more competitions, more awkward encounters. I shouldn’t have minded so much—better than being stranded alone—but the pressure of unresolved history with Emberleigh weighed on me. Every interaction, or lack thereof, felt magnified in these close quarters.

I needed a plan. Something to show Emberleigh who I really was now, to prove I wasn’t that coward who’d run away from his problems. Maybe whatever event Holly Joy had planned next would give me a chance. Or maybe I’d just have to corner her, apologize straight up, and accept whatever reaction she gave.

But that would mean she had to listen first. From the look in her eyes today, she wasn’t in a listening mood.

Sighing, I stepped near the window and watched the snow swirl. The world outside looked serene, a white blanket covering all sins. Inside, tensions simmered like a pot about to boil over. If the gingerbread house contest was just the opening act, I could only imagine what this holiday had in store for us next.