Chapter One

Juniper

My key turned in the lock with a satisfying click, and I pushed open the door of my Baltimore high-rise apartment. It felt like stepping into a void—clean, quiet, utterly devoid of the personal touches that made a place feel like home. The white walls were as stark as they were the day I moved in, and not a single picture frame or decorative pillow had found its way onto the bare surfaces in the year since I'd lived here. I've kept telling myself I'll decorate someday, but that day never seems to come.

"Home sweet home," I muttered, dropping my purse, keys, and the plastic bag holding my takeout dinner on the table in the foyer. After shrugging out of my coat and kicking off my shoes, I carried the bag with my takeout to the kitchenette and settled onto a barstool at my breakfast counter. I'd chosen Thai food for tonight—Pad Kee Mao with an extra kick of spice to jolt me out of the work exhaustion that draped over my shoulders like a heavy shawl.

Grabbing the remote, I flicked on the TV mounted on the opposite wall in the adjacent den. The news was the usual blend of politics and local happenings, but my attention snagged on the sparkling lights and tinsel decorating the news studio. A ticker tape at the bottom of the screen announced, "Five Days 'til Christmas!"

"Christmas?" I whispered, my fork frozen midway to my mouth. How had it crept up so quickly?

My phone's shrill ring cut through my daze, and I glanced at the caller ID—Candi McCall. My mother. My stomach knotted reflexively as I connected the call.

"Hi, Mom."

"Junie, sweetheart, I need you," my mother's voice came in a rush, tinged with desperation.

"Mom, what's wrong?"

"It's your sister. Ginger's about to pop any minute, and Brian's on call at the hospital over the holidays. The store's a madhouse and I can't leave," my mother explained in a breathless tirade. "Brayden and Angela are handfuls, and your sister needs you. Can you come home?"

I felt a tug at my heartstrings—the image of my niece and nephew's cherubic faces surfaced in my mind. My resolve wavered.

"Mom, I don't know. Work is…"

"Please, Juniper. It's Christmas, and we haven't had you home in so long. Springfield isn't the same without you." There was an unmistakable note of guilt woven into her plea.

"Okay," I relented, a mix of affection and obligation tightening my chest. "I'll come."

"Thank heavens!" my mother exclaimed before launching into a litany of how much it meant followed by the endless tasks awaiting my arrival.

"Mom, I gotta go," I cut across her rambling, my tone gentle yet firm. "I'll see you soon."

"All right, sweetheart. Have safe travels, and don't forget you're my Christmas miracle!"

"Sure, Mom," I replied, rolling my eyes as I hung up. My gaze returned to the TV screen, the festive cheer mocking my sudden sense of duty.

"Looks like I'm headed for a country Christmas," I murmured, reaching for another bite of noodles with less enthusiasm than before. But beneath the resignation, a spark of something else flickered - hope, perhaps, or curiosity. After all, Springfield always had a way of surprising me, especially during the holidays.

With a sigh that echoed off the bare walls of my apartment, I closed my laptop and pushed away from my makeshift dining table. I had spent the last hour scrolling through flights to Springfield with growing frustration. Every attempt met with the same result—sold out.

"Great," I muttered under my breath, the word laced with sarcasm. "Looks like I'm braving the holiday roads."

I stood up, stretching the stiffness from my spine, an artifact of too many hours hunched over plans and screens, and carried the empty cartons to the trash, my mind replaying the desperate tone in my mother's voice, the unspoken plea that had finally nudged me into this decision. I hadn't been home for Christmas since...well, since Troy had shattered my heart with his betrayal.

"New traditions have to start somewhere," I reasoned aloud, trying to inject some optimism into the dread that seemed to cling to the thought of returning to Springfield.

I began pacing, a habit when I was thinking or anxious. With each step, the plush carpet beneath my feet muffled the sound, a stark contrast to the crunch of fallen leaves I would've felt underfoot on the paths back home.

"Maybe it'll be good to see everyone," I said, though my reflection in the window didn't look convinced. "And Brayden and Angela...they're worth it."

My green eyes, usually so clear and focused when envisioning landscapes full of life, now reflected a swirl of emotion. Resolute, I opened my computer again to put in for vacation time. Since it would be the first time I'd requested time off since being hired, I knew I wouldn't have to worry about whether it would be approved. Then, I set to packing my suitcase, my movements sharp, decisive. I had to hurry or else I was likely to change my mind altogether. When I was done, I wheeled my bag through my apartment and grabbed my coat and keys, glancing at the digital clock on my smartphone screen.

"Drive twelve hours straight? Piece of cake," I declared, but my bravado rang hollow in the empty room. "After all, I survived Troy Stone. I can survive I-70."

As I locked the door behind me, I allowed myself one final glance at the darkened apartment. It was as if I was leaving behind the shell of my life here, stepping out into the cold December air to face ghosts of Christmases past.

"Springfield, here I come," I whispered, the words disappearing into the night like a promise—or a premonition.

My grip tightened on the steering wheel as my old SUV hummed along the highway, the headlights carving a path through the encroaching darkness. The occasional flurry danced across the beams, a herald of the snowstorm I was racing against. I had been driving for hours, my body stiff with the kind of nervous tension that came from watching the sky grow heavy with winter's threat and drinking too many cups of coffee.

"Come on, Bessie," I murmured to the trusty vehicle, "don't fail me now." My voice was a soft puff of warmth in the cold interior, the heater struggling against the chill that pressed against the windows.

My mind drifted, as it often did during long drives, to a time when a different kind of storm had upended my life. Troy's betrayal had come like a bolt of lightning, searing and sudden. I could still remember the cold sting of discovering his affair with Paris—the woman whose name had become synonymous with glossy perfection and public adoration.

"Should've known better than to trust a man who spends more time looking in the mirror than at you," I muttered, a humorless laugh escaping my lips. It was always easier to cloak the pain with sarcasm, to keep the memories at arm's length.

But the past was relentless, creeping into my thoughts like the chill that seeped through the SUV's aging seals. Images of my father, too, surfaced unbidden: his departure, the younger wife, the new family that seemed to erase the existence of his first. I swallowed hard against the lump forming in my throat, feeling once again like the discarded first draft of a story he no longer wanted to tell.

"Amazing, isn't it?" I said to the empty passenger seat. "How the people who are supposed to love you can just rewrite you out of their lives." The bitter edge to my words was a familiar taste, one that soured each holiday season.

I flicked on the windshield wipers, the rhythmic swish-swish a soft counterpoint to the turmoil inside. And then there was my mother, Candi, with her expectations as high and unattainable as the stars. Ginger, the golden child, had always soared while I felt earthbound, clipped by comparison and by reality.

"Never quite made the cut, huh, Junie?" The nickname, rarely used and even less liked, slipped out, a ghost of my mother's voice echoing in my mind. I blinked away the tears that threatened, not wanting to lose sight of the road—or of myself.

"Damn it, why am I doing this?" I whispered, the question hanging in the small space, unanswered. But even as despair threatened to close in, a surge of something warmer brushed against my heart, like the glow from a distant hearth.

"Brayden's toothless grin. Angela's hugs. The new baby coming..." I trailed off, each thought a balm, a reminder of innocence and unconditional love—the kind that didn't measure or judge.

I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I focused on the miles unfolding ahead. Springfield, with its small-town charm and its Christmas market on the green, was drawing me back, calling me home despite the shadows that lurked in my memory.

"Okay, Juniper, pull it together," I coached myself, my tone firm but gentle. "You're doing this for them. For family." And maybe, just maybe, I thought, for a chance to rewrite my own story, one where I was enough, just as I was.

The snow began to fall harder, a white curtain that blurred the lines of the world outside. I flipped the wipers to full speed, my resolve hardening with every mile. I was Juniper McCall, and I was going home for the holidays.

The dashboard lights flickered, a sputtering cough from the engine, and then...silence. My old SUV coasted to a stop, the snowstorm swirling around me like a personal vendetta from Mother Nature. I turned the key again, desperation twisting the ignition, but there was nothing. No comforting thrum of life, just the howling wind outside, whipping the snow into furious spirals.

"Great," I muttered, my breath fogging up the windshield. "Just perfect." My fingers scrambled over the phone screen, but the glaring 'No Service' icon mocked me. My pulse hammered in my temples as the reality set in—stranded on the outskirts of Springfield, with a blizzard bearing down and memories of Troy's betrayal icing my veins colder than the snow.

A pair of headlights pierced the curtain of white, approaching fast. I squinted through the storm, heart seizing. The vehicle—a tow truck, its beacon light a halo in the tempest—pulled up behind my immobilized SUV.

"Please don't be a serial killer," I whispered to myself, fumbling with the lock. A massive silhouette emerged from the truck, clad in a heavy coat that didn't quite hide the breadth of his shoulders or the confident stride that ate up the ground between us. My heart thudded against my ribs, fear and cold knotting together.

The figure reached my window, rapping a gloved knuckle against the glass. I flinched before rolling it down a crack, bracing for the worst.

"Need some help?" The voice was deep, touched by the lilt of familiarity, but it was the eyes that halted my breath—piercing and knowing, framed by dark lashes against the storm.

"Mason Knight?" I gasped, my voice a blend of disbelief and sudden warmth that defied the chill air.

"Oh hey, look who's back in town!" Mason flashed a smile that could've melted the snow off the hood. "Looks like you could use a knight in shining armor," he said with a laugh.

"Or at least one in a tow truck," I quipped back, relief flooding my senses. He'd changed, the awkward boy I remembered transformed into a man who commanded the elements with his presence. His hair, dark and wavy, peeked out from under his beanie, and the years had chiseled his jawline into something rugged and undeniably attractive.

"Let's get you out of this storm," Mason said, already moving to hook up my vehicle. I watched him work, noting the scars on his hands, the sureness of his movements. He glanced back at me, meeting my gaze with an intensity that sparked a heat inside me, chasing away the iciness left by past betrayals.

"Thanks, Mason," I said, my voice softer now, tinged with wonder. "I didn't expect my homecoming to include being rescued."

"Guess Christmas came early this year," he replied, his tone warm with humor. "Come on, let's get you to safety before we both freeze."

I nodded, my heartbeat uneven as I gathered my things. As I stepped out into the storm and made my way to the passenger seat of the tow truck next to the handsome man I didn't expect, a thought struck me like a jolt of electricity—maybe coming home wasn't such a terrible idea after all.