Book 3: It Happened Again (Brooks & Maisy)
Book 4: It Happened in Vegas (Keaton & Sophie)
Book 5: It Happened to Us (Archer & Penny)
Book 6: It Happened After Hours (Griffin & Jessa)
Various characters appearin this book that connect to other series.
Tucker Bellamy & Whitney: For Puck’s Sake
Junior & Angel Steele: What You Give, Steele Valley Billionaires Series.
Luc & Emily Delfino: Part Two of the duet All My Love, The Fated Loves Series.
EPILOGUE 1: MR. SNOWMAN
A Frosty, Flirty, Snowed-In, Almost-Enemies-to-Lovers Christmas Romance
Holden West
Nothing saysI’mThe Manaround here better than an enlarged and framed Times article calling me Mr. Snowman.
THE SNOWMAN RETURNS:
Holden West’s Frosty New Dream
“He single-handedly brought the sports entertainment spotlight to upstate New York with his state-of-the art luxurious new ski resort. We predict that come opening day, the sold-out crowds of ski fans will hail Mr. Snowman and his newest addition to the world of winter sports…”
I loved that quote. I stepped back, hands on my hips, and admired my masterpiece. Not the remodeled lodge—I’d admire it in a week on grand opening day, New Year’s Day. But the two by three feet of glossy glory.
Yep, I had the article enlarged and double-matted—with museum lighting. If I was going to stroke my ego, I might as well make it a centerpiece.
I grinned at the nickname “Mr. Snowman.” Back when I was a young snowboarding phenom, and destined for Olympic gold, the media had taken to calling me the Snowman. Before the injury, the surgeries, and the endless rehab that led to crushed dreams.
These days, they addedMr.to the front of it, and the press used it with a wink, like a billionaire playing lodge mogul wascute. But looking at that headline didn’t sting. It felt right. This place was my second chance. My legacy.
“Perfect,” I chortled aloud to the empty lobby. “Just the right amount of humble.”
A gust of wind rattled the big front windows. Outside, snow piled up. The storm had a nickname, given its epic size.
“Snowzilla” rolled straight for Steele Valley, and the forecasts were unanimous: this would not be a gentle and sweet Hallmark-esque snow. This was a shut-down-the-roads, batten-down-the-hatches, and hope-your-generator-works type of snow.
Usually, snow was a great thing for a ski lodge. Not this much though. My best hope was to be dug out by the plows before opening day.
I snorted. Leave it to me to choose New Year’s Day for the Grand Opening, but it would be my 40th birthday. I always loved having an enormous party to celebrate.
I’d sent the staff home hours ago. Everyone had families, cozy Christmas traditions, kids waiting for Santa. All I had was the lodge.
I poured a fortune into it for three years. Tonight, I’d spend my holiday alone in it, probably call my brothers who were in various countries, maybe get drunk on good bourbon, and sleep like a baby in my suite. In a day or two, when plows dug me out, the staff would return, and it’d be nonstop from there preparing for opening day.
I could have written this would happen. Like my snowboarding career in the past, taking a nosedive into an injury. Typical Holden West move: big plans ruined by a bigger storm. But I was determined to beat this challenge head-on.
I ran a cloth over the edge of the frame and the glass one more time, like touching it would make magic happen. I made a wish for success, just in case.
“Wow.”
The voice came from behind me, dry and unimpressed. I turned, startled to findherstanding there.
