Chapter 1
Harper
Iflip the OPEN sign to CLOSED and the bell over the door gives a tired little jingle, like it’s ready to clock out for the night, too. “Same,” I murmur, turning the lock.
Outside, snow drifts lazily past the front windows of Fox & Frost. The streetlamps in downtown Cady Springs glow soft and golden against the falling flakes, making the whole town look like it belongs inside one of my own snow globes. Which is kind of my brand, but still.
Inside, everything is quiet and cozy. Fairy lights twine along the shelves. The air smells like the vanilla candle I was burning, earlier. But I also pick up a faint hint of epoxy from where I was gluing tiny figurines into place. On the main display, a dozen finished globes wait beneath a dusting of glitter, each glass dome holding its own little universe.
A couple kissing on a park bench under falling snow. A cabin with a smoking chimney, a golden retriever boundingthrough drifts. And a tiny Cady Springs town square with the Gazebo and clock tower just so.
I move through the shop on autopilot, turning off the big overhead lights one by one. I leave the fairy lights on in the front window. My mom always said every shop should look a little bit magical from the street at night, even when it’s closed. “It gives people good feelings,” she’d say.
My throat pinches for a second, but I swallow around it. I’ve gotten used to that little ache … mostly.
I turn to the workbench behind the counter where tonight’s main project waits — a custom order. Inside the globe, there’s a miniature ice-skating pond and two figures of an older couple, bundled up with tiny scarves around their necks. The man’s hand is reaching for the woman’s, his head tilted toward her like he’s telling a secret.
Their daughter sent me a blurry photo of them from twenty years ago and asked if I could “capture the moment.”
I always say I build memories, not toys. Sometimes people laugh. Sometimes they cry. Either way, they always pay their invoice on time.
I check the alignment of the little figures one more time, nudging the man’s arm a millimeter closer with my tweezers. Better. His hand almost brushes hers now, suspended forever in that almost-touch.
“Perfect,” I whisper, sealing the base with glue.
My phone buzzes against the counter, jittering across a scattering of glitter. I grab it before it suicides off the edge.
RUBY GARLAND flashes across the screen, complete with the little cherry emoji I added because the owner of “Sugarplum Secrets” needed something flirty.
I swipe to answer. “Hey, Rubes.”
“Harper Fox,” she drawls. There’s noise behind her. Music, laughter, and the rustle of tissue paper and bags. “Tell me you’re not still in that shop.”
I glance around at the glowing shelves. “Okay, I won’t tell you.”
She huffs. “It is after six. On a Friday. The only acceptable work at this hour involves lace, silk, or batteries.”
“You are literally at your lingerie shop right now,” I remind her, smiling.
“That’s business and community service,” she says. “This is different. You, my little snowflake, need to get out more.”
“I get out,” I protest. “I go to the hardware store. The grocery store. The post office.”
“You flirt with the mail scale, Harper. That doesn’t count.”
I chuckle, leaning my hip against the counter. “The scale understands me. It never asks why I’m still single.”
“Funny you should mention that,” she says, and there’s a certain tone in her voice. The one that means trouble. “So. You’ve heard about the One Magical Match auction next weekend, right?”
I sigh. “I saw the flyers.”
‘One Magical Match: Cady Springs Annual Holiday Charity Auction’in bold script, complete with mistletoe graphics and far too many exclamation points.
“I figured you’d seen them,” she says. “Janice practically wallpapered the town.” There’s a pause, then her tone turns sly. “You’re coming.”
“That wasn’t a question,” I point out.
“It wasn’t meant to be. All single women in Cady Springs are requested to attend.” She mimics the mayor’s prim voice. “Her words, not mine.”
