Heat flares in my cheeks again. “I won’t be doing that, Ruby.”
“Okay, we’ll see. Just try to stay open to the idea of having fun,” she corrects.
I can practically hear her wiggling her eyebrows through the phone.
“Who knows? Maybe the mountains have a man with your name on him.”
“Yeah,” I say lightly. “And maybe he got lost in a snowstorm and forgot to show up.”
“You never know,” Ruby says. There’s something almost knowing in her tone. “The mountains are weird that way.”
Before I can answer, the bell over her shop door jingles faintly through the line. “Okay, gotta go. Customer just walked in. I’ll text you details about the auction time. Love you!”
“Love you,” I say, but she’s already hung up. The call drops and the shop feels extra quiet without all her enthusiasm.
I set the phone down and let my gaze roam over the shelves again. Over the tiny cabins and snow-dusted trees, the frozen skaters and bundled couples.
I flip off the last of the lights behind the counter, leaving only the front display glowing. On impulse, I walk over to the window and stand there, looking out at Cady Springs through the wreath of evergreen branches framing the glass.
Across the street, the town square is already half-dressed for Christmas. The big evergreen in the center waits in silhouette, branches dark and full. In a few days, they’ll light it up. People will gather with hot cocoa and carols. Families. Couples. Kids tugging at mittens.
Last year, I watched from my apartment window above the shop, too raw from grief to be part of it. The lights below had blurred through tears I’d pretended were from the cold.
This year… maybe I’ll stand with everyone else. Even if it’s awkward. Even if my heart still feels a little bruised around the edges.
I reach up and trace a slow, absentminded circle on the glass with my fingertip, like I’m outlining a snow globe around the view.
“Okay,” I murmur to my reflection, my breath fogging the pane. “Holiday auction. No big deal.”
My reflection raises an unimpressed brow back at me. My blue eyes look huge, shadows smudged beneath them from too many late nights working. My dark hair is twisted into a messy bun, a dusting of glitter still catching on the baby hairs at my temples.
I look like someone who makes magic for other people and forgets to ask for any of her own.
“Well,” I tell myself, squaring my shoulders. “Maybe it’s time to change that.”
I turn away from the window and head back to the counter. I find a blank tag and a thin silver ribbon, then pick up one of the empty glass globes from the shelf.
“Fox & Frost Custom Snow Globe Experience,” I write in looping script on the tag. “Design your very own holiday memory.”
It feels … hopeful. I tie the ribbon around the neck of the globe and set it gently in the center of the main display, right between the kissing couple and the tiny cabin.
“There,” I tell it quietly. “You’re going to go have an adventure for a good cause.”
I add one more thing to my to-do list:Find something to wear that makes me look like the kind of woman who belongs at a magical Christmas auction.
I lock the cash drawer, slip my phone into my coat pocket, and take one last look around the shop before heading for the door.
Fairy lights. Snow globes. Sparkle and a peaceful stillness.
“For the food bank,” I remind myself. “For mom and … something new.”
Chapter 2
Ethan
The wind cuts hard across the ridge this morning. It’s sharp enough to sting my cheeks and loud enough to drown out the creak of the woodpile as I heft another log onto the stack. The air smells like pine sap and cold iron, the kind of early-winter bite that settles deep in your bones if you stand still too long. Good thing I don’t stand still.
I split the next log cleanly, two halves falling away from the axe with a satisfying crack. The sound echoes off the tree line. The only other noise up here is the wind. Everything is quiet and peaceful. Just the way I like it.
