one
. . .
Holly
The road disappearsunder a sheet of white, and my tires spin. Not good.
I ease off the gas and breathe through the skid. The wheel straightens. My heartbeat doesn’t. I grip the steering wheel tighter and squint at the ridge ahead, where one last delivery will go.
Cole Hart. Reclusive. Doesn’t come to town. Needs Christmas cookies more than anyone.
The weather advisory pinged my phone an hour ago: Awinter storm warning, advising against unnecessary travel.
But this isn’t unnecessary. When I stopped by Wilde’s General Store, Eli paid for Cole’s cookies and said someone needed to check on the hermit. I said I could do it, and I don’t break promises.
Cole’s delivery is the farthest out and the hardest to reach, which is why he’s last on my list. I planned to get to him before it got dark and the weather turned, but with the snow falling, that’s looking iffy at best.
The wind shoves the car sideways. I correct again and hum the first verse of “Jingle Bells” because silence makes my nerves worse.Almost there.
My breath fogs the windshield faster than the defroster can keep up. I swipe at it with my mitten. I can see… enough.
The switchback tightens. My wheels catch gravel, sounding like grinding teeth, and my stomach flip-flops. Next comes ice, smooth as glass, and the steering wheel goes loose in my hands. For one heart-stopping second, I’m sliding sideways toward the edge where the road just… ends.
Then the tires bite into something, gravel or frozen dirt, and traction returns. My hands are slick inside my mittens, and I taste copper in my mouth from biting my cheek.
I should ease up on the steering wheel, but my fingers won’t let go. “Okay. Okay, we’re fine.”
I am not fine.
But I’m not turning around when I’m this close. Mrs. Porter at the library told me Cole Hart lives at the end of this spur, past the ridge loop, where the pines grow so thick the snow can’t find the ground. She said it gently, the way people do when they think you won’t listen.
I didn’t.
Because even after living in Lush Hollow for three months, I’m still one of the new girls. Make that the newest still-single woman. Nora and Paige somehow found love in this small town on this very mountain.
Me?
Not even a date or someone asking for my number.
It doesn’t surprise me. I’m that person, the one everyone sees as just a friend. I’m the perfect sidekick because I smile too much and bring cookies nobody asked for. I’m the one people are polite to but don’t quiteseeyet. And theyetfalls on the hopeful side.
Maybe Cole Hart is like me in some way. Why else would he stick to his cabin so much? That’s why this delivery matters. I want him to know that someone—well, me—sees him.
A structure finally appears through the falling snow. That has to be his cabin, right? It’s made of dark wood with a metal roof. Smoke curls from a chimney.
Relief floods through me, and I blow out a breath.I made it.
I park close to the porch, grab the cookie tin from the passenger seat, and open the door. Wind slaps my face, and ice crystals sting my skin. I tuck my chin and push forward, boots in snow that’s above my shins. But I haven’t failed in my delivery attempt. That has to count for something.
Two steps up to the porch, and I knock.
Nothing.
I try again, knocking harder, but my mittens muffle the sound.
The door swings open, and I forget how to breathe.
He’shuge. Broad shoulders fill the doorframe, and flannel stretches over a chest that looks like it could stop a truck. Close-cropped dark hair, a trimmed beard dusted with gray, and eyes the color of a winter sky. A faint scar cuts over his brow. His mouth is a flat line.
