Chapter One
CLARA
“Clara, you still there?” Blair's voice crackles through the rental’s Bluetooth speaker.
“Yes. Just navigating some weather.” The windshield wipers squeak against the snow.
“The forecast said clear skies. This assignment needs to be perfect. The agency wants their Christmas campaign shots by the twenty-third.”
I have to nail this. If I do, it will secure my promotion to Creative Director, the youngest in the history of the company. The pressure sits like a weight on my chest.
“I've got it handled. Small-town, Christmas card perfection.”
“That's my girl. Remember they want the new location up on Pine Road. And Clara? I know you usually skip the holidays for work, but try not to let that cynicism show in the photos. We're selling Christmas magic.”
I roll my eyes, but Blair isn’t wrong. After my parents moved back to Portugal, I’ve volunteered for the Christmas shifts no one else wants to do. Between their new restaurant, my work, and different time zones, we keep in touch with rushed FaceTime calls.
“I’ll deliver. Trust me.”
“I do. That's why you're getting this chance.”
The call ends just as I pull into town. Even to my jaded eyes, Snowflake Falls is charming. All the buildings are draped in lights, the Candy Cabin's striped awning sags under snow, and Jolly's Diner has a vintage-style mechanical waving Santa. Smiling people bustle everywhere, laden with shopping bags.
I need coffee and directions to the mountain overlook before this snow gets worse. The agency said the photos on Pine Road are the money shots that will make or break this campaign.
Friar's Bar is a big wood-panelled building with alarming neon reindeer dangling from the roof. The warmth hits me first when I push through the heavy door, then woodsmoke and beer. At the bar, an old man with a Santa-style huge white beard is gesturing wildly with his mug.
“Storm's brewin',” he announces to no one in particular. “These old bones don't lie. Gonna be a big one, boys.”
The bartender catches my eye. “What can I get you?”
“Black coffee to go, thanks. And directions to the overlook on Pine Road.”
Grumpy Santa swivels toward me, sharp blue eyes sizing me up as he nods at the camera case I’m carrying. “You're another photographer? Here to make us look pretty for the tourists.”
I smile. “I'm here to showcase your beautiful town, yes. I’m Clara.”
He snorts. “Name’s Carl. Those mountain roads ain't for city folk in rental cars. Not with what's coming.”
“The forecast says?—”
“Theforecastdoesn't know these mountains.” Carl turns back to his beer. “That overlook you're wanting is ten miles up Pine Road. You'd best forget it unless you want to spend Christmas on that mountain.”
“I just need an hour up there for photos.”
Carl shakes his head. “That storm don't care about your deadlines, girl.”
But I can’t listen to him. I leave cash on the bar and head back into the increasingly heavy snow. The road up starts innocently enough, winding through pine forests that look like a postcard. But as I climb higher, following the GPS's cheerful directions, the rental car's tires begin to slip.
Thirty minutes later, miles from town and probably from any help, the snow has turned from picturesque to problematic. The windshield wipers can't keep up. The road narrows until it's barely wide enough for one car, with a guardrail that looks more decorative than functional.
I should turn back. But there's nowhere to turn around, only this ribbon of road carved into the mountain. That's when the tires lose their argument with the ice entirely.
The car slides sideways in horrifying slow motion. I pump the brakes but it doesn't matter. The rental’s back tires slip into the ditch as the car tilts at an angle that makes my stomach drop.
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
The car’s wheels spin uselessly as I try to reverse, a high whining sound echoing off the mountain. It’s stuck.
