“Meredith?” Vanessa’s voice sounded distant, tugging me back. I blinked hard, my eyes stinging as if the chill of that long-ago winter had crept into our kitchen.
I gripped the edge of the counter with one hand, knuckles white, forcing air into my lungs. In front of me, the snow globe’s tiny white flakes slowly settled around the cabin, an eerily perfect reproduction of a place I’d tried desperately to forget. My hands were shaking now. Someone had sent me this, someone who knew exactly what this scene meant.
Someone who knewme.
“Where did this come from?” I managed to ask. My voice came out low and rough, edged with an anger I wasn’t even sure was justified. I tore my gaze off the globe and fixed it on Vanessa, who was watching me with concern.
She shook her head slowly. “I told you, none of those gifts are from me,” she said, nodding toward the pile of presents. Her eyes flicked to the snow globe in my hands. “That one didn’t have a tag? Maybe a messenger dropped it off. We’ve been getting deliveries all week.”
“No tag,” I muttered. There was no card inside the box, either. Nothing. Just the globe. My reflection in its glass surface looked pale and unsettled. I hated that it showed even a hint of fear on my face. Carefully, I set the snow globe down on the counter. The fake snow swirled with the motion, a tiny storm in a glass cage that refused to calm. I felt the same inside, whipped up, disoriented.
Vanessa set down her spoon, worry creasing her brow now. “Mer, what is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself. I couldn’t explain this to her. I couldn’t explain how a stupid little cabin in a snow globe had just sucker-punched me with a piece of my past I never shared with anyone. Vanessa knew I hated Christmas, but she never knew the real reasons. I never gave her details, never gave anyone details. It was easier to let them assume I was just naturally cold-hearted.
And now this. Some mystery person had reached into my darkest memories and mailed them to me like a present.
I clenched my jaw, pushing down the swirl of anxiety in my gut and forcing my expression back to neutral. I’d be damned if I let Christmas or whoever sent this get under my skin any more this morning.
“It’s nothing,” I lied, my voice flat. “Just someone’s idea of a joke, I guess.”
If Vanessa was unconvinced, she didn’t press me. She gave a little nod and glanced at the clock on the microwave. “We should get going soon. Lots to do today,” she said softly, as if not to further spook me. She picked up her tablet, probably double-checking our schedule. Ever efficient, my roommate and assistant.
I barely heard her. My focus drifted back to the snow globe, the cabin trapped in glass. I couldn’t stop my mind from racing. Who would send this? No one in my professional circle even knew I’d been in foster care, much less about that cabin. I made sure of it. I ran a hand through my tangled dark hair, trying to massage away the ache forming at my temples.
Across the city, a distant church bell began to ring, signaling the hour. Christmas Eve morning was in full swing out there, carols, shoppers, children counting down the hours. And here I was, rooted to the spot, trapped by a ghost from years ago.
I exhaled slowly and squared my shoulders.Get a grip, Meredith.Whoever sent this, whatever it means, it’s not going to control me. I’d spent years caulking every leak the past tried to seep through—new job, new apartment, new name on the office door. I wasn’t about to let a snow globe be the thing that burst the pipes.
Still, as I grabbed my coffee and headed for the door, I couldn’t resist one last glance at it. The cabin inside sat quiet and small under its dome of frozen memory. A chill washed through me that had nothing to do with the winter air seeping through our drafty window.
Someone sent this to me. There's only one person that might do this and I hate that I'm thinking of him.
Chapter Two
Nick
Thehatitcheslikehell. Cheap, scratchy polyester, hot as sin under fluorescent lights. I’d rip it off if it didn’t risk blowing my cover, and I’ve waited too long to get this close toher.
The fake beard’s already shoved in my jacket pocket; I couldn’t stand its fibers scraping my skin another second. Nobody seems to care that Santa’s missing his beard, anyway. The kids don’t notice. The parents don’t either. They just want a picture, proof they did Christmas right. A glossy card they can mail out as evidence of their happiness. Frauds. All of them.
But I’m not here for them.
I shift on the oversized red throne, the velvet cushion squeaking under my weight. I’ve been sitting here almost an hour, jingling bells and ho-ho-hoing on autopilot, but my attention keeps drifting to the mall’s main entrance. Waiting. The plastic armrest groans quietly as I grip it, feigning a jolly wave at a toddler while my heart hammers against my ribs.
There she is.
Sharp black coat. High-heeled boots that look like they could draw blood if she stepped on you. Sunglasses she doesn’t need indoors. Her dark hair twisted up tight, like she dares the world to try and muss her. Meredith.
She cuts through the crowd like the only person here who actually knows where she’s going. Shoppers and blinking lights blur around her; people sidestep without realizing they’re yielding. The whole atrium feels like a snow globe someone shook too hard—kids shrieking, lights flashing, speakers blaring—and she moves through the chaos untouched.
Untouchable to everyone but me.
I sit up straighter on Santa’s seat, gloved hands resting on my knees in a parody of St. Nick’s pose, tracking her every move. She doesn’t glance my way—of course she doesn’t; I’m just another piece of scenery—but my gaze clings to her like static. She strides past storefronts with a clipboard in one hand, phone pressed to her ear with the other. Head high, spine straight, voice clipped as she barks instructions at some underling. She looks like she’s conquering territory.
In a way, she is.
This place is hers. The lavish holiday displays, the ten-foot candy canes, the snowflake decals slapped on every window—her work. She designed the winter wonderland choking this mall in tinsel. She doesn’t just run the show; she built it. EveryDecember she swoops in to make sure revenue flows and the “magic” stays marketable.
