Chapter One
Moira Jennings had made a grave mistake.
She scrunched up her face at the couple in front of her on the shuttle who were sucking face.
“Hey, we are on an UnValentine’s Day retreat,” she griped. “Get a room. Preferably in another state.”
Birdie and her brand-new boyfriend Lance turned in their seats to stare at her. She glared.
“Sorry,” Birdie murmured.
“I’m not,” Lance said. “If you don’t like seeing affection, blink real hard for real long.”
Moira narrowed her eyes to slits and hissed at him. She hated love. Moira turned her face away from the disgusting couple and stared out the window at the snowy woods that were blurring by.
When she’d signed up for this retreat, it had been for a specific purpose and these face-suckers wereruiningit!
There had been three other excursions happening today, on the day of doom-and-gloom, February 14th, the hands-down worst day of the entire year, and which one had Lance and Birdie chosen? The one she was on.
They’d probably done this on purpose just to ruin another adventure, just like they did with horseback riding the other day.
She’d had to ride behind them and watch them try and hold hands while on their horse and donkey.
Her horse on the other hand, kept turning its head and trying to bite her shin.
No one on earth was more single than Moira, and these two dorks were making this Valentine’s Day somehow even worse than usual.
She could hear them laughing and canoodling.
“You know, you could’ve signed up for the spa excursion,” she griped. “Or done anything on earth other than this particular adventure.”
“Snow rides on four-wheelers sounds fun,” Birdie said.
“Yeah, but this is supposed to be UnValentine’s Day!” she pointed out again. “I’m minding the rules. No romance whatsoever and you are ruining everything!” She stood and stormed past them and sat in the very front of the shuttle, then pulled her headphones on and listened to death metal for the rest of the trip up to the base of the mountain.
Crested Butte, Colorado was beautiful at this time of year. At least to her it was. She wasn’t so much a sunshine girl. She was a moody and cloudy days kind of girl, and this time of year, every other day was a snowstorm.
She’d booked this trip an entire year in advance just to escape the corporate holiday, money scarfing, hearts puked onto every advertisement culture that consumed her hometown every February.
A cluster of cabins deep in snowy Crested Butte called the Woodpecker Inn had advertised for an anti-Valentine’s Day, and she had traveled here from Arizona just for that reason, to spend a week among other Valentine’s Day haters.
And now look. She was surrounded by a lovefest.
Barf.
The shuttle slowed and Moira sat up straighter to look out the window. She used the sleeve of her black sweater to wipe off the condensation. There was a man out in front of the check-in building with the hood of an ATV up, poking around in it. He wore thick canvas pants, snow boots, and a light gray sweater under an unzipped winter jacket. Definitely human.
Moira didn’t even need a jacket. Just some snow pants to ward off any moisture from the snow her four-wheeler would kick up, a black beanie, and a pair of charcoal gray mittens.
Black was her favorite color, but they’d only had dark gray mittens at the general store in town. Pity.
The guy working on the ATV looked up as she filed off the shuttle and waved. Party foul.
Moira grimaced. She hoped he wasn’t one of those friendly types. If she set the tone early though, he wouldn’t try to talk to her, or worse, get to know her.
If she was lucky, he wouldn’t be their tour guide, and some grumpy old man who said things like “Get off my lawn,” and, “They don’t make things like they used to,” would take over the tour and lead them around the mountain in blissful silence.
She turned to find Birdie and Lance holding hands and snuggling by the shuttle.
