Page 1 of When It Snows

Chapter 1

Scarlett – a woman who has no intention of staying in Smuggler’s Hideaway any longer than necessary

Scarlett

Iclench my teeth as I cross the bridge from the mainland to the island of Smuggler’s Hideaway. I don’t want to be here. I want to be back home in my cute little apartment curled up underneath a blanket drinking a mug of hot chocolate while binging a Japanese series on Netflix.

My phone rings and the dash displaysHazel calling.

I hit connect. “Hello.”

“Hey, sis! Are you nearly home?”

Smuggler’s Hideaway is not home anymore. To be honest, it never felt like home to me. I don’t surf, moonshine makes me gag, and I refuse to buy into the whole mermaid legend. Mermaids aren’t real. End of discussion.

“I’m on the island.”

“Yes! You’re in time for the Mermaid Treasure Hunt.”

The Mermaid Treasure Hunt is part of the holiday celebrations on Smuggler’s Hideaway. Participants are given a treasure map with clues of where gifts are hidden around the island. Whoever manages to find the most gifts wins.

But there’s a catch. There always is on Smuggler’s Hideaway.

Every time you find a gift, you have to drink a shot of moonshine. And moonshine on the island is unlike moonshine in the rest of the country. It doesn’t come in flavors, and it burns your throat. Which is why the treasure hunt is conducted on bikes.

I groan. “I’m not participating in the treasure hunt.”

“Why not?” She pouts. “It’s tradition, Scarlett.”

Lucky for me, I have a good excuse.

“It’s snowing pretty hard. I don’t think running around the island searching for gifts is safe.”

“It’s not snowing too bad.”

“Have you looked outside? There must be a foot of snow on the ground, and it keeps coming down.”

“Oh shit. You’re right. Be safe driving. Can’t wait to see you!”

She hangs up before I have a chance to remind her I’m not staying at home with the family. Five kids and two bedrooms is not a fun holiday experience for anyone. I rented a cabin outside of Pirate’s Perch instead.

There are three towns on the island – Pirate’s Perch, Rogue’s Landing, and Smuggler’s Rest. Although referring to Pirate’s Perch and Rogue’s landing as ‘towns’ is pushing it.They’re more reminiscent of cute little hamlets. All of the island’s amenities – police, fire department, post office, etc. – are in Smuggler’s Rest.

The cabin I rented is as secluded as it can get on a small island during the holiday season when tourists flood the place. I can’t wait to curl up in front of the fireplace.

“Turn left toward Pirate’s Perch.”

“There are literally three main roads on Smuggler’s Rest, Hilda. I think I can figure it out.”

Hilda is the name I gave my GPS. She sounds how I imagine a Hilda would sound. I don’t actually know any Hildas.

I follow the curve to the left and the rear tires skid for a few moments before finding traction.

Shit. The roads are getting slippery. I better pay closer attention to where I’m going and stop woolgathering about why I don’t want to be on Smuggler’s Hideaway.

The gentle snowfall increases until fat snowflakes are hindering my vision. I switch on the wipers and defrost as high as possible and slow my speed to a crawl.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter to myself as I drive at a snail’s pace. “It hardly ever snows in Smuggler’s Hideaway. But the one year I decide to come home for Christmas, it snows. It’s official. I don’t belong on this island.”

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