Page 1 of Noel with the Mountain Man
Chapter 1
Noel
Thecabinlookslikea snow globe someone brought to life.
I stand in the driveway—if you can call two tire tracks through three inches of powder a driveway—and stare at the A-frame tucked into the pines. Smoke curls from the chimney. Icicles hang from the eaves like crystal fringe. The whole scene is so aggressively charming I half expect a cardinal to land on my shoulder and burst into song.
It’s absolutely perfect.
This isexactlywhat I need. No texts from Trevor asking if we can "talk things through." No pitying looks from my friends. No reminders that I'm spending Christmas alone for the first time in four years.
Just me, a stack of paperbacks, and enough hot chocolate to drown my feelings.
I grab my duffel from the trunk and crunch through the snow to the front door. The key's supposed to be under the mat—veryoriginal, rental company—and I find it exactly where promised. The lock clicks. The door swings open.
And I freeze.
Because there's a man standing in front of the fireplace.
Ahugeman. Flannel shirt stretched across shoulders that could probably support a roof beam. Dark hair, dark beard, and an expression that suggests I've just interrupted something very important. Like brooding. Or communing with the wilderness.
His suitcase sits by the couch.
My brain catches up approximately three seconds too late.
"Um," I say brilliantly. "Hi?"
He turns fully to face me, andgood God.Those eyes—gray, stormy, deeply annoyed—lock onto mine.
"Who are you?" he practically growls.
"I'm Noel." I wave the key in the air. “I rented this cabin for the night.”
For the past four years, I spent Christmas Eve with Trevor and his family. This year, with nowhere to be and no one waiting, I couldn’t stand the thought of staring at my apartment walls while everyone else posted matching-pajama photos on Instagram.
His jaw tightens. "No.Irented this cabin for the week."
I blink. "That's… not possible."
"Clearly it is." He crosses his arms, and I try very hard not to notice how the movement makes his biceps strain against the flannel. "I checked in two hours ago."
"Well, Ibookedthree weeks ago." I step inside and shut the door behind me, mostly because cold air is rushing in and partly because I'm not about to let Mountain Man Incarnate intimidate me out of my own vacation. "So unless you have a time machine, I was here first. Technically."
"Technically," he repeats, with the kind of dry sarcasm that suggests he thinks I'm an idiot, "possession is nine-tenths of the law."
“Show me your confirmation email."
He pulls out his phone. I pull out mine.
We compare screens in tense silence.
Same cabin. Same dates. Different confirmation numbers.
"This is ridiculous," I mutter.
"Agreed." He pockets his phone. "I'll call the rental office."
"Good luck. It's Christmas Eve. They're probably closed."
