Christmas with the Silver Fox (Christmas in Hope Peak #8)

Chapter One

Candi

The GPS on my phone died somewhere around the Montana border, which should have been my first sign that this entire plan was spectacularly, catastrophically stupid.

But here I was anyway, pulling my beat-up Honda Civic into Hope Peak, Montana at seven in the morning. My eyes felt scraped raw, and somewhere around Idaho I'd consumed my body weight in gas station coffee.

This is fine. Everything is fine. This is going to save your career.

The moment I rounded the curve into town, my breath caught.

Hope Peak was perfect. Almost too perfect, like someone had taken every holiday movie I'd ever watched and crammed them into one impossibly charming mountain town.

The main street was lined with old-fashioned lamp posts wrapped in evergreen garland and red velvet bows.

Every building—from the coffee shop to the general store to what looked like a bar and grill—was decked out in twinkling white lights.

And right in the center of the town square stood the most enormous Christmas tree I'd ever seen, easily forty feet tall, covered in thousands of lights still glowing in the early morning dimness.

Snow blanketed everything. Real snow. Not the sad, slushy brown stuff that occasionally appeared in Phoenix and melted by noon.

I pulled over and stared.

For the first time since Drew had dumped me—live, on camera, during Day 2 of our "12 Days of Vlogmas" special, in front of 4.3 million people who'd turned it into a meme within hours—I felt something other than humiliation.

I felt hope.

Ironic, considering the town's name.

My phone buzzed in the cupholder. I grabbed it, the motion as automatic as breathing.

The notification was from my Instagram analytics. My follower count had dropped again overnight.

486,547 followers.

Down from 612,000 at Thanksgiving.

I set my phone face-down in the cupholder and took a shaky breath. The numbers could wait. Right now, I needed to check into the cottage I'd impulsively booked three days ago and figure out how to turn Hope Peak into my salvation.

The "Single Girl's Guide to the Holidays" rebrand was going to work. Because the alternative was moving back in with my parents and getting a real job, and I'd rather eat my own selfie stick.

The cottage was a short distance from the square, down a tree-lined street where every house looked like it belonged on a greeting card. I grabbed my suitcase first, trudging through snow that crunched satisfyingly under my boots, my breath coming out in white puffs.

The lockbox code worked on the first try, which felt like a small miracle given how the rest of my life was going.

I pushed open the door and stopped dead.

"Oh my god."

If Christmas threw up in a cabin, this is what it would look like.

There was a Christmas tree in the living room.

A smaller one on the kitchen counter. Garland on every surface.

Mis-matched stockings hung on a mantel crowded with fake candles and glitter-encrusted pinecones.

There were decorative snowmen, Santa figurines, nutcrackers, and what appeared to be an entire nativity scene on the bookshelf.

Red and green plaid throw pillows. Reindeer kitchen towels.

A "Merry Christmas" doormat. A life-sized cardboard cutout of an elf in the corner that nearly gave me a heart attack.

It was hideous.

It was flawless.

It was Instagram gold.

I hauled my suitcase inside and went back for my equipment bag. Two trips later, I had everything piled in the small living room: my professional camera with three lenses, my good tripod, my ring light, laptop, spare batteries, and a tangle of charging cables.

Looking at it all spread across the floor made me feel slightly better. This was real. I was a professional. I knew what I was doing.

Even if right now I felt like I was drowning and grasping for a life raft I wasn't sure existed.

The plaid couch was scratchy against my legs but worn soft in the middle. I sat down hard, and for just a moment, just one brief moment, I let myself feel the weight of everything. The heater kicked on with a metallic groan.

You're twenty-five, alone in Montana, living off savings, with no plan past December. Drew has already moved on. Your follower count is hemorrhaging. Even the apartment was his.

My throat got tight. My eyes burned.

Then my phone rang—Bridget calling. I answered before I could overthink it.

"You made it?" My sister's voice was warm even through the speaker, and my 18-month old niece, Ivy, babbled in the background.

"I'm here. Hope Peak is gorgeous. My Airbnb is...definitely festive."

She laughed, the sound familiar and grounding. "You sure about this? Isaac's firm is hiring for their marketing department—"

"I'm sure. This is going to work, Bridge."

A pause. Then softer: "Love you. Check in later?"

"Love you too. Give Ivy a kiss from Auntie Candi. Talk soon."

I set my phone down and caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror across the hall.

Long blonde locks of hair still holding carefully styled waves despite twelve hours in a car, blue eyes shadowed with exhaustion, mascara slightly smudged.

At five-three, I barely reached most people's shoulders, which usually worked for the cute influencer aesthetic.

Right now I just looked small and tired and lost. At least my extensions were holding up.

I stood, squaring my shoulders.

Okay. Enough. You didn't drive all this way to have a breakdown in a house that smells like it was sprayed with Christmas-scented Febreze. You came here to create content. So create content.

Grabbing my phone, I set up my portable ring light on the coffee table. I positioned myself in front of the Christmas tree, fluffed my hair, and checked my makeup in the camera. Tired but hopeful. Heartbroken but healing. I could work with that. The algorithm loved vulnerability after all.

Performing. Always performing.

I forced a smile and hit record.

"Hi loves! Guess where I am?" I made my voice bright and bubbly, the way it used to come naturally before everything fell apart. "I literally just arrived in Hope Peak, Montana—yes, that Hope Peak, the one trending as America's Most Christmassy Town—and oh my gosh, you guys. Look at this place!"

I flipped the camera to show the explosion of kitsch, panning slowly.

"I'll be spending the rest of December here, bringing you my Single Girl's Guide to the Holidays.

Ice skating, hot chocolate, holiday market, all the festive things.

This is going to be amazing!" I flipped the camera back to myself, making sure to look excited.

"I know it's been rough. But I'm here, I'm starting fresh, and I'm so grateful to have you all with me.

Drop a comment—what's your favorite holiday tradition? "

I blew a kiss at the camera and stopped recording.

Then I collapsed onto the couch.

That felt so fake.

When I checked my phone thirty seconds later, the comments were already rolling in.

@sarahlovesbaking: You've got this girl! Fresh starts are everything!

@mountainmamalife: Hope Peak is GORGEOUS!

@tiffanysays: lol candi got spit out and now she's scrambling ??

@kouturekween: guess her flava not so sweet ??

My chest tightened. I scrolled past those last ones, looking for positive comments. There were plenty, mixed with the cruel ones. People were either rooting for me or laughing at me.

I turned my phone face-down on the coffee table.

Then picked it up again and checked my follower count.

Down 35 followers while filming that one video.

Stop checking. It's making it worse.

But I couldn't stop. Checking was as automatic as breathing now.

I needed to see what Drew was posting.

I navigated to his Instagram—@DrewMortimerLife—and immediately regretted it.

His latest post was from three hours ago. Him with his arm around a pretty brunette, both grinning at the camera, holding Starbucks cups. The caption: New beginnings taste like peppermint mochas ??

890,231 likes.

He'd gained followers since the breakup.

Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Not spiraling at all. Totally fine.

He's moved on. You need to move on too.

I was simply going to create content so good, so authentic, so engaging that everyone would forget about the breakup video.

Because I had $3,487 in my bank account, a rental property I could barely afford, and no backup plan.

TURNING MY PHONE FACE-down, I looked around the space.

Now that the initial shock had worn off, the cottage was actually kind of charming in its over-the-top way.

Small but cozy. The tree lights twinkled cheerfully.

Through the window, I could see snow falling softly, like something out of a snow globe.

I should sleep. I'd been up for almost twenty-four hours.

But I was wired, running on adrenaline and desperation and too much caffeine.

I'll just explore town for a bit. Get some footage. Then I'll come back and crash.

I should have known better.

I spent the rest of the day meandering along the cobblestone streets of downtown Hope Peak while I filmed.

The general store was stocked with handmade ornaments, and jars of locally-sourced honey and fruit preserves were displayed in the windows.

Families bundled in colorful coats and scarves were ice skating in the rink adjacent to the town square.

At Higher Grounds, the coffee shop was warm and crowded, the espresso machine hissing while Bing Crosby crooned about white Christmases. The barista smiled as she handed me my latte. "First time in Hope Peak?"

"That obvious?"

"You're photographing our annual holiday tree like you've never seen pine needles before." Her grin was warm. "Welcome to town."

I smiled back, the tension in my chest loosening slightly. Small-town friendliness. This was exactly what I needed.