Chapter Eight
Snow Much to Think About
Holly
After dreaming of a devilishly handsome man, whipped cream, and melted chocolate, the next morning I woke up with a phantom taste of him on my tongue.
My lips tingle at the thought of his soft lips moving against mine as if it just happened, and it wasn’t several hours ago.
Every second of last night was perfection—from the way he looked at me as if I was made from starlight and sugar to the way his mouth moved against without hesitation and he couldn’t imagine not kissing me.
It’s official. I’m ruined for all other men. I can’t imagine another man touching me, kissing me. There’s no way a single person will ever be able to hold a candle to what he’s done to me in just one date.
Chester sits on his window perch, his tail flicking like the judgmental roommate that he is, while I flop back against the pillow with a dramatic groan.
“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t sleep with him,” I mumble into my pillow.
“Gods I wanted to. You have no idea how badly I wanted to drag him upstairs and ride him into the sunrise. But alas, he was the perfect gentleman and kissed me on the stoop.” I shove my face deeper into my pillow, groaning at the mental images flashing behind my eyes.
Chester meows with all the sass his body can muster.
I roll out of the bed, pulling on my ugly Christmas sweater fuzzy socks, and a sweatshirt saying “Fa-la-la-Flustered” for an all day fest of Hallmark Christmas movies, hot cocoa, and whatever sugary cookie I haven’t finished yet.
I have the entire day off to spend molding myself into the couch, covering myself in layers of comfortable blankets, and drowning my woes in melted chocolate.
The snow continues to fall, making me feel as if I’m living in a snow globe, as it blankets the world outside my windows in white. Christmas is less than a week away, and winter’s silence muffles the city. While winter feels cold and hard, my heart feels almost soft and bright. Almost hopeful.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this kind of excitement.
Maybe when I was a kid and bringing home my latest story for my parents to read.
This is the kind of excitement that makes you believe in miracles, as if anything you dream of could come true.
Something about Ryatt fills me with hope, something nobody has done besides my Pa.
But as a parent, he’s always been obligated to do so, not that I didn’t believe him, just that it always felt less authentic.
With Ryatt’s periwinkle eyes gleaming under the streetlights and his full attention on me, I felt a surge of confidence. Something I’ve never felt before in my twenty-eight years of living on this planet.
The smell of mocha peppermint coffee fills the air as my pod coffee maker finishes its cycle.
I plop down at my kitchen table, my laptop sitting exactly where I left it last night, as I bring it to life.
The half-finished screenplay stares back at me from the screen.
You know the surge of confidence he gave me?
Yeah, when I came rushing upstairs, it wasn’t to run to bed…
no, it was to put the words on the digital paper before I lost the creative drive thrumming through me.
The Christmas Prince Written by Holly Winters
It’s messy; it’s imperfect. But it’s 100 percent mine.
I’ve convinced myself for years that I’d never have a story good enough to see the light of day.
That I’d never be enough. But something about this one that is calling to me.
Last night, I stood under the falling snow with a man who looked at me like I was someone worth believing in.
As the sun began to paint the sky, I was still typing away at my computer, fingers flying as if I were racing against time.
The story flowed out of me as if there was a magical transmission from my brain to the computer screen.
I’ve never written a screenplay so fast. There’s just something about this story that is calling to me, I don’t know if it’s the characters, the story, or all of it.
All I know is it’s beautiful, raw, and magical.
I scroll through the script, smiling at the banter between the characters, and my little notes along the way.
ACT 2: She learns that love is magical as long as you believe.
Guess I’ve been living my own magical romance movie after all. Before I can overthink it or lose the confidence coursing through my veins, I open another tab on my laptop, and type the one thing I haven’t written before.
Dear Caroline Whitaker, Director of Original Programming,
I am submitting my holiday romance screenplay, The Christmas Prince, for your consideration.
The pitch for this story flows out of me just as easily as the story itself.
Maybe because for the first time, I believe in them.
I believe in myself. One night with Ryatt having the most romantic date I’ve ever experienced, and he’s already convinced me to do something I’ve always dreamed of doing.
By the time I hit save on my draft, my cheeks ache from smiling.
Opening a fresh email, I attach my query letter with a cover letter, ensuring everything they requested is present, and then I hit send. I did it. I actually submitted my first query letter after one night with him.
I close my laptop, clutching my mug with both hands as the snow drifts by my windows in a beautiful slow motion. “Alright, universe, you gifted me with an amazing man. Now if you could pass along an agent, that’d be great.”
Chester meows as he bounds across the floor, heading to his perch on the back of the couch.
He meows something close to come on as he sits there waiting for me.
He knows the deal. On my days off, especially during the holiday season, I share all my cookies with him.
Something he probably shouldn’t be doing, but if you have a cat glaring at you from his pillow, then you’d give in too.
There’s nothing left for me to do but wait.
So, I might as well see what the Hallmark channel is offering today for fresh movies.
As I curl up on the couch, the screenplay still playing in my mind, I can’t help the little burst of hope that bubbles up inside me.
For the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t look so impossible.
It looks like fresh snow just waiting for me to carve my way through it.
I tuck my legs underneath me, blanket pulled up to my chin as The Christmas Wish flickers to life on the screen.
The familiar notes of music fill the apartment, and for the first time in years I am gleefully watching the story instead of preparing to roll my eyes over the meet-cute or the predictably small town.
Instead, I’m smiling, warmth spreading across my chest.
Because somehow the idea of this type of romance doesn’t feel so far away. Instead, it feels completely possible.
I can’t help but imagine how I’m feeling right now—as though I’m in my own opening scene. The lights are twinkling from my tree, the snow’s falling, and for the first time since I was a child, I’m not waiting for Christmas magic.
I think it’s already found me.