Chapter 3
Harper
By the time I reach the town square the next evening, Cady Springs looks like it swallowed a Christmas catalog and then asked for seconds.
Festive lights hang from the gazebo. The giant spruce in the center is halfway strung with red ribbons and lights.
Kids in puffy jackets are chasing each other between vendor tents while parents pretend they’re “enjoying the festivities” and not silently counting the minutes until bedtime.
I tighten my grip on the wrapped snow globe under my arm and try not to slip on the freshly shoveled paths as I weave through clusters of people. The air smells like cinnamon sugar and pine needles and someone’s hot chocolate that’s definitely going to stain a mitten soon.
Ruby waves wildly as soon as she spots me, standing next to the donation table in a sparkly red coat that looks illegal in three states.
“There she is!” she trills. “Miss Frost Fox herself!”
“It’s Fox & Frost,” I say, cheeks warming as I approach. “Not …whatever that was.”
Ruby grins like she’s been waiting all day for this moment. “Close enough. You look adorable.”
I glance down at myself in my knee-length forest green dress topped with a cozy cream jacket. I’m wearing black tights and boots I’ve owned since college. I put on a little mascara and a ‘holiday neutral’ lipstick.
“I will accept adorable,” I say. “But only if we agree it doesn’t mean potentially ready for a blind date.”
Ruby throws her head back smiling. “I give you an hour before something chaotic happens.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid.”
She pats my cheek like I’m a toddler protesting nap time. “Sweetheart, chaos is the whole point of the holidays. Embrace it.”
Before I can argue, a voice from behind sings out, “Harper! Lovely to see you, dear!”
I turn to find Mayor Janice Davidson sweeping toward me in a green velvet coat and a poinsettia pin the size of a small salad plate. Of course she’s in velvet. Of course she’s festive. Of course she looks like Christmas royalty.
“Hi, Mayor,” I say, shifting the snow globe in my arms. “I brought my donation.”
Her face lights up. “Wonderful! Let’s see it.”
I unwrap the globe carefully, revealing the tiny Cady Springs town square inside: gazebo, spruce tree, streetlamps, miniature drifting snow. A little world inside glass.
Janice presses a hand dramatically to her chest. “Oh, Harper. It’s beautiful.”
Warmth blooms behind my ribs. “Thanks. I’m hoping it raises at least a little money.”
“Oh, it will,” she assures me. “People adore your work.”
Ruby leans close and whispers, “See? You’re the star of the night already.”
I roll my eyes, pretending not to care. But secretly, it feels nice. It feels like maybe I’m doing something good. I watch as she hands the globe off to her secretary who places it on a table with other donations.
“Have you received your bidding number?” the Mayor asks.
“No, I just arrived.”
“Well, here. I happen to have extra paddles and I’ll put you down as number 32.”
She hands me the paddle and I’m not sure I want to bid on anything. Money is tight for me right now. A free paddle I can’t afford to use.
“Go take a seat,” Janice says, gesturing toward the rows of folding chairs set up in front of the stage. “We’re starting in a few minutes.”
“Right,” I say. “Sitting. Watching. Clapping politely. Zero bidding.”
Ruby hooks her arm through mine. “Come on, my little rule-follower.”
We walk toward the chairs, weaving through clusters of people greeting neighbors and gossiping. Ruby chooses seats in the second row — close enough for drama, far enough to avoid being dragged onstage if Janice gets bold.
I settle into my folding chair, noticing how festive everything is. The stage in front of us is decorated with wreaths and twinkling lights, and a small podium is set at the center.
Beside me, Ruby is vibrating. Like, actually vibrating. “I love this. I LOVE this. The energy is immaculate.”
“You say that like this isn’t mildly terrifying,” I mutter.
“Oh, it is,” she says. “But that’s half the fun.”
Before I can respond, the crowd quiets as Janice steps onto the stage. She taps the microphone, which squeals loud enough to make a toddler cry somewhere in the back.
“Welcome, everyone!” she beams. “To our annual One Magical Match auction, in support of the Cady Springs Food Bank!”
Cheers and applause ripple through the crowd.
Janice continues, “Tonight, you’ll have the chance to bid on wonderful items donated by local businesses, as well as a very special lineup of eligible bachelors.”
Women around us titter excitedly. Ruby mutters, “Showtime.”
I remind myself: no bidding on dates with men. Not even one. I clasp my hands firmly in my lap to prevent any rogue instinct from betraying me.
Janice starts with small items: gift baskets, a massage certificate, a handmade quilt. People laugh and bid, with final bids going for good donation amounts. There is a tense bidding war over the snow globe with it reaching a final bid price three times what I would have charged.
Then she moves on to the bigger items. A snowmobile tour. Dinner for two at Timberline Grill. A weekend cabin stay donated by the last bachelor who chickened out and left town early.
Ruby bids on a box of artisanal chocolates. Loses. Glares at the winner. I elbow her gently.
The event is fun. Actually fun. This surprises me more than it should. Then Janice claps her hands once, loudly. “And now ladies and gentlemen. It’s time for our male lineup!”
Ruby and half the crowd erupt into applause and cheers. I attempt a polite smile and hope no one can hear my heartbeat.
A ski instructor goes first. He swings onto the stage with a grin and a wink, flexing his biceps. Women giggle. One woman whistles loud enough to startle a passing dog.
The bidding climbs. A woman in the front wins him for $285 and a high-five. Good for her.
A firefighter comes next. Then the farrier Ruby mentioned last night. The audience is loving it. I relax a little. This isn’t so bad. It’s all for charity. It’s all harmless.
Ruby leans toward me. “Okay, Harper,” she murmurs. “Deep breath. The main event is coming.”
“I am taking many breaths,” I whisper.
Janice’s voice booms. “And for our final bachelor of the evening — a special Holiday Bride Experience package. We have someone who rarely comes into town. A man of the mountains. Strong. Capable. A mystery even to those who think they know him.”
Ruby grips my hand and squeals.
I blink. “What package?”
Ruby whispers, “Oh, it’s a whole thing. A weeklong date experience. Festive activities. Cozy outings. The lodge.”
“That sounds …”
“Expensive? Yes. Popular? Extremely.” Ruby bounces once in her seat. “This is going to be amazing.”
Janice continues, “Please welcome … Ethan Kinkaid!”
The crowd gasps. People crane their necks. Somewhere, a woman actually fans herself. A tall, broad shadow steps onto the stage. And then — wow!
He’s so handsome that it’s intimidating. Rugged with dark hair, shorter beard, and flannel stretched across shoulders that should not be legal in winter or any season. He looks like he wants to be anywhere but here.
Ruby whispers, “Damn. And to think he’s been hiding in the mountains.”
I can’t breathe. He scans the crowd once, his expression somewhere between bored and murderous. Our eyes don’t meet. Thank God. I’d die on the spot.
Janice beams. “We’ll start the bidding at fifty dollars!”
Hands go up instantly. Women shout numbers. The air buzzes with competition.
Ruby leans in. “See? Fun.”
I nod numbly, clutching my hands in my lap. No bidding. No lifting my paddle. No accidentally … One of my customers from the shop in the aisle waves. I raise my hand to wave back. The auctioneer sees it.
“Bid of three hundred eighty-five! Thank you, second row!”
“No, oh no.” I start panicking, lowering my hand.
A woman across the aisle raises hers sharply. “Ninety!” Without thinking and with pure reflex, like I’m counteracting the social awkwardness of waving at someone who wasn’t waving at me — my hand twitches up again. The auctioneer pounces. “Three Ninety-Five from the lady in green!”
Ruby makes a strangled noise. “Harp …”
I jerk my hand down, mortified.
“Do I hear four hundred?” the auctioneer calls.
The competitive woman scowls at me, but she doesn’t lift her paddle. Now, I’m in full panic. Accidental paddle lift panic.
Before my brain catches up, Janice claps her hands. The auctioneer slams the gavel.
“SOLD! To the lovely lady in the green dress for three-hundred ninety-five dollars!”
Silence. My stomach drops. My soul leaves my body. Ruby’s jaw hits the ground.
I stare at my traitorous hand.
“Oh no,” I whisper. “No no no.”
Why do my hands act independently during moments of social distress?
Ruby grabs my wrist. “Harper. You just bought a mountain man.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. This cannot be happening.
I open them. It is definitely happening.
Onstage, Ethan Kinkaid is staring right at me now — dark eyes locked, jaw tight, expression unreadable.
I forget how to blink. Ruby leans over and whispers, voice trembling with glee and horror: “Congratulations, sweetheart. You just won the Holiday Bride Experience.”
I think I’m going to faint or scream — possibly both.