Chapter 7
Harper
I have never stared at an empty suitcase for this long in my entire life. It sits open on my bed like a gaping mouth waiting to swallow my dignity, my anxiety, and my questionable fashion decisions all at once.
“What am I supposed to wear for a week-long … whatever this is?” I mutter, pacing across my bedroom.
A week with Ethan Kinkaid. In the honeymoon suite at the Grand Lodge. We will be doing couple activities. My stomach does a slow, painful somersault.
The stack of clothes on my bed looks pathetic. A couple of sweaters. One pair of decent jeans. A dress that might work for a tree lighting if nobody looks too closely. Pajamas that are cute but also … a little tight since I’ve been stress-snacking through the fall season.
I pinch the fabric of the dress between my fingers. “Do I look like someone who belongs in a holiday romance package?” My reflection in the mirror lifts an eyebrow.
Curvy. Petite. Soft. Not the kind of soft that melts romantically in the snow — but the kind that overthinks everything and wonders if she’ll blend into the wallpaper next to a man like Ethan. I sigh and flop onto the edge of the bed.
I’m good at making memories — for other people. Glass ones. Perfect ones. Controlled, glued down, can’t move ones.
Real-life memories? Messy. Unpredictable. Capable of breaking me in ways glass never could.
I’m nervous. Okay — terrified. A knock taps lightly on my door.
“Harper?” Ruby’s muffled voice. “Open up unless you’re naked. In that case, open up slower.”
I groan into my hands. “Come in.”
Ruby sweeps inside like a sparkly holiday tornado, her cheeks flushed from the cold and her coat shedding snowflakes onto my carpet.
“Oooh, good, the panic packing phase. My favorite.” She plants her hands on her hips. “Show me the damage.”
I gesture helplessly at the sad pile of clothing. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You’re preparing for a magical week with a hot, broody mountain man,” she chirps. “It’s not calculus.”
“Ruby.”
“What? Tell me I’m wrong.”
I throw a sweater at her. She dodges it with dancer-like grace.
“I don’t even know what to bring! I have a shop to run. And I don’t know what I look like next to someone like him. I don’t even …”
She holds up a finger. “Stop. Shop first. Then spiraling about men.”
I rub my forehead. “Who’s going to manage Fox & Frost? I can’t leave for a whole week, Ruby.”
“You can,” she says confidently. “Borrow my girl.”
I blink. “Your girl?”
“My weekend manager,” she explains. “Sharice. She needs a few extra hours before the holidays, and she’s incredible. Reliable. Good with people. Very fond of fragile things. I’ll pop in between customers and make sure everything’s running smooth.”
My shoulders sag with relief. “Really?”
“Really,” she says, softer now. “Your mama didn’t raise you to work yourself to the bone. She wanted you to live. And this … this whole thing will be good. You deserve to step out of your comfort zone.”
I twist my fingers together. "But what if I look ridiculous? Next to him? He’s …"
“Hot enough to melt a glacier,” Ruby finishes. “Exactly why you need to pack clothes that make YOU feel good. Not clothes for him.”
I bite my lip. “He’s going to notice how … not tiny I am.”
Ruby narrows her eyes. “You’re a whole woman, Harper Fox. Any man with a functioning brain cell will appreciate that. Especially one who looks like he chops wood for foreplay.”
I groan. “Please stop saying foreplay.”
“Never,” she says. “Now move over, I’m raiding your closet.”
She digs through my clothes with military precision, pulling out pieces I forgot I even owned — a soft cream sweater that fits perfectly, a flannel dress I’ve never worn, a pair of leggings that apparently “make my butt look like a Christmas miracle.” She tosses them into the suitcase.
“Pajamas,” she says next. “Cute ones. But comfortable. You’re sleeping in a honeymoon suite with a man whose shoulders could bench press an elk.”
“Ruby!”
She grins, unrepentant. Finally, she smoothes the zipper closed on the suitcase, then rests a hand over mine.
“You’ll be okay,” she says gently. “He seems … quiet. Kind of tortured. But he looked at you, Harper. Really looked.”
My stomach flips again. That look. That moment backstage when his eyes locked onto mine. Like he didn’t expect me. Like I surprised him. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with the feeling.
“I don’t know what that meant,” I whisper.
“Maybe nothing,” she says. “Maybe everything. You won’t know unless you show up.”
She squeezes my hand. And suddenly, I can breathe. Tomorrow. I’ll show up.
???
The next evening, The Grand Lodge rises ahead of me like something from a winter dream — all timber beams, glass walls, and soft lights glowing against the snowy mountainside.
Built right alongside the rock, with the Rockies unfurling behind it like a painted backdrop, it’s breathtaking. And intimidating.
I step inside the lobby and immediately feel underdressed. Everything is soft wood, warm gold light, evergreen garlands, and crackling fireplaces. People in pretty coats and polished boots glide across the polished floors. I grip the strap of my suitcase and exhale slowly.
“You can do this,” I whisper to myself. “It’s only a week. It’s fine. Totally fine.”
A deep voice rumbles behind me.
“Harper?”
I jump and spin around. Ethan Kinkaid stands a few feet away, snow dusting his hair and flannel, hands in his pockets, looking entirely out of place in this polished, fancy lodge — and somehow making it look like he owns it.
Up close again, he’s even taller than I remember from yesterday. Even broader. And those eyes! They pin me right where I’m standing.
“Hi,” I breathe, sounding absolutely ridiculous.
He steps closer. Not too close, just enough that I have to tilt my chin up to keep looking at his face. Ethan is too tall. Too handsome. Too everything.
“You made it,” he says.
“I did,” I manage. “I wasn’t sure which entrance to use.”
“It’s the only one,” he deadpans.
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Right. Yes. Of course.”
His mouth twitches—almost a smile. Almost.
He nods toward the check-in desk. “Shall we?”
We walk together, both too stiff, too aware of each other. The woman behind the counter beams at us.
“Welcome! You must be our Holiday Bride couple for the week!”
I want the floor to open up beneath me. Ethan’s jaw flexes.
The woman continues cheerfully, “Honeymoon Suite is all ready for you. Fireplace lit. Champagne chilled. Strawberries dipped.”
Ethan coughs hard. I’m fairly certain my soul leaves my body. She hands him the key cards. “Enjoy your romantic retreat!”
Ethan mutters, “Not romantic,” under his breath.
I’m not sure if she hears him, but I do.
And weirdly, I’m disappointed … just a little.
We walk toward the elevators in a dazed silence.
Every step makes my heart beat faster. When we reach the golden doors, he presses the button and glances down at me.
“Ready?” he asks.
I swallow. No. Yes. Maybe. “I think so.”
The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime. He gestures for me to go first. And as I step inside, the reality of it all hits me all at once:
A whole week. A honeymoon suite. A man who makes my heart pound and my nerves tangle. And no snow globe in the world could capture this moment.
Not even one of mine.