Chapter One
Alden
Ihustled into the tall building in front of me, glad to be out of the snow. I shook the flakes from my coat and glanced around. There was a Christmas tree in one corner. Gold, green, and red garland hung from every available surface.
From this, I determined I was in hell.
Not really.
I had seen a whole lot worse overseas as a journalist. But this was my own personal version of hell.
Holly jolly bullshit.
The library I’d stepped into was in downtown Springwood.
This time of year, the small trees that lined the sidewalk were bare of leaves and wrapped in white Christmas lights.
Every store window had a display in some variation of red, white, and green.
Snow was piled on every corner, and everyone rushed around with toques, scarves, and jackets pulled tight.
It gave such strong Christmas movie vibes that it made my skin crawl.
I was here to take a crash course in romance. Not just that, I needed to beg for help from a woman who I’d spent my teen years dreaming about…well, wet dreaming about.
My eyes landed on a flash of bright red hair standing behind the reception desk at the public library.
She was the one to hopefully stop my fiction writing career from tanking. I forgot all that when my eyes skated over her.
My heart all but stopped beating in my chest.
I hadn’t seen her in at least a decade, yet my mouth still went dry.
I studied her as I moved toward the front counter. Her hair was pulled into a bun on the back of her head. She wore a bright green dress with a piece of garland tied around her waist, accentuating curves that had only grown more alluring with time.
Joy was a Christmas-obsessed optimist, and I was more of a Yuletide killjoy. One of many reasons I didn’t ask her out all those years ago.
She was talking with someone, and a smile stretched across her face. Her eyes were bright, as if she was actually excited to be here.
That was one of the things that had drawn me to her all those years ago. She was just so…happy. Seeing the best in everything, she let things roll off her back. I tended to find the bad in the world and wallow in it, but when her light shone, I was a moth to a flame.
As I got closer, I noticed she was wrapped up in more than holiday cheer. A candy cane necklace accented the curve of her neck. Her delicate ears had earrings to match. A stray curl of red had escaped her bun and was dancing around her collarbone.
I could feel a stirring in my groin already.
Shit, this was going to be a disaster.
“Oh my goodness, Alden! What are you doing here?” she squealed as the person at the desk moved away and those intense green eyes landed on me.
I couldn’t help but smile when I saw her even though the motion felt a little rusty. “I just moved back.”
She rushed around the desk and pulled me into a hug.
Yeah, on top of being a Christmas fanatic, she was a hugger.
We couldn’t be more opposite if we tried.
When I wrapped my arms around her generous curves and smelled that sweet vanilla scent that was all her, I held on a second longer than I needed to. She felt like home; she always had.
“What brings you back to town?” She held my eyes while she asked the question.
I scratched at my too long stubble, cursing myself for not shaving before coming here. “It’s kind of complicated—”
“I have time,” she said, leaning against the desk. People bustled around us with books in their arms, but she stayed focused on me.
“Well, I retired from journalism. I’ve seen enough for one lifetime. Now, I’m trying my hand at writing fiction, thrillers specifically.”
“Oh! With how much you’ve traveled and seen, that should be perfect for you.”
She was also endlessly positive.
“That was my thought too, but there’s a problem.”
She frowned. The word problem was not in her vocabulary.
“My agent thinks the book I’m working on should have a romantic subplot to really round it out, but I—”
Joy perked up. “You need my help to figure out how to write one, of course.” She grabbed my hand, dragging me toward a row of shelves. Her hand was warm and soft in mine.
“Now, to write a good romance, you need to read a ton of it, but I’m sure you’re on a deadline. Luckily, short romances exist. Reading novellas will help you get a handle on the genre faster.” She began scanning the shelf, pulling books seemingly at random.
“Can’t I just read a book on how to write romance?”
She turned to face me. The book from the top of the stack almost slid off, but she caught it with her chin. “No, Alden, you can’t. These should get you started, and I’ll put a hold on some of my favorites for you.”
She bustled back to the desk and started clicking away on her keyboard. “Looks like we need to update your account. You haven’t been here in like twenty years.” She asked for my contact info, and I provided it.
“One last question, marital status?”
She was staring intently at the screen, avoiding my eyes. Did she want to know for her own reasons, or was this just an awkward question required for the updated library card? “Single.”
She gave an efficient nod, although the corner of her mouth threatened to tip up.
Ten minutes later, I was the owner of a new library card, and I was carrying a very full bag of novels to my truck.
I set the bag onto the passenger seat and began the drive back to Strawberry Hill.
I’d grown up in this small city, but after years of travel, noise, chaos, and heartbreak, I couldn’t quite breathe until I turned onto the rutted road that led to my cabin. Even the suburbs were too much for me these days. My nerves were still too raw from the things I’d reported on.
War zones in the Middle East.
Famine in areas of Eastern Africa.
Hurricanes, wildfires, and tsunamis—some on the other side of the world, some closer to home. All filled with stories so heartbreaking that I’d had to cut my career short.
I needed solitude, not small talk. When a vacation rental cabin came up for sale in the middle of nowhere, I bought it sight unseen.
There were other cabins around, but none were particularly close to mine. No one moved to the middle of nowhere because they were social. My self-imposed isolation would be the perfect setting to write my novel.