Chapter 1
Holly
The rental car's engine ticked in the December cold as I sat staring at Grandma Edith's cabin.
Same blue shutters, same yellow door, same porch where she'd waved goodbye five years ago while I promised to visit more often.
A promise I'd broken over and over, always too busy, always planning to come "next month. "
Three months since the funeral. Three months of that damn tax notice burning a hole in my purse. Pay twelve thousand dollars or lose the cabin. Simple as that.
But first, I had to win her competition.
I grabbed the nearest box of Christmas lights from the backseat, December air biting my cheeks sharp and clean.
None of that Vancouver smog up here. The cabin smelled like pine and vanilla candles when I unlocked the door—Grandma's scent hitting me in a wave.
For a second I was eight again, making sugar cookies while she hummed Christmas carols.
The tears came fast and ugly, echoing in the empty rooms. All those missed visits. All those rushed phone calls. All the times I'd said "next time" when she'd begged me to come for Christmas.
I cried until my head pounded, then wiped my face on my sleeve and got to work.
Grandma had never won the Silver Ridge Christmas Display Competition. Thirty-seven years of trying, and she'd never taken first place. But this year was going to be different. This year, I had a plan.
By late afternoon I was outside stringing the first lights, wrestling with extension cords and trying not to think about how much I'd spent on this display. The boxes scattered across the snow looked like Christmas had exploded—which wasn't far from the truth.
That's when I heard it. The steady thunk-thunk-thunk of an axe biting wood.
I looked up and saw him.
Oh.
My heart forgot how to beat properly. He stood maybe fifty yards away, broad shoulders stretching dark flannel as he swung the axe overhead.
His hair was brown and a little too long, catching the slanted sunlight.
Even at this distance I could see the corded muscles in his forearms as he split another log and tossed it aside.
Something ancient and knowing sparked in my chest. My body recognized him before my mind caught up—heat pooling low in my belly just watching him move.
I'd never been the type to go weak over a stranger, but there was something about his quiet competence, the way he commanded the space around him, that made my skin prickle with want.
He must have felt me staring because he straightened and turned. Across the distance between our cabins, his gaze hit me. Intense blue eyes that seemed to see straight through me.
I lifted my hand in a little wave, suddenly aware of my messy hair and flushed cheeks. He didn't wave back. Just watched me for a long moment before turning away and picking up another log.
Right. Not the friendly type.
I shook myself and got back to work. The lights went up easier when I had rhythm—like planning events, just outdoors with more pine needles. Every bulb had to be perfect. The judges would drive by after dark, and I wanted them to stop their cars and stare.
I was humming "White Christmas" and reaching for a high branch when I remembered my speaker. Christmas music made everything better, right?
Wrong.
The opening chords of "Silver Bells" had barely started when I heard a door slam. Hard.
I looked toward his cabin and saw him standing rigid on his porch. Even from here I could see the tension in his shoulders, hands clenched at his sides like he was fighting something.
"Turn it off."
His voice carried across the space between us, low and rough with an edge that made my spine straighten. Not angry exactly. Something deeper. Something that sounded almost like fear.
I scrambled for the speaker, nearly tripping over extension cords, but I wasn't fast enough. He was already walking toward me with long strides that ate up the distance.
Up close, he was devastating. Six-three at least, with the kind of build that came from real outdoor work. Those blue eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made my mouth go dry and my pulse jump.
"I said turn it off." Quieter now but no less commanding.
"I... okay." My fingers fumbled with the controls. "Sorry, I didn't realize anyone was around."
The music cut off, leaving us in silence broken only by wind in the trees and my heart hammering against my ribs.
He didn't step back. If anything, he moved closer, and I caught his scent—wood smoke and sawdust.
"You're Edith's granddaughter." Not a question.
"Holly." I stuck out my hand automatically, felt stupid when he just stared at it. "Holly LaBelle. And you are?"
"Riley Knapp." He didn't take my hand, but his eyes softened a fraction. "Your grandmother was a good woman."
"She was. The best." The lump in my throat made my voice smaller than I wanted.
We stood there, and I thought maybe the tension was leaving his shoulders. Maybe we could have a normal conversation. Maybe he'd help with the lights, and we'd bond over Edith's stories, and then...
Then he noticed the extension cords snaking toward his property.
"What the hell is all this?"
The harsh edge was back, and when I followed his gaze, I realized how it looked. Lights everywhere, cords running in multiple directions, boxes of decorations still unpacked.
"It's for the competition." I tried to inject enthusiasm into my voice. "The Christmas display competition? Grandma entered every year, and this year I'm going to win it for her. I have this whole plan—"
"No."
"What do you mean, no?"
"No lights. No music. No..." He gestured at my organized chaos. "Whatever this is."
Heat flared in my chest, anger bristling when he looked at me like I was a problem instead of a person. "You don't get to tell me what I can do on my own property."
"Your property ends there." He pointed to a spot ten feet away. "Those cords are on mine."
I looked where he pointed and felt my cheeks burn. He was right. In my excitement, I'd run extension cords wherever I needed them.
"Fine. I'll move the cords. But I'm still putting up the lights."
Something flickered in his eyes. Pain. Exhaustion. "The music has to stop."
"It's Christmas music. It's supposed to be cheerful."
"It's loud and..." He stopped, jaw working like he was trying to find words. "It bothers me."
The tone of his voice made my anger deflate like a sad balloon. Whatever was going on here wasn't really about music or lights or property lines.
"Okay," I said softly. "I can use headphones."
He blinked, clearly not expecting me to give in. "What?"
"Headphones. I still get my Christmas music, you get silence. Problem solved."
For a moment he just stared at me. "You'd do that?"
"Of course. I don't want to be a bad neighbor." I shrugged, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze. "Grandma always said you catch more flies with honey than vinegar."
"She said that to me once."
The words were so quiet I almost missed them.
"You knew her." The surprise was clear in my voice. In all our phone calls, all her stories about neighbors and town gossip, she'd never mentioned Riley Knapp. "I mean, of course. You’re her neighbor."
His eyes went shuttered, walls slamming back up. "I have to go."
"Wait." I reached out without thinking, my fingers brushing his flannel-covered arm. Even through the thick fabric I could feel the heat of him, the solid strength that made something clench low in my belly. "Please. She never mentioned you."
He looked down at my hand on his arm. I started to pull back, embarrassed by my boldness, but then he spoke, voice so low I had to strain to hear.
"Edith saved my life."
My breath caught. "What?"
But he was already stepping back, breaking contact. "Move your cords before dark. Temperature's dropping and you don't want them frozen to the ground."
He turned and walked away before I could respond, leaving me standing there with a dozen questions and the lingering warmth of his skin against my fingertips.
Edith saved my life.
What did that mean? How had Grandma never mentioned this man?
She'd told me about Mrs. Henderson's soup deliveries, about the young couple with the new baby, about the chatty mailman. But never about Riley Knapp. He’d moved in long after I stopped visiting, obviously. But she’d never told me about him.
Never about someone whose life she'd apparently saved.
I watched him disappear into his cabin, and for the first time since arriving, I wasn't thinking about lights or competitions or tax bills. I was thinking about the pain I'd seen in those blue eyes, and the way my heart had recognized something in him before my brain caught up.
Like I'd been waiting for him without knowing it.
The thought should have scared me. I'd known him all of ten minutes, most spent arguing. But standing there in the growing darkness, surrounded by tangled Christmas lights and the memory of his touch, scared wasn't what I felt.
Hopeful. That's what I felt.
Like maybe this Christmas was going to be about more than winning a competition.
Like maybe it was about finding something I hadn't known I was looking for.
I picked up the nearest extension cord and started untangling it, humming softly, and promised to myself I'd figure out how to be a good neighbor to the mysterious man next door.