Like Snow We Fall (Winter Dreams #1)

Chapter 1

Still Waters Run Deep

Paisley

My stomach is growling. It’s impossible not to hear it in the silence, but no one looks over. It’s right before dawn; most of the people in the bus are still asleep.

I carefully bend forward to dig my smartphone out of my bag without waking up the person next to me.

Over the last sixteen hours, we’ve hardly exchanged a word.

His shabby pinstripe suit—which seems about two sizes too large—suggests that he’s a businessman.

Maybe not the most successful businessman.

I mean, this Minneapolis to Aspen bus isn’t exactly the epitome of comfort.

But it’s good enough for me. It’s bringing me farther. Taking me away.

To safety.

My bag falls back into the footwell when the bus jerks over a bump.

I glance at my phone. 7:17 a.m. It can’t be much longer.

My stomach is full of butterflies, and they’ve made it all the way to my fingertips.

When I lean forward to try and peep through the yellowed bus curtains, the window fogs up.

Warm streetlights shine across rippling snow.

Rows of little cabins, one after the other, here and there a lighted window.

My glance wanders farther, across the snowy roofs toward a tall, white bell tower.

It’ll be a new beginning. A leap into the unknown. I’ll be on my own, but that doesn’t bother me at all.

It’s always been that way. And always will.

Above our heads, the ceiling lights flicker on before casting their butter-yellow glow throughout the bus.

After two more curves, the loudspeaker begins to crackle, and the driver’s monotone voice comes through.

“In a few minutes we’ll be reaching Aspen.

This is the last stop. Please get off the bus, and remember to take your belongings with you. Thank you.”

With a deep sigh, I pick my ice skates up off the floor, press them to my chest, and look out the window. Before me, Aspen’s snow-covered peaks tower into the sky as if trying to reach the clouds.

So, this is it. My new home. The opportunity of a lifetime.

The bus stops and the doors open. Cold air slams into my face as I shoulder my jute bag, dig my fingers into the white leather of my skates, and step out into the open air behind the few other passengers. The snow crunches beneath my winter boots.

Between the wildly whirling flakes here and there, I can make out individual streetlights. The air is pure and clear. It smells of freedom. Peace. Aspen is exactly what I imagined it would be.

Magical.

Strands of my blond hair tickle my cheek as I tug my woolen cap farther down over my ears and begin to stomp through the snow. My stomach starts growling again. It’s got to be at least a day since I’ve eaten anything. Most recently, before…

No. I’m not going to think about it. It’s over. I refuse to allow this venom to poison my happiness and ruin it like a drop of oil in clean water.

The white sky is streaked with pink to announce the breaking day. Now I can see rows of little cabins across the middle of the mountains as if they’d just sprung out of Santa’s village.

A light to my right draws my attention. It’s coming from a building on the corner. Behind the large windows, an attractive woman is standing in front of a long counter, pushing cupcakes into a bakery display case.

Cupcakes… My mouth begins to water. My legs start moving before I can even put together my next thought.

A bell above the door rings when I step inside and shut out the cold behind me. I am enveloped by wonderful smells. I close my eyes for a second and take a deep breath. Then I take a look around.

Red and black upholstered barstools alternate in front of the counter; some of the leather is cracked, and I can see the yellow foam underneath.

Along the wall by the windows, there are a number of red upholstered booths with white tables in between.

Crooked red letters above the old-fashioned jukebox tell me the name of the place: Kate’s Diner.

It’s breakfast time. I can smell pancakes, blueberries, and cinnamon. Chocolate, almonds, and honey. More, more, more—there’s just so much, and it’s so heavenly I could never really take it all in, no matter how long I tried to define the smells.

And coffee. I can smell coffee.

The flickering pink neon sign behind the counter—hotdogs, hamburgers, milkshakes—tells me that the menu changes according to the time of day.

I hear the door close behind me. My eyes flit across the pictures on the walls. One of them is a view of the city lit up at night. The lights look like fires surrounded by the snowy mountains that flank Aspen like a protective wall. The other pictures are full of…

Pigeons. Of every stripe and at all moments.

One of them has colorful feathers. Another one is featured close-up, fixing its yellow eyes straight into the camera.

And yet another one, head held high, is crouching next to…

a petite pile of its business. With the words, “Be like a pigeon—don’t lose your shit! ” written above it.

“Hey, sweetheart.” The thin woman with the polka-dotted apron smiles at me.

Her eyes are the same warm chocolate brown as her cupcakes.

The soles of her white canvas shoes make a delicate sound with every step she takes across the black-and-white tiled floor toward me.

“How can I make your morning sweeter? You look like you could use an extra scoop of sugar.”

“Coffee,” I stammer. “And…scrambled eggs. Please.”

My heart is in my throat. I’m nervous. It’s been a long time since I’ve met any unbiased people. People who don’t know a thing about me. Although I know this woman has never seen me before, I can’t shake the unnerving feeling that she can read me.

Before ending up at the home for girls, I grew up in a trailer park outside of Minneapolis.

It was a small place. Not a lot of people.

Everyone knew everyone else. The kids knew who they were allowed to play with and who they were supposed to avoid.

I was one of the latter. A trailer roach. That’s what they called us.

Blurry images flash before my mind’s eye.

Parents dragging their kids past the fence around our community.

Scratching my head with tiny fingers only to discover a louse under my nail a few seconds later.

Mom on her knees in front of a guy I didn’t know, pants around his ankles, laughing that seven-year-old me had caught her.

And, finally, my skinny thighs, which I stared at when I sat down on the thin mattress at the home for the first time.

I’m torn out of my thoughts when the woman with the apron clucks, “Scrambled eggs? You can’t be from around here.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “How so?” I pull off my cap, sit down in one of the red booths, and hang my jacket and skates over the back. “What’s wrong with scrambled eggs?”

“Nothing. The folks in Aspen just don’t eat them here.”

“Why not?”

“Believe me, sweetheart.” She goes behind the counter and pours coffee into a big mug. “Once you get a taste of my chocolate pancakes, scrambled eggs will seem like nothing.”

“Inviting,” I grin. “Well, let’s have some of those famous pancakes, then.”

The woman puts the steaming mug down in front of me and shoots me a winning smile.

“You won’t regret it.” She twirls around and disappears behind a door that must lead into the kitchen.

In between the sounds from the radio, I can hear the rattle of pots and pans, and, a little bit later, the sizzle of hot oil.

I knead my fingers and wait. In the meantime, the pinkish wisps in the sky outside have vanished. But I see a lot more people on the streets of Aspen, packed tight into their coats, trudging through the snow. With a sigh, I pull my smartphone out of my bag and scroll through my photos.

The laughing faces of my girlfriends beam back at me. In almost every shot we’re on the ice, wearing our training outfits. We were hardly ever anywhere else. After high school, the ice rink defined my everyday life. From morning to night.

I swipe to the next picture and suddenly feel an invisible hand grab hold of my heart and squeeze.

Kaya’s blue eyes sparkle back at me. Our heads are next to each other on the ice; individual strands have come loose from our buns.

We’re laughing about something that belongs to a moment long since passed.

I remember that day. It was shortly after the regional championships. One of the few days I can think back to with happiness.

The image before my eyes grows blurry. I swallow. Kaya was my best friend. Is my best friend. And she has no idea where I am. She has no idea what’s happened.

No one does.

A plate slides into my field of vision and lands in front of me on the table. I abruptly toss my smartphone back into my bag and sit up.

“Thanks a lot,” I say.

The woman smiles. Her eyes shoot across my face and stop just a moment too long at that place they shouldn’t. I lower my head and dwell on my pancakes.

It feels like an eternity before she starts moving again and disappears behind her counter. “I’m Kate, by the way,” she says.

I shove a forkful of pancake into my mouth and feel like crying with pleasure. “Paisley,” I manage, my mouth full.

Kate nods. She opens the lid of a can containing a batch of baked cookies and sprinkles them with powdered sugar. “Are you here visiting someone or just passing through?”

I’ve already polished off half of my pancakes, but it’s not nearly enough. My stomach cries out for more. “No, I…” I swallow and clear my throat. “I just moved here.”

Kate looks surprised. “Like that? That doesn’t happen all that often in Aspen.” She tilts her head and sizes up my jute bag. “And you’re an ice-skater?”

I choke on my pancake. “How…”

“Your skates.” Kate nods toward my bundle, tied together at the laces. “Wasn’t tough to guess.”

“Oh. Right.” I take a gulp of coffee before adding, “I was given a place at iSkate Aspen.”

“Well, now! Then you must be good. They only take the best.” Kate snatches a cookie before closing the can and placing it back next to the cupcakes. “My daughter skates there, too.”

The last forkful of pancake disappears in my mouth. I quickly swallow it down while Kate continues to observe me with big eyes. “Your daughter?”

“Gwen. You’ve got to be around the same age.” She points at me with her half-eaten cookie. “Twenty?”

“Twenty-one,” I correct her. Then frown. “Do your pancakes have some kind of ‘forever young’ powder in them or something? I’d like to get me some of that, too.”

Kate laughs. Crumbs tumble onto the countertop when she takes another bite of her cookie. “I became a mom pretty young. At seventeen. But if I come across anything like that, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

The bell rings, announcing a customer.

“Shit, is it cold outside.” A young man with a huge sports bag knocks snow off his boots onto the tiles. Which is followed by further flakes when he rubs his gloved hands together.

“Morning, Wyatt,” Kate says. She’s already moving to fill up a to-go cup with coffee. “You’re late today.”

“Yeah, I overslept.” The guy takes the cup, places two singles on the countertop, and pours so much sugar into his coffee that I seriously have to wonder whether it’s a kind of cure-all for the town.

“Went a bit late last night.” He pushes the top down onto his cup. “Should probably take it down a notch.”

Kate raises an eyebrow. “You say that at least three times a week when you show up here in the mornings.”

Wyatt grins. His features are frighteningly attractive, and I’d bet he’s one of those guys who is all too aware of it.

“Truth. What can I say? You only live once.” He lifts his cup in goodbye and shuffles toward the door. His bag grazes my skates. Two crossed hockey sticks sewn into the side pocket.

Ah ha. Hockey player.

“Best steer clear of his parties,” Kate says once Wyatt has left the diner. “Or you can kiss your dream goodbye before even thinking of the word Olympics.”

I swish my coffee around and watch the dark liquid moisten the ceramic. “Competitive sports and parties don’t go together.”

“Oh, don’t let Knox hear you say that.”

With a wrinkled brow, I lift my eyes. “Knox?”

“He should be showing up any second,” she responds and points to the coffee machine she is filling up.

“Another hockey player?”

“Not entirely.” A mysterious smile appears at the corners of her mouth. “Knox is a snowboarder.”

Before the last syllable of her words fades, the bell rings again. A wide-shouldered guy with cropped brown hair steps into the diner.

The first thing he looks at is me. His eyes bore directly into mine. They are large and green; I’ve never seen a green as bright. The white sky outside turns his pupils into pinheads, and I feel like I’ve been blinded by the color of his irises.

He turns away first. Snowflakes fall from his hair and land on his black down jacket. His feet are tucked into warm Panama Jacks.

“Thanks, Kate,” he says while—surprise!—pouring three packets of sugar into his coffee. He rubs his other hand across his face.

“Tired, Knox?” she asks bemusedly.

“That’s not the right expression at all. No idea how I’m supposed to survive the day.”

“Maybe by deciding to go to bed a little earlier tonight?”

“Kate.” Knox breaks into an incredulous grin. One of the disarming kinds. One of the kinds that make women weak. “Please.”

She waves her hand through the air. “It’s all right. Now take your coffee and get out of here! With your bloodshot eyes, you’ll scare off all my customers.”

Knox draws a fake punch. “I’ve got the face of an angel. Say I’ve got the face of an angel, Kate.”

“If angels look like their daily bread consists of shots, well, yeah. You’ve got the face of an angel.”

He laughs, pays for his coffee, and makes his way to the door.

Once again his eyes graze mine. The carefree look there a second ago is gone, and now it’s hard to gauge what they’re saying.

He looks like he’s judging me for something.

Before I can interpret his features any further, though, he’s out the door.

“Well, that was Knox,” Kate says superfluously. “You should steer clear of him even more than Wyatt’s parties.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, my fingers gripping the large coffee cup. “What’s up with him?”

Kate looks to the door where just a few seconds ago he disappeared. “The question, my dear, is what’s not up with him. Women, scandals, stress… Knox takes it all. He’s a good guy, but…” She sighs. “Snowboarding doesn’t seem to be helping him find the right path.”

For a while we’re both silent, while in my head the image of his piercing green eyes continues to whirr. Eventually I sigh, too, and dig my wallet out of my jute bag. “Thank you for your wonderful pancakes. What do I owe you?”

Kate shakes her head. “Put your money away, dear. Today breakfast’s on me.” She smiles. “Welcome to Aspen.”