Chapter 1
Daphne Thibodeaux was tired in the way one was after doing what one loved. And as Tchaikovsky’s Waltz of the Snowflakes music swelled through the dance studio, light and twinkling, she grabbed on to the familiar-yet-fleeting sense of peace.
A peace that appeared sporadically, only to fade away with the winter mist.
A peace she craved to make permanent, if only she knew how.
She silently counted the music’s beats, watching pink leotards spin across the floor. The girls, ages ten to fourteen, danced with a joy that forgave the missed steps and tangled arms. It was her fourth class of the day but she wasn’t ready to end this one yet.
“Step-two-three, step-two-three—twirl!” She called, clapping her hands. “Good! Keep the arms soft, like you’re floating from the sky.”
One of the smallest girls, Lila, stumbled into Charlie, the tallest girl beside her, and they both dissolved into giggles.
Daphne stopped the music and crossed the dance floor to adjust their hands. “Try again, ladies. Like snowflakes on the wind, not bumper cars.”
The girls reset with serious faces and dramatic breaths, and she pressed play on the speaker again. The Waltz of the Snowflakes lifted into the air once more, lush, whimsical and familiar.
She turned toward the mirrors, her own reflection ghosting back at her. Her pink leggings dusted with glitter from a tutu mishap, her white sweater pulled off one shoulder, her hair in a tight ballet bun, and her feet in soft ballet flats instead of pointe shoes.
Her toes curled inside the worn leather. Somewhere deep in her dance-trained brain, her muscles remembered every step of the full en pointe choreography. The urge to move with the girls hummed beneath her skin.
But she didn’t. She only danced en pointe in private now, when no one could compare her current self to her past prima ballerina self.
When the music faded, the girls collapsed dramatically onto the floor, some stretching, others flopping like wet snow balls.
“Okay,” Daphne said, crouching down to their level. “Let’s review stage formation. You’ll enter in two lines from either side, and then we build the circle. Got it?”
Lila raised her hand. “Will you be the Snow Queen and lead us on stage? You were such a beautiful Garland Queen last summer.”
A chorus of “Yes!” and “Please, Miss Daphne!” echoed around the room.
Her throat closed up, and she sat back on her heels. “This is your moment.”
“But during the summer performance,” Mary said, “you looked like a real princess. My sister cried.”
Daphne stood and searched for her water bottle. She’d been suffering from headaches lately and was trying to stay hydrated. “Mary, your sister cries at dog food commercials.”
More laughter. Yet the question lingered like icy drifts that refused to melt.
Daphne could lead them. Her body knew the movements because she’d been practicing on her own.
But the thought of stepping into that spotlight again, even in a modest Christmas Eve pageant at Kingsmill’s old barn, gave her migraines.
“I’ll think about it,” she offered. “But only if you promise to rehearse your hearts out while I’m gone for the next few days.”
She finished her water filled with electrolytes and turned toward the studio’s big picture window… and froze.
Outside, Milltown—the town on the other side of the mountain from her new home in Kingsmill—reminded her of a Christmas postcard.
Wreaths hung from every lamppost. Snow dusted the eaves of the bookstore on the corner.
Colored Christmas lights lit up the dark December night.
People bustled past with shopping bags, hot cocoa, and dogs in sweaters.
Across the street, her boyfriend Abe stood next to his truck, talking to his twin brother Luke.
They weren’t smiling. Their arms moved in sharp, deliberate gestures. Luke pointed toward the truck. Abe said something that made Luke’s brows lower. They were either arguing or having one of those intense, brotherly talks that carried weight beneath the words.
Abe’s gaze lifted to her window. He saw her, and his expression softened.
A warm knot of emotion curled inside her chest, a combination of comfort, nerves, affection, and the echo of things unspoken.
For the past few weeks, he’d erected a wall between them.
It wasn’t a wall made of steel and concrete, just a distance she’d not been able to breach.
Although with her weekly physical therapy appointments in New York City, teaching ballet, and spending hours training at the gym and Pilates studio to regain her strength, she’d been too busy to try.
She turned back to the girls. “While I’m gone, Charlie’s sister, Miss Tess, will help you rehearse. When I return, I expect all of my snowflakes to be—”
“Perfect, Miss Daphne?” Lila asked.
“Not perfect, Lila.” She met the gazes of her dancers who had the same dreams she’d once had of becoming a Prima Ballerina. The same dreams she’d achieved through hard work and lost in a terrible car accident. “Just your best.”
Snow clung to the edge of Abe’s truck like icing on a day-old gingerbread house while his twin brother Luke leaned against the passenger door, drinking coffee from a to-go cup as a defense against the bitter air.
The courthouse letter, folded in the inner pocket of Abe’s jacket, felt like a stone pressing against his ribs.
“So that’s it,” Luke said, his breath clouding. “Dad is contesting grandad’s will again. Full petition this time.”
Abe nodded, jaw tight. “Dad says Caleb wasn’t of sound mind when he changed the will.”
“Caleb died over three years ago.”
“Apparently, Dad—along with three of our five uncles—think the will is negotiable.”
Thankfully two of their uncles, Gage and John, were on Abe and Luke’s side.
Luke cursed under his breath, low and vicious. “Dad didn’t care about any of Caleb’s properties until he realized their worth. He let Caleb rot while he was dying of cancer.”
Abe nodded. “Now that we’re building something good, Dad wants a piece.”
He studied the Shenandoah Mountains in the distance, quiet and snow-covered. Somewhere up there was the cabin he and Daphne were headed to, the one his granddad, Caleb, had built with his own hands and left to his youngest son Gage.
Gage allowed his nieces and nephews to use the cabin whenever they wanted because he was kind and generous… unlike Abe’s father Isaiah who was a ruthless, greedy bastard.
Not far from the cabin was a piece of property nicknamed the old fairgrounds.
Caleb had hunted from that property, survived winter storms in it, and once hid there when a federal agent got too curious about his outlaw motorcycle club activity in the ‘80s. During the summers, Caleb had even allowed a traveling circus to set up there until something bad happened to Abe’s mother.
That ground was in his blood, in the blood of his five brothers. So, of course their father wanted to claw that property away out of spite.
Luke kicked a patch of slush. “We don’t just lose a legacy, Abe. If this goes sideways, we lose our investment. Everything we’ve poured into the business will disappear.”
Abe had recently left his army officer commission behind, and Luke had given up his law career and his surf shop in Miami for one reason. To open an outfitter business on the old fairgrounds Caleb had left them.
Their four older brothers, who’d inherited other properties, had offered to invest in the outfitter business. But Abe and Luke had wanted to do this together, on their own. It was a twin thing.
“I know.” Abe’s voice was flat. “I got the same letter.”
“Did you call the lawyer?”
“Yeah. He’s not optimistic. Says if it gets in front of the wrong judge, we’re screwed. Uncle Gage gave me the name of another lawyer in D.C. who can help us. But it’ll cost money.”
“We don’t have a choice. We need to fight Dad on this.”
Abe sighed. “I’ll set up a meeting for next week, after Christmas.”
Luke was quiet for a beat, then he looked sideways at him. “You bringing the ring to the cabin?”
Abe hesitated.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to propose to Daphne. He did. He wanted to wake up next to her every morning for the rest of his life. Wanted to see her dance again, not for the world, but for herself. Wanted to eat her terrible scrambled eggs and hold her while she overthought everything.
But marriage? When everything was this uncertain?
Luke raised a brow. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
“No,” Abe said. Then after a breath, “I’m not sure she’s ready.”
“She’s not sure she’s ready,” Luke corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“She’s deciding what comes next. Her therapy in Manhattan is going well and she’s working out like a beast. But she may never again dance at the highest level.
She may never reclaim her crown as one of the world’s best prima ballerinas.
I don’t want her to feel like she owes me something because I stuck around her when she was at her lowest.”
“She doesn’t.” Luke clapped a hand on Abe’s shoulder. “And she’ll say yes, bro. You two have that... I don’t know. Old-soul stuff.”
Abe looked toward the dance studio across the street. The glass was slightly fogged, but she stood near the barre, surrounded by girls in pink leotards.
The shape of her eyes and tilt of her head told him she was laughing. With her sweater hanging off one shoulder and her hair in a bun, she belonged in that room. Not just center stage. Not just spotlighted. Just present. Whole, even if she didn’t know it yet.
Luke followed his gaze. “See? That look on your face? You’re gone.”
Abe didn’t deny it. “Let’s hope she doesn’t run when I ask her.”
“She won’t.” Luke gripped his shoulder once more. “I gotta meet Holly at the hospital. I’m going to a holiday party as her plus one. Me, a recovering lawyer and surf shop owner, in a room filled with doctors. Should be a real hit with the eggnog crowd.”
Abe gave a half-smile. “I’m praying for you, bro.”
“Thanks, man. I need it.”
Luke walked away, his boots leaving imprints in the icy sidewalk.
Abe didn’t move. The wind stirred snowflakes across the street, the scent of cinnamon and chocolate drifting from the café next door. He shifted his hand into the pocket of his winter parka and touched the velvet box.
It wasn’t time to give it to her yet. But it would be soon.
He glanced back at the window. Daphne stood there, watching him now. Her gaze met his through the glass, and a smile lifted the corner of her mouth. Small, unsure, beautiful.
He exhaled, and the knot of tension in his chest loosened. Let the lawsuits fly. Let Isaiah and his brothers rage and claw at their sons and nephews. If Daphne said yes and stayed in Kingsmill with him, everything would work out.
He crossed the street and pushed open the door to the studio. The jingle of bells cut through the quiet, and he stepped into the warmth.
All the female heads turned toward the male intrusion.
“Hey, Garland Queen.” Abe inhaled the scent of rosin, peppermint, and sweat. “You ready to get snowed in with me?”
The girls squealed and threw themselves into Daphne’s arms for hugs and validation and promises of snow queens and nutcrackers.
When she met his gaze, her smile was mirrored in her blue gaze. “Yes.” Then she added with emphasis that sounded like a tired, desperate plea. “Please.”