Chapter 2
Andreas Nikolai ‘Niko’ Vasiliou
Omorfiá mou, my beauty. It’s been a long time since a woman has caught my attention the way she has. Well over a year. And for the last nine months, I haven’t so much as looked at a woman, strictly following my lawyer’s advice.
Be careful, I remind myself. She says she’s Dom’s sister, but what if she’s another schemer? Another liar?
Damn, I hate this constant suspicion—how it’s become my instinct. One woman’s manipulation has tainted everything. I just want to ski, love my family, and eventually build one of my own.
I’m not even sure I want to ski professionally anymore. Running a hand through my still-damp hair, I turn to the stove, stirring the stew and checking the rolls warming in the oven.
I chuckle under my breath. I’m becoming my mother. When she worries a problem to death, she cooks. Good thing Wynter showed up. I’ve made enough food for five people.
Dom’s phone buzzes again. I shake my head. I’m glad I’m not him when his sister finally gets a hold of him.
The shower cuts off, and a moment later the hair dryer hums to life. I prepare her tea, fill a cream pot and set out sugar cubes on the breakfast bar, then add a couple cookies since the stew still needs time.
When she steps into the kitchen, my breath catches in my chest. God, she’s beautiful—long black hair, wide brown eyes, no makeup, no pretense. This is me. Take it or leave it. She wears the look like a banner.
She picks up Dom’s phone and starts tapping.
“You know his password?” I ask.
“Dom has the short term attention span of a squirrel on a good day. If he doesn’t immediately put a new girl’s number in his phone—with hair color, eye color, where they met, then her name and something else memorable about her—he’ll forget who she is within an hour.
“He’s only ever managed to memorize three numbers. His birthdate, his phone number, and the most recent speed skiing record he wants to break. His passwords rotate between those.
She looks up. “Did you meet the girl?”
“No. She drove up, honked, he tossed me the keys to his truck and ran out. I saw a red corvette through the window.”
“Of course,” she sighs. “He has her saved as ‘Red Corvette’. Airhead.” She taps again and lifts the phone to her ear.
“I need to speak to Dom. This is his sister.” She’s silent, but I see her jaw working. “Don’t worry, Dom, I survived. Barely. I know you were clearly… busy. Doing someone or something very important, like not being even slightly reliable!”
Another pause. “Hmm. Yeah. Hmm. Shut up! Do you care about anything but yourself? Do you know the bind you put me in? What about the kids? I can’t pull it off alone—. Don’t bother. I’m done.”
She slams the phone on the counter and collapses onto the barstool, cupping her head in her hands. Her dejection rolls off her like a physical force, pulsing between us.
“Talk to me, Wynter. Tell me what you need—what you’re trying to do?”
She looks up at me through her fingers, fighting tears.
“Sometimes saying it out loud helps. Lay it all out. I’ll be your sounding board. Just let it out.”
She draws a shaky breath. “This cabin has been handed down from generation to generation in my family. We were one of the founding families of Frost Haven. We spent almost every summer weekend here growing up… winters too.
“The economy has hit the town hard. A lot of the families are struggling. What Frost Haven really needs is more employers, but one of the biggest ones is failing. They’ve laid off so many people they might shut down completely.
And the big Christmas event they sponsored—the one that gave gifts to the kids? It’s been canceled for two years.
Her voice cracks. “I-we-Dom and I convinced the town council we could bring it back. I’ve gotten some toy donations, rented decorations, booked local vendors so they could earn something for the holidays.
We have one week to get the hall decorated and set up with volunteers.
Then finish getting gifts and bring back the joy to the town.
All on a shoestring budget. And now… just a week to pull it all together. With only me.
“Dom was supposed to help find more sponsors to cover the expenses. He was also supposed to help me wrap gifts and handle setup.”
She exhales shakily. “These people are barely hanging on. They need jobs, hope, joy. We were supposed to help bring that back. Now I don’t know how I’ll get any of it done.”
“What was the business that shut down?”
“There was a small clothing factory—monograming and screen printing. Jerseys, caps, touristy stuff to be sold up at Witts Mountain. The items were sold in the gift shops here and up at the lodge and around the country. The products were quality, but they depended on one sports star sponsor. And then he tanked.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t rely on a single big name, but they signed a noncompete.
Then the skier lost five years in a row, and their name spent more time in tabloids than real sports news.
The merchandise quit selling, stores stopped ordering.
They’ve finally gotten out of the contract, but they need a new name or backer product to get back on their feet. ”
She paces a little, her frustration simmering. “They should have reached out to every athlete from the area—skier, skater, anyone—to help the whole local industry rebound. Witt Mountain Lodge is struggling, too.”
Letting out a humorless laugh, she looks at me. “The factory owner went to the mayor—who was elected because they had all these contacts and could bring more new business and jobs to the town—and he’s done nothing. All promises and lies, no action. They need a new damn mayor.
Her shoulders slump. “These are good people. They’re losing everything. It’s affecting almost every family in town. The kids… the kids are the ones really suffering.
“What are some of your ideas?” I ask gently.
“Something quick and simple to start. T-shirts with ski sayings like Skiing is the only sport where you pay to get cold and fall down, or My life is going downhill... and I love it!”
“Maybe, I skied to Witts’s end,” I offer.
She looks up, wide eyed. “Yes! That’s a perfect—something to get them going generic enough to sell. Get the community back to work. They have some shirts and caps left in stock, but not much money to operate. And no one to pitch the product.
“What else did you have in mind?”
“I think they should make funny shirts about falling in the snow or being a failed skier with a photo. Dom offered to be the test subject. I’ve already talked to Ed where they print the shirts.
Her enthusiasm is electric. Pure passion. I realize how long it’s been since I’ve felt anything remotely close to that.
“These funny shirts, show me what you mean.”
She goes to her suitcase and pulls out a bright red shirt. The front shows a younger Dom face-planted in a snowdrift, skies sticking straight up. Underneath Dominic Frost ~ two left skis
“Mom took this when he was still learning,” she explains. “We could do a whole series for kids to show everyone starts somewhere. All we need are photos and a release forms. That’s later down the road, but we could start with Dom and sell them in the local gift shops and up at Witt Mountain Lodge.”
She sinks back in her chair. “We could create a whole line for after the holidays. Dom’s shirt would be our test. Making his could get some people back to work.”
“Who sponsors this? Who profits?” I ask.
“Dom donated the photo and the rights for this one. The shop would print and sell them—it gives them revenue to stay open, at least for a while. They already have shirts in stock, and they’d be paying their employees. Hopefully it keeps them afloat until they can get new clients.”
She takes a breath. “Right now, I just need to decorate the hall, wrap gifts for the kids, and order food baskets so families have something to eat for the holiday.”
“How do you know all this about the town?”
“I spent summers here. And my friend at the coffee shop has been telling me for months how bad things were getting. She’s the one who told me the city canceled Kids Christmas Night.”
“How long do you have?”
“Five days. I’ve organized what I could from home.”
“What is your budget?”
She stares down at her tea until I softly say, “Wynter?”
“My parents donated twenty grand. I used that for the food baskets for the families who signed up. Those are ordered and should be delivered the day of the party. I’m worried though. Pride can keep people from asking for help. I’d like to have extras.
“Dom was supposed to cover the shirts with his picture and help with the decorations and set up. Some towns people have also volunteered for setup. Depending on how much available time they have.”
She swallows. “I’ve been buying gifts for the kids who entered their names and shipping them to the factory for storage. The owner has them in his warehouse. I’m a few short, but I have a little left in my savings.”
She hesitates, then nods to herself. “If I order the rest of the gifts online, I think they’ll get here on time. I could do that tonight.”
I ladle stew into two bowls and pull a stool around so I’m facing her. “Eat. Then we’ll make a plan. I don’t have to be anywhere for two weeks. I’ll help.”
I hold her gaze. “One condition. No one knows it’s me. My name doesn’t appear anywhere.”