Blame the Blizzard (Saltwater Springs)
Chapter 1
ONE
STERLING
She’s a damn beauty.
I stare at the surfboard I just finished making with bated breath.
The lighting in the shaping room is crap—one flickering overhead bulb and a shop window half-frosted from the cold—but she still shines.
Pale teal resin over a soft swallowtail shape, triple stringer for stiffness, and just the right curve in the rocker.
I run a hand along the rail, relishing in the smoothness. She’s sleek, and fast. I know she’ll be a beast in the water, cutting through current like butter.
She deserves better than this room, I think to myself. Too bad the ocean’s closed for business.
It’s dead quiet, except for the faint tick of the heater and the occasional groan of the storm that’s hammering Saltwater Springs. I glance out the little window and frown. Snow blows in sheets across the gravel lot, and the gray sky looks ready to stage the apocalypse.
There’s no breeze off the ocean today, which means there’s no swell and no surf. Just cold, wet silence.
That’s the part that gets me. This board is ready, and there’s no one even left to ride her.
The Saltwater Shredders, the town's local surf team, packed up and flew to Hawaii two days ago to chase clean waves and sunshine, and I can’t blame them.
The storm hit hard and fast. Dumping two feet of snow in less than twenty-four hours and scaring off the last of the tourists.
Now it’s just me, the storm, and a dozen riderless boards stacked in the corner.
I head to the front of the shop where the cold half-drank coffee that I’ve already microwaved twice sits. I microwave it for a third time and lean against the counter, staring at the “CLOSED FOR STORM” sign I taped to the door.
The power flickers and the heater coughs.
I should be in Hawaii with the team, or anywhere warm for that matter, but I’ve never been one to follow the crowd. The moment something feels too easy or too settled, I pull the chute.
But this feels settled. And I hate it.
I pull out my phone and shoot off a text to my best friend.
Sterling:
Are you still alive over in Bluewater Bluffs, or did that ski hill of yours get swallowed by snow?
Levi replies almost instantly.
Levi:
Alive and thriving. Powder’s insane. You stuck in Saltwater Springs?
Sterling:
Buried. Everyone bailed and the surf’s dead. It’s a ghost town.
Levi:
Why don’t you come work at my mountain resort for the rest of the season? You’d love it. My main instructor bailed for Banff.
Sterling:
Teaching snowboard lessons to bratty tourists?
Levi:
Yeah, but hot tourists. In ski suits. With trust funds. Just saying.
I stare at the message, then look around the shop. At the stacked boards collecting dust, the snow hammering the windows, and the version of me I’m slowly becoming—settled.
Yeah. I need a reset.
Sterling:
Where would I stay?
Levi:
Job comes with room at my family mountain chalet and a decent paycheck.
Sterling:
Damn. Hard offer to pass up.
Levi:
I knew you’d cave. Pack your shit. I’ll meet you at the bottom of Bluff Mountain.
“It’s been way too long since I last saw you, man.
” Levi’s voice cuts through the hum of the engine as we wind up the narrow, snow-dusted roads of Bluff Mountain.
Pine trees crowd the edges of the road, heavy with white, the peaks looming like shadows against a gray sky.
He shoots me a quick grin. “What’s it been, like three years? Why the hell haven’t you visited?”
I lean my head against the passenger seat, eyes tracing the lines of the road before I turn to look at him. “Time flies when you’re having fun,” I say, flashing him a sheepish grin.
He barks out a laugh, the sound bouncing off the enclosed space of the truck. “Fun, huh? Let me guess—does that fun involve a girl?”
I shrug, shifting back to stare at the road ahead. “I don’t really do permanent anymore. If anything, the fun involves girls, plural. With a capital S.”
Levi throws his head back and laughs, smacking my shoulder before shaking his head, grinning wide. “Such a ladies’ man. Haven’t changed a damn bit.” He sobers, if only slightly, his voice softening. “But seriously—I’m glad you’re back. Even if it’s just for a month.”
“Yeah.” I grunt, the sound more appreciative than it probably seems.
We round the last bend, tires crunching over the icy driveway, and his family chalet comes into view.
I let out a low whistle. The place rises like a mountain itself, all stone and glass, with floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting the twilight.
In the three years I’ve been away, I’d nearly forgotten just how loaded the Harts are, but being here now makes it impossible to ignore.
This isn’t a chalet; it’s a damn castle.
“The infamous Hart Chalet,” I mutter, eyes drinking in the sprawling deck and the peaked roofs. “Tell me you’re staying here with me?”
Levi kills the engine and hops out without answering, which is my first red flag. I climb out too, rounding the truck to meet him at the back. He fiddles with the latch, too focused on avoiding my eyes.
I let out a heavy sigh as I grab my duffel and snowboard once he gets the door open. “Spit it out, Levi. What’s going on?”
“I’m not staying here with you,” he says, finally meeting my gaze.
“Oh?” My brow quirks up, suspicion prickling. “So I’m staying here alone?”
He cringes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not exactly.”
My frown deepens. “What do you me—”
“Levi Carter Hart!”
The voice slices through the quiet mountain air, feminine, and far too familiar. I freeze while every muscle in my body locks tight as if the sound alone has claws.
Levi’s guilty look is confirmation enough, but I barely register it because my heart is already climbing into my throat, pounding so hard I can feel it in my teeth.
Slowly and reluctantly, I turn toward the voice and there she is.
Maisy Hart.
Levi’s little sister, and my ex-girlfriend.
The real reason I haven’t set foot in Bluewater Bluffs in three years.