Deck the Hills (The Peppermint Playbook #6)

Chapter One

ASPEN

“Don’t worry, Papa Bear. I have everything packed, and I won’t hurt myself.

My trainer will be there to make sure I stick to my regimen, and I promise not to do anything stupid.

” Or at least, not too stupid, Aspen muttered under her breath as she kept packing, her dad trailing her around the apartment.

“I heard that, young lady. You don’t have time to do stupid.” He thumped her playfully on the side of her head with a large finger.

She spun around, her eyes trailing up to the teddy bear—yet hulk of a man—standing behind her, and she smiled, crossing her eyes at him.

“How many times have I told you not to do that, kid? They’ll get stuck like that.” He folded his arms and shook his head as she laughed.

“Will not. That’s just a myth.” She smacked him on the shoulder as she shuffled past, and his deep chuckle followed her.

She loved her papa, but he still couldn’t get it through his thick skull that she was a twenty-four-year-old woman, living on her own, and didn’t need him fussing over her every time she went out of town for something snowboarding-related.

“Neve, I just don’t want a repeat of last year’s fiasco.” His voice was quiet.

At that, she froze, tamping down her anger before facing him fully. He was the only one who called her Neve. It meant snow, and him using it now meant he was trying to soften his words to avoid irritating her. But it did anyway.

“The fiasco you speak of was an injury—one that wasn’t my fault, if you remember.” She advanced toward him, her voice sharp but steady. He knew the injury wasn’t her fault, so why did he act like it was every time he brought it up?

She yanked up her pant leg, motioning toward the scars below her kneecap—the one on the inside of her thigh and the two matching marks on either side of her kneecap.

“I’m very aware of how close I came to never riding again.

That rail was supposed to be secured, and you know it just as well as I do.

How on earth was I supposed to know that ride would tear my ACL?

” Her words were clipped as she spun around, headed to the couch, grabbed her laptop, and shoved it into her backpack.

“I know that, Neve, but maybe I should come with you. Make sure your trainer has you working on your exercises to keep that knee strong.”

She rolled her eyes at him from across the room. “Nah. I’m good.”

He hated when she said that.

“Neve… stop acting like a ch—”

She held up a hand, cutting him off as she strapped her backpack to her rolling suitcase, grabbed her snowboarding bag from the couch, and headed for the door.

“I’ll be back soon, Papa Bear. Make sure my fish get fed and my plants get watered.” She dropped her bags by the door and wrapped her arms around her dad, giving him a tight hug.

“And don’t worry. It’s only a charity event. What could happen?” She shrugged, then spun back around, grabbed her bags, and stepped out the door as the wind whistled around her.

“Be careful, Neve. And watch out for—.”

She shoved her bags into the trunk of the Uber and scurried inside and out of the cold, shutting the door on her father’s words. When his text popped up on her phone, she already knew what it would say.

Papa Bear: Not nice kiddo. Watch out for those punk pro-snowboarder guys. They only want one thing.

Aspen: To snowboard?

Papa Bear: You know what I mean.

Aspen: I do not. You are going to have to spell it out for me.

She laughed, already picturing her father’s face turning red as he struggled to come up with a response.

Papa Bear: Don’t make me say it. I raised you better than that. Just don’t let a pretty face and a snowboard charm you out of your common sense.

She rolled her eyes again and let out a breath before replying.

Aspen: Don’t worry about me dad. I’m not interested in another Chase. You’ve got nothing to stress over.

Papa Bear: Great. Thanks for using his name. Now I need to go use the punching bag at the big house. Your ex is a jerk.

Aspen liked to say she lived on her own—and technically, she did. Her cozy cabin sat at the base of the larger family cabin where her dad lived, nestled in the Cascade Mountains of Washington. So yes, she had her own space… just in the shadow of Papa Bear.

Aspen: Love you, Dad.

Papa Bear: Love you too, kid. Text me when you take off and when you land.

She gave his message a thumbs-up and tucked her phone back into her backpack. Her ex wasn’t just a jerk—he was a total toolbox. But she wasn’t wasting any more time thinking about him. Not now.

She needed to focus on her snowboarding, and on making her comeback, and this would be the place to show her clothing sponsor, Mynt, that she was worth investing in.

The plane touched down five hours later, and Aspen was beyond relieved to be back on solid ground. She’d taken her fair share of flights, but this one had been unusually bumpy. About thirty minutes in, she’d had to pop a Dramamine to fight the wave of motion sickness that had hit her.

She stood and stretched her stiff, sore knee—long periods of sitting always left it cranky.

Slipping her snowboard bag off the belt, she made her way to the Uber she’d ordered while waiting to disembark.

The resort town of Winterbrook was about forty minutes from the nearest airport in Colorado, but with the heavy snowfall she’d been tracking on her weather app, Aspen suspected the drive could take even longer.

Settling into the back seat, she closed her eyes and tried to catch a few winks, hoping to save enough energy for a late-night run.

“Miss Sterling, we are here,” the driver said, pulling her out of her dream.

She’d never been to Winterbrook before. Had only seen fancy brochures of Mynt Peak Resort, sent directly from Mr. Barry Mynt himself.

But from the looks of it, the place didn’t disappoint.

A massive ice-skating rink sat at the center of the resort, surrounded by towering mountain peaks with runs that looked ideal for bombing down.

Scattered among the trees were cozy-looking cabins—one of which she’d specifically requested.

The main lodge looked far too stuffy for her taste, so she’d made sure her travel agent booked her a more secluded cabin, tucked away from the rest.

She’d arrived a day early, hoping to avoid the onslaught of other high-profile athletes. A quiet night in the cabin and a few solo runs on her board sounded like the perfect way to settle in before tomorrow’s Mynt Mingle and Jingle event.

She had the Uber driver stop at the main lodge so she could grab her keys from the man at the front desk, then made her way back out and directed him toward her cabin.

It was a quaint little place, with only one other cabin nearby, and she could see its windows glowing with warm light through the trees.

Each cabin she had seen sported a small wraparound porch, and hers was freshly shoveled.

Two matching Adirondack rockers sat on either side of the door, and the porch light cast a soft glow in the fading light of sunset.

She grabbed her luggage from the trunk and made her way to the door, waving off the driver as she slid the key into the lock and turned it, only for nothing to happen. She tried again, jiggling it, flipping it, attempting every angle she could think of with no luck. The darn thing wouldn't budge.

With an irritated huff, she moved to the front windows. Locked. All of them. She pulled out her phone—no signal. Of course. Because why not?

Maybe the cabin next door could help her call someone from the resort. It beat hauling her own butt all the way back to the lodge through the snow.

She tugged on her light jacket and shoved her beanie over her ears as the wind whipped around her, snowflakes swirling through the air.

With a sigh, she looked to the darkened heavens, put one foot in front of the other and trudged toward the only other cabin nearby.

Hopefully, whoever was staying there was actually home; otherwise, she’d be unpacking her suitcase in the snow just to find her boots and heavier jacket before hiking all the way back to the stupid resort.

The chimney was putting out smoke, and the cabin looked bright and chipper—the porch draped with Edison bulbs, the deck wrapped in white Christmas lights and red ribbon, and the door decorated with a large wreath.

A sickeningly beautiful Christmas tree, fully decorated, stood centered in the window, and as if that weren’t enough, Christmas music drifted through the air to meet her ears.

She shuddered as she reluctantly stepped closer to the door.

Maybe she should’ve just gone back to the resort.

It wasn’t that Aspen hated Christmas—she had nothing against presents, Santa, the birth of Christ, or even the kindness people seemed more willing to show this time of year.

She just didn’t like the memories the season dragged along with it.

Her mother had loved Christmas. Every year, she bought matching sweaters for the three of them and turned decorating the tree into a tradition.

One that involved all their favorite, timeworn handmade ornaments.

They went door to door singing carols and built gingerbread houses from scratch. They had done it all.

But when her mother died, Christmas had died with her.

Celebrating felt too painful. Her dad had tried—year after year—hauling out the decorations, playing the music, doing his best to keep the traditions alive.

But Aspen always stepped back, letting him do it alone.

And not wanting to push her, he let her.

It was better that way. He still got to celebrate, and she didn’t have to pretend.

She stood at the door as Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas played softly from inside.

Her hand hovered, then dropped. Rose again, then hesitated.

She repeated the motion several times, stuck in her own silent debate, when the door suddenly swung open.

A rush of warmth spilled out, carrying the rich scents of cinnamon, chocolate, and peppermint that wrapped around her like an old, unwanted memory.

Her eyes met two bright blue ones that smiled down at her, and a handsome mouth followed suit.

In that moment, she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was going to dislike this man and the holiday spirit he seemed to carry with him.

A veritable Kris Kringle all wrapped up in a well-fitted plaid shirt, with an overabundance of Christmas cheer rolling off him in droves.