The snowstorm lashes harder as Claire Harrington’s car groans up the last bend toward. Flakes slap against the windshield.

The snowstorm hits harder as Claire Harrington’s car climbs the last stretch of the winding road to Misty Hollow. Fat flakes slap against the windshield. In a relentless rhythm, the kind that makes it impossible to see five feet ahead and her wipers groan in protest.

She tightens her grip on the steering wheel, biting back a curse as her tires skid over ice. She’d never admit it out loud, but part of her is grateful for the storm; it gives her a reason to slow down, something she’s rarely allowed herself to do in the past ten years.

The battered “Welcome to Snowy Ridge” sign looms ahead, decked out with twinkling lights and an overzealous garland of holly. Her lips twist into a wry smile. This town really leans into the Christmas spirit, doesn’t it?

Claire slows as she enters the town square, her headlights illuminating streets lined with snow banks and festive displays.

The moment she crosses into town, the storm seems to ease, as if Misty Hollow itself demands serenity. The streets are straight out of a snow globe: twinkling fairy lights hang from lamp posts, a group of kids in knit hats build a snowman, and garlands adorn every shop window.

Her lips twitch, though she quickly tamps down the smile. Nice try, town. You’re not winning me over this time.

Rounding the corner, she passes the town square. A group of carolers braves the cold, singing “Deck the Halls” with impressive gusto. A tall Christmas tree stands at the center, its branches glittering with handmade ornaments. One of the ornaments, a crooked popsicle stick reindeer catches Claire’s eye, and for a split second, she’s ten years old again, laughing with Emily as their dad helped hang it.

She shakes her head. Focus. You’re here for work.

The Chalet Inn, her temporary home, rises ahead a picture perfect lodge with a wraparound porch, icicles glinting like jewels along the roof. She pulls into the snow covered driveway, parks, and steps out into the cold. Her boots crunch against the ice, and she slams the door harder than necessary.

“Claire?” A voice calls, sharp and familiar.

She turns to see her younger sister, Emily, standing on the porch. Emily’s arms are crossed over her oversized sweater, and her expression is as frosty as the weather.

“You’re late,” Emily says, stepping down to meet her.

“Good to see you too,” Claire replies, slinging her camera bag over her shoulder. “I missed the part where I agreed to a curfew .”

Emily rolls her eyes. “The storm started hours ago. You could’ve slid off the road and ended up in a ditch for all I know .”

Claire shrugs. “But I didn’t .”

“And you didn’t call either .”

“Wow, we’re jumping straight into guilt tripping. Merry Christmas to you too, Em .” Claire walks past her, the warmth of the inn calling her name.

The moment Claire steps into the Chalet Inn, a wave of nostalgia crashes over her. The smell of pine and cinnamon fills the air, mingling with the sounds of distant laughter. Claire glances around. The lobby is packed with families, their jackets hanging from pegs, their kids stomping snow off their boots.

Abby, Emily’s six year old daughter, bolts across the room. “Aunt Claire!” she shrieks, her pigtails bouncing as she leaps into Claire’s arms.

Claire catches her, barely. “Whoa there, kiddo! You’re getting heavy .”

Abby pulls back, her big eyes full of excitement. “Did you bring me a present?”

Claire shifts her weight. “I brought my camera. We’ll take a bunch of pictures and make you look like a model. How’s that sound?”

Abby wrinkles her nose. “That’s not a "real" present .”

Emily cuts in, hoisting a stack of towels onto the front desk. “She’s not wrong .”

Claire ignores the jab, putting Abby down. “Where’s Dad?”

Emily’s face tightens. “Upstairs. He’s resting .”

“Is he…” Claire trails off, unsure how to finish.

“He’s fine,” Emily snaps, before plastering on a smile for Abby. “Why don’t you go find Grandpa and show him the snow globe you made at school?”

Abby nods and scampers off, leaving the sisters alone.

Claire leans against the counter, crossing her arms. “So, are we going to pretend you’re not mad at me, or do you want to get it all out now?”

Emily slams the towels onto the desk. “You don’t get to waltz in here with your fancy camera and act like nothing’s happened, Claire. You left. You always leave .”

The words hit like a slap, but Claire doesn’t flinch. “You think I wanted to leave? Someone had to”

“Chase your dreams?” Emily finishes, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, we’ve heard that one before .”

Before Claire can respond, a loud crash echoes from the dining room.

Claire rushes into the dining room to find a man crouched over a broken chair, cursing under his breath. He’s trying and failing to reattach one of the legs with a screwdriver.

“Need a hand?” Claire asks, crossing her arms.

The man looks up, his sharp blue eyes meeting hers. He’s tall, with messy dark hair and a jawline that could cut glass. For a moment, he just stares, and Claire gets the distinct impression he’s sizing her up. Then he smirks.

“Unless you’ve got a miracle hidden in that bag of yours, I think I’m on my own here .”

Claire arches an eyebrow. “So, you break chairs for fun, or is this part of the famous Misty Hollow hospitality?”

The man chuckles, standing to his full height. “Let me guess. You’re the big city photographer everyone’s been talking about .”

She narrows her eyes. “You make it sound like an insult .”

“Not at all,” he says, leaning against the table. “Just curious how someone used to skyscrapers and espresso survives in a town where the biggest event is a pie eating contest .”

Emily storms in before Claire can respond. “Adrian! What the hell are you doing now?”

Adrian shrugs. “Just fixing your antique death trap, boss .”

Emily groans, turning to Claire. “This is Adrian, our all purpose handyman slash troublemaker. He’s also the festival’s logistics manager .”

Claire snorts. “Seriously? You trusted *him* with logistics?”

Adrian smirks. “She didn’t trust me. She was desperate .”

The tension between them simmers, sharp and electric, until Emily throws her hands up. “Great. Can you two finish flirting later? I have guests to deal with .”

“We weren’t flirting,” Claire snaps.

Adrian’s grin widens. “Speak for yourself .”

Claire rolls her eyes, but she feels the heat rising to her cheeks. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Fix it . Your charm isn’t that irresistible .”

He leans against the broken chair, crossing his arms. “Oh, I’m not trying. You’d know if I were .”

Before Claire can fire back, Emily groans loudly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fantastic. A festival to plan, a broken chair, and now I’m stuck refereeing whatever *this* is .”

Claire straightens. “It’s not ‘this .’ We’ve known each other for all of three minutes, Emily .”

Adrian raises an eyebrow. “And yet, here we are. Sparks flying already .”

“Are you always this insufferable?” Claire snaps, taking a step closer without realizing it.

“Depends on who you ask,” Adrian replies smoothly. “Most people just find me charming .”

“Most people clearly have low standards .”

“Or maybe you just have impossibly high ones .”

The back and forth is interrupted by a loud throat clearing from a nearby table. Sophie, the inn’s elderly cook and unofficial gossip queen, watches the exchange with an amused expression, her arms folded.

“Y’all need to take this outside before you burn the whole place down with that fire,” Sophie drawls.

Claire’s jaw drops. “There is *no* fire .”

Sophie smirks. “Sure, honey. Keep tellin’ yourself that .”

Adrian chuckles, pushing off the broken chair. “Guess I’ll leave you to stew on that, city girl. Don’t worry I’ll make sure this chair doesn’t attack anyone else tonight .”

He grabs the pieces of the chair and strides toward the door, but not before throwing one last glance over his shoulder. “Welcome to Misty Hollow, Claire. It’s gonna be fun having you around .”

As he disappears, Claire stands frozen, her face a mixture of annoyance and confusion.

Emily shakes her head, muttering, “Why does everyone in this town think they’re a comedian?” She grabs a clipboard from the counter and heads for the lobby.

Claire remains rooted, glaring at the door Adrian just exited through. Finally, she exhales sharply, muttering under her breath. “Fun. Right. That’s exactly what I came here for .”

As Claire turns to leave the dining room, Sophie calls out, “You know, Adrian doesn’t bite. Not unless you ask him nicely .”

Claire spins around, her face redder than the poinsettias decorating the inn. “I'm going to bed .”

Sophie chuckles as Claire flees the room, her boots clacking against the wooden floors.

Upstairs in her room, Claire tosses her bag onto the bed and flops down beside it. Her mind races, replaying Adrian’s smirk, his sharp quips, and the way he seemed utterly unaffected by her sarcasm.

She groans, pressing a pillow over her face. “It’s fine. He’s just some guy who fixes chairs and probably flirts with every woman in town. No big deal. Definitely not my problem .”

A knock at the door startles her, and she sits up.

“Claire?” Emily’s voice is tense on the other side.

“What now?” Claire calls, dragging herself off the bed and opening the door.

Emily stands there, arms crossed, looking exhausted. “Adrian quit. He says he’s done running the festival .”

Claire blinks. “What? The festival starts in, like, three days. He can’t just quit .”

Emily’s expression darkens. “Oh, he can. And he just did. Which means you’re going to help me fix this mess .”

Claire stares at her, horrified. “What? No. Absolutely not. I don’t even *live* here anymore!”

Emily doesn’t budge. “Tough. You’re the one with the fancy camera and a ‘creative eye .’ If you don’t step up, this entire festival falls apart and trust me, that’s not happening on my watch .”

Claire groans, dragging a hand down her face. “Great. So much for a peaceful Christmas."