Chapter 1: A Toast Across the Snow
Julian trudged through the snow-dusted entrance of the Clover Creek Inn, his mother, Carol, chattering beside him. Christmas in Clover Creek. Just what he needed after bombing his fall semester. Carol squeezed his arm. "Isn't it charming? I told you, honey. It's so much better than staying at the house. Less… depressing."
Depressing was one word for it. Suffocating was another. His family, with their perfect lives and Ivy League degrees, had a way of making him feel like the screw-up of the century. He peeled off his scarf, the scent of pine and cinnamon already thick in the air. A roaring fireplace dominated the lobby, casting a warm glow on the polished wood floors and plush velvet furniture. Carol made a beeline for the front desk, leaving Julian to stand awkwardly near the entrance.
He scanned the room, already searching for an escape. A group of carolers butchered "Deck the Halls" near the Christmas tree. A gaggle of women in matching reindeer sweaters gossiped by the fireplace. Standard holiday fare. Then he saw her. Esme Hale. Perched on a stool at the bar, laughing. Really laughing, the kind that crinkled the corners of her eyes and made her throw her head back. The bartender, a burly guy with a handlebar mustache, seemed utterly captivated.
Esme wore a crimson dress that screamed confidence. The color popped against her blonde hair, styled in loose waves that framed her face. She looked impossibly radiant, even more so than he remembered. Which was saying something, because Julian had been harboring a secret crush on his mom's best friend since he was, like, sixteen. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. But ever since he hit puberty, he'd noticed Esme. How could he not? She was magnetic.
Their eyes met. A jolt, like static electricity, shot through him. Esme's smile faltered for a millisecond, a flicker of surprise, or maybe something else, in her eyes. Then she recovered, lifting her glass in a silent toast. Julian swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He raised his hand in return, a clumsy gesture that felt incredibly obvious. He couldn't look away. She was dangerous. And he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, consequences be damned.
"Julian, darling, come say hello!" Carol's voice sliced through the moment. He tore his gaze from Esme, feeling a blush creep up his neck. Carol stood by the front desk, beaming, and waving him over. Esme was still watching him, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. He started toward his mother, each step feeling heavier than the last. He had to say hi to Esme. He had to. But what would he even say? And what if she could somehow sense the inappropriate thoughts swirling in his head?
He reached his mother, who was already launching into a conversation with the innkeeper about the Christmas Eve gala. Julian tried to focus, nodding absently as Carol described the decorations. But his gaze kept drifting back to the bar, where Esme was now sliding off her stool. She smoothed down her dress, grabbed her purse, and started walking. Directly toward him.
His heart hammered against his ribs. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Esme stopped in front of him, her eyes sparkling. "Julian," she said, her voice a low, husky murmur that sent shivers down his spine. "You've grown up."
He managed a weak smile. "Esme. You… you look amazing."
"Thank you, darling." She leaned closer, and he caught a whiff of her perfume, a heady mix of vanilla and something spicy he couldn't quite place. "I was just about to head out. Drinks are on me, if you want to get out of this madhouse."