Page 1 of Love in a Christmas Storm
CHAPTER ONE
Carlos Nowell turned off the highway and onto Main Street just as the first snowflake kissed his windshield. He smiled at it. Not the tight-lipped, polite smile he offered at press events. Not the practiced grin he used when speaking to corporate sponsors. This was the kind of smile that unfolded naturally, like paper lanterns strung across the sky. The kind of smile he hadn’t worn since boots and brass and battlefield grit gave way to quiet nights and second chances.
A retired soldier finally coming home for Christmas.
And Christmas in the town of Honor Valley, with its military base tucked at the base of the valley, didn’t disappoint. It was unguarded, warm, a little boy in a grown man’s body finally coming home for Christmas. And Christmas in the small town of Honor Valley didn’t disappoint.
Garlands hugged every lamppost like old friends. Strings of white lights draped across storefronts and danced in the windows of the bakery, the toy shop, the general store. A children’s choir gathered outside the church steps, bundled in red scarves, their voices rising in imperfect harmony over the hymn “O Come All Ye Faithful.” One of the boys was clearly off-key. But none of the listeners seemed to mind.
Carlos rolled down the window just a crack to let the sound in. Crisp air filled the car, carrying with it the smell of pine and cinnamon from the wreath shop he passed next. People bustled up and down the sidewalks, arms full of wrapped boxes, ribbon trailing behind like comet tails. A group of teenagers in elf hats dashed across the street, laughing as they waved scorecards above their heads—Elf on the Run, he realized. One of the traditions he'd been briefed on about the holiday happenings in the town.
He took it all in like a man starving for magic. This was the good stuff. Not curated, not corporate. Real holiday spirit, woven into the rhythm of a town that actually believed in what it was selling. This was why he’d pitched the piece toNoel Magazine. A feel-good spread on the Honor Valley Holiday Trail. A town where the holiday spirit hadn’t been flattened by algorithms and ad dollars.
This was Christmas the way it should be. The way he remembered it before the world got cynical. Carlos planned to take pictures and tons of notes to write a feel-good story to share with the readers of the magazine that bore his family's name. Though he was a Nowell where the founders had been Noels.
Heading away from the Main Street, the road curved gently upward, winding through the hills like a ribbon tucked into the folds of a snow-dusted quilt. Carlos drove slowly, tires crunching softly over fresh powder as he climbed higher into the evergreens. Fat flakes drifted down in lazy spirals, each one catching the low afternoon light like a secret being whispered to the ground.
Snow like this always made him feel like he was inside a snow globe. The scents in the fresh air changed. It smelled clean up here: pine, ice, maybe a hint of chimney smoke carried from the valley below.
The cabins that had been recommended to him were just ten minutes up the ridge. So far, the roads had been well-kept. A little slick, sure, but charmingly so—like they wanted drivers to slow down and take in the view. And what a view it was.
Snow rested gently on the branches like icing on sugar cookies. A red cardinal flew past his windshield, disappearing into a holly bush. Carlos grinned like a kid. It was all so… perfect.
His smile faltered when his tires hit a patch of slush. The SUV slid half a foot before the traction kicked in. Carlos tightened his grip on the wheel.
“All right, Honor Valley. Please tell me you know how to handle snowfall this pretty.”
Because snow like this could either mean magic… or a mess. And Carlos, for all his love of Christmas chaos, really preferred the kind that didn’t require chains on his tires.
Fifteen minutes later, he’d managed to park his car at the lodge. After a short trek, he stepped into the lodge’s front office. Immediately, he felt the cold retreat from his shoulders. The lobby was decked to the hilt: garlands wrapped in gold ribbon hung from the beams, a moose-shaped coat rack wore a Santa hat, and the fireplace crackled with the kind of enthusiasm Carlos appreciated in architecture and people alike.
A woman behind the check-in counter looked up and smiled. Or rather, beamed. She had cherry-red lipstick, blond curls teased into perfect ringlets, and a name tag that read Amber. Her eyes practically lit up like tree toppers as she took him in.
“Well, hello there,” she said, her voice sugared and smoky. “Let me guess—you’re Santa's hot young son here to grant my Christmas wish?”
“Not quite. But I am here to write about the holidays and Christmas wishes.”
“Even better,” Amber purred, standing with a little extra sway to her hips as she walked to the check-in terminal. “Need a snow angel?”
“How about a room?”
“Do you have a reservation?”
“I had someone call ahead.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Um, no. Just an office intern.”
“Meaning you don't have a girlfriend?” Amber leaned forward, her chest on display as the top button of her blouse slid open. “What's your name?”
“Carlos Nowell.”
Her fingers played over the keyboard. “Noel, like the song?”
“No, Nowell like the old spelling with a W and two Ls.”
“Oh, looks like you have a room after all.” Amber frowned. “Too bad. I have a very comfy mattress.”
