Chapter 1
Harper tugged her beanie down over her ears and scanned the crowded rink, the sharp scent of popcorn and cold air mixing into a nostalgic kind of buzz. Christmas music blasted from the speakers—some pop remix of "Jingle Bell Rock"—and the stands were packed with families bundled up in scarves and mittens, clutching hot cocoa and candy canes.
Somewhere out there, Nate Reynolds—her boyfriend, Vulture’s golden boy and occasional menace—was about to make a complete fool of himself for charity.
She couldn’t wait.
The announcer’s voice crackled over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Vulture's Holiday Charity Game!”
The crowd roared, and Harper leaned forward, her heart thumping a little harder than she cared to admit. Watching Nate play always got to her. It was seeing him in his element—strong, fast, focused—that made her chest tighten in ways she still wasn’t used to.
But tonight? Focused was not on the menu.
“Introducing your very special line-up…” The lights dimmed, and a spotlight swooped dramatically across the ice. “First up, in the coveted role of Santa Claus—your favourite goal-scorer—Nate Carter!”
The doors burst open, and Harper almost doubled over laughing.
Nate skated out in full Santa gear: red velvet jacket, fluffy white beard slipping sideways, and black hockey gloves that somehow made him look even more ridiculous He twirled dramatically at center ice, arms flailing, his Santa hat nearly flying off his head.
“Oh my God,” Harper muttered, laughing into her scarf. She fumbled for her phone. This needed to be preserved forever.
Behind him, the rest of the team rolled out in equally cursed outfits: two defensemen dressed as reindeer, their antlers taped awkwardly to their helmets; the goalie in a giant inflatable snowman suit that made it impossible for him to move side to side; and the wingers, each wearing bright green elf costumes complete with jingle bells that clinked with every awkward stride.
It was pure, chaotic holiday magic.
Nate spotted her in the stands almost immediately. Even with the fake beard slipping over his mouth, she could tell he was grinning that cocky, heart-melting grin. He pointed his stick at her, pantomimed blowing a kiss—and then promptly tripped over his own skates, landing flat on his back.
The entire arena erupted into cheers and laughter.
Harper pressed a hand to her mouth, laughing so hard tears sprang to her eyes. Smooth, Reynolds. Real smooth.
The game that followed was less hockey and more festive mayhem. Every time someone scored, they had to do a ridiculous dance at center ice. Nate, naturally, went full commitment mode—at one point attempting what she thought was supposed to be the worm, but mostly looked like Santa being tasered.
By the time the buzzer sounded, the ice was littered with stray antlers, broken candy canes, and at least three dropped elf hats. The players gathered at the center, waving to the crowd as the announcer thanked everyone for supporting the toy drive and charity fund.
Harper gathered her things, heart warm despite the chilly air. She made her way toward the player’s exit, slipping past kids chattering about their favourite goals and parents herding them toward the concession stands.
She didn’t have to wait long.
Nate burst through the locker room door, the fake beard now hanging around his neck like a battle trophy, his Santa coat unzipped to reveal his sweaty jersey underneath.
He spotted her and immediately broke into a tired, dopey smile. “Hey, short stack.”
Harper shook her head, laughing. “You’re an absolute menace.”
He caught her around the waist, lifting her slightly off the ground even though she squealed in protest. “And yet, you still showed up to watch me embarrass myself."
“Only for charity,” she said primly, but she couldn’t stop smiling.
He leaned in, brushing a kiss against her cold nose. “Good thing we’re getting out of town tomorrow.”
Harper’s heart fluttered at the reminder. A whole week tucked away at a snowy cabin, no press, no practices, no charity games—just friends, family, fireplaces, and maybe (if she had her way) a little alone time with Nate and some mistletoe.
“You packed the ugly sweaters, right?” Nate asked, steering them toward the parking lot with an arm slung around her shoulders.
“Obviously. And the matching pyjama sets. And I’m still mad about the ‘Ho Ho Hoser’ one you picked out for me.”
He just laughed, tugging her closer against the December chill. “You love it. You love me.”
Harper snorted. “Debatable.”
But when she glanced up and saw the way he was looking at her—like she was the best thing he’d ever seen—she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone.
Tomorrow, they’d head to the cabin, kick off Christmas the right way, and if tonight’s chaos was any hint of what was to come… it was going to be unforgettable.
And honestly? She wouldn't have it any other way.
Harper tucked her phone between her shoulder and ear, trying to zip up her overnight bag with one hand as she spoke. "You’re sure you guys can’t make it?"
On the other end of the call, Rina sighed heavily. "Harps, I’m so sorry. I really thought the court case would settle, but my client decided he actually wants to go to trial now, so I’m stuck prepping exhibits until Christmas Eve."
"And I have a fever that makes me feel like I've been hit by a bus," Jules chimed in, her voice congested and miserable. “I didn’t even decorate the tree. I just taped a candy cane to the wall and called it festive."
Harper winced in sympathy. She flopped onto the bed, hugging her half-zipped duffel against her chest. "I get it. I just...I was excited for everyone to be there, you know?"
"We were, too," Rina said warmly. "But you and Nate are gonna have the best time. Take a million pictures. Especially of Nacho in a Santa hat."
"Only if he doesn’t eat it," Harper muttered, glancing toward the living room, where chaos was brewing.
From across the room, Nate's voice drifted over, muffled through a pile of clothes. "Happy Holidays, you two!"
There was a thump, a clatter, and a colourful expletive as Nate tangled in his own sweatshirt, tried and failed to stuff three different jackets into a duffel bag the size of a gym locker.
Harper shook her head affectionately. "Ignore him. He's currently failing my ‘Cabin Checklist.’"
"You made a checklist?" Rina asked, amused.
"Of course she did," Jules groaned. "She’s Harper. Organization Queen."
Harper smirked and rattled off the essentials: "Layers. Food. Booze. Battery-powered fairy lights. More layers. Dog treats. Snow shovel. Nate-proofing gear. And—" she paused for emphasis, "—the emergency ugly sweater backup options in case of catastrophic eggnog spills."
Jules cracked a weak laugh. "You’re a genius."
A loud bark interrupted them—and then chao.
"Nacho!" Harper cried, just in time to see their rescue mutt, a tan blur of pure determination, barrel straight into Nate’s knees like a furry bowling ball.
Nate yelped as he toppled backwards, clothes flying everywhere: socks landing on lampshades, t-shirts fluttering like surrender flags. He hit the carpet with a heavy, oomph.
Nacho barked once, victorious, then darted past Harper—sending her stumbling back with a squeal—before charging out the open back door, ears flapping wildly, in hot pursuit of a flock of very alarmed sparrows.
"Well," Harper said, deadpan into the phone. "And there goes half our packing."
"You need to video this," Rina said between fits of laughter.
"I’m putting it on the group chat," Harper promised, grinning despite the pang in her chest. "I'll send updates. Pics of Nacho, the cabin, Nate being Nate."
"Please do," Jules said fondly. "It’ll be like we’re there, kinda."
Harper swallowed the lump in her throat. "I love you guys. Happy Holidays, okay?"
"Love you, Harps," Rina said warmly.
"Love you more," Jules sniffled.
As she hung up, Harper stood for a second, staring out the window where Nacho was now rolling ecstatically in a snowbank, completely ignoring Nate’s half-hearted commands to come back inside.
The holiday wasn’t going exactly how she’d planned. Friends missing. Packing disasters. A dog who thought Christmas meant “destroy everything."
But Harper still smiled to herself as she grabbed her phone, snapped a blurry photo of Nate mid-shout, and sent it to the group chat with the caption:
"Santa’s worst helper. Wish you were here."
This was her life. Chaotic, imperfect, hilarious. And honestly? She wouldn’t trade a second of it.
It only took three more near-misses with Nacho, four missing socks, and one impromptu wrestling match between Nate and a rogue parka before they finally—finally—got everything packed.
The last duffel zipped with a satisfying snick, and Harper tucked the final grocery bags into the back of Nate’s black Land Rover. Nacho trotted in excited circles around their feet, tongue lolling happily, blissfully unaware that he was the root cause of most of the chaos.
Harper wiped her hands on her jeans and tugged the crumpled piece of paper from her jacket pocket. She smoothed it out on the dashboard while Nate tried (and failed) to wrestle Nacho into the backseat.
At the top of the paper, in big block letters, was Harper’s carefully prepared:
The Official Cabin Checklist (Holiday Edition)
Prepared by Harper Williams (Approved by Nate Reynolds… sort of)
- Snow gear (jackets, gloves, boots, emergency socks)
- Groceries (including emergency marshmallows)
- First aid kit (because Nacho)
- Firewood & matches (because Nate’s caveman tendencies)
- Board games (Nate: "ONLY if Monopoly is banned")
- Portable chargers
- Fairy lights (Nate added: "For vibes and emergency elf battles")
- Books (minimum 3, no judgment)
- Nacho's bed, food, toys, and calming treats (Nate scribbled: "and a leash strong enough for a baby rhino")
- Ugly sweaters (x4 options)
- Spare ugly sweaters (for surprise spills/fashion emergencies)
- Mistletoe (Nate: "Hella necessary")
- Hot chocolate arsenal
- Nacho’s reindeer costume (Nate circled this twice and added "DO NOT FORGET" in all caps)
- Sled (if weather permits and/or if Harper needs to tow Nate uphill)
From the other side of the car, a grunt of effort echoed.
Harper glanced up just in time to see Nate trying to heave Nacho into the backseat like a sack of potatoes.
Nacho, naturally, treated this as an invitation to twist dramatically, plant his paws against the doorframe, and whine as if Nate were personally violating his constitutional rights.
"Seriously?" Nate huffed, wrestling with eighty pounds of stubborn dog. "You were just excited to leave!"
Nacho responded by wriggling free and zooming around the SUV like he was auditioning for the canine Olympics.
Harper, suppressing a laugh, walked calmly to the back door, patted the seat once, and said, "Up, buddy."
Instantly, Nacho leapt gracefully into the car and settled into the backseat like an obedient little angel.
Nate stared, dumbfounded. "You’ve gotta be kidding me."
Harper shrugged sweetly. "Maybe he just respects the real adult in this relationship."
Nate muttered something about “conspiracies” and shook his head, trudging around to the driver’s side. He gave the front wheel a glower as if the Land Rover itself had betrayed him.
"Come on, Santa," Harper teased as she slid into the passenger seat. "We’re burning daylight."
"Yes, dear," Nate deadpanned, starting the engine with a growl that rumbled through the frosty afternoon.
As they pulled out of the driveway, the sky was already bruising purple with early winter dusk. Fat, lazy snowflakes drifted down, sticking to the windshield and smearing under the wipers. By the time they hit the main highway, the snow had thickened into a steady curtain.
Harper tucked her legs up on the seat and sipped from a travel mug of cocoa, smiling softly as she watched the familiar landmarks disappear under a fresh layer of white.
"You packed the emergency marshmallows, right?" Nate asked, squinting into the swirling snow ahead.
"Two bags," Harper said proudly. "One for actual cocoa. One for emotional support."
Nate reached over and squeezed her knee. "Knew there was a reason I kept you around."
The Land Rover rumbled along the winding backroads, tires crunching softly over the blanketed asphalt. Trees leaned in heavy with snow, branches swaying under the weight, and the world felt smaller, quieter—like they were driving into their own private holiday movie.
Nacho snored in the back, occasionally kicking the seat in a dream-battle against imaginary birds.
Harper leaned her head against the window and smiled, the warmth of the car and Nate’s hand resting on the gear shift enough to make her chest ache in the best way.
This was it.
The start of something good.
The start of everything she wanted.
Even if it came with melted marshmallows, misbehaving dogs, and a snowstorm they hadn’t totally planned for.
"I hope the cabin fireplace actually works," Nate said, glancing at her sideways.
"If not," Harper said, turning her head to grin at him, "I guess we’ll just have to keep each other warm."
Nate’s answering smile was slow and a little wicked. "Yeah, no complaints here."
Outside, the snow thickened, wrapping the world in white.
Inside, the car hummed along, carrying them deeper into the kind of holiday adventure they’d never forget.
