Chapter 1
A short story I made for all to enjoy this holiday season. Cute, short, and a little cheese. Enjoy!
Forty-two years old, and Meredith Hayes had never felt more like a kid having school canceled.
The snowstorm had rolled into Fairhaven overnight, blanketing the small Vermont town in eighteen inches of fluffy powder. The roads were impassable. Her café, The Daily Grind, was closed for the first time in three years.
She should’ve been stressed about lost revenue. Instead, she stood at her living room window in fuzzy socks and flannel pajamas, grinning like a fool at the winter wonderland outside.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her daughter, safely at college two states away.
Mom, please tell me you’re not shoveling in this mess.
Not yet, Meredith typed back. She’d have to clear the walkway eventually.
But first, coffee. She couldn’t function without it.
She was halfway through her second cup when she heard the scraping sound. Metal on pavement that was a little too close. Frowning, she peered through the frost-etched window.
A man stood in her driveway, wielding her snow shovel.
Meredith blinked. She didn’t recognize him. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a navy parka and a knit cap dusted white with fresh snowflakes. He worked with efficient movements, clearing a path from her garage to the street.
She grabbed her coat and boots, not bothering to change out of her pajamas, and stepped onto the porch.
“Excuse me?” Perhaps he was someone trying to earn some money?
He looked up, and she caught her first clear view of his face. Late forties, maybe fifty. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw, and his eyes were the warm brown of hot cocoa. Laugh lines crinkled at the corners when he smiled.
“Morning,” he said, slightly breathless. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Nick Carver. Just moved in next door last week. Saw your driveway and figured I’d make myself useful.”
“And you thought you would start by shoveling my driveway?”
“Why not?” He leaned on the shovel, with a smile that could make a woman go weak at the knees. “Welcome wagon’s usually cookies, I know. But I figured this was more practical.”
Meredith laughed. “You are the one new here. We are supposed to bring you the cookies or casserole.”
He grinned. “Are you offering?”
Meredith’s mouth parted as she stared at him. She watched as he leaned on the shovel and a lock of hair fell over his forehead. “How about thanking you with coffee and French toast?”
“Perfect. I’ll finish up and be in.” ***
Twenty minutes later, Nick Carver sat at her kitchen island, attacking a stack of cinnamon French toast like a man who’d forgotten his last meal.
“This is incredible,” he said between bites. “You make this often?”
“I own a café downtown,” Meredith said, refilling his coffee. “Cooking’s kind of my thing.”
“The Daily Grind? I passed it on my way into town.” He paused, fork halfway to his mouth. “You’re that Meredith Hayes. The one everyone told me makes the best cinnamon rolls in New England.”
“Everyone’s exaggerating.”
“I doubt that.”
She felt her cheeks warm and busied herself wiping an already-clean counter. “So, Army. What brought you to Fairhaven?”
“Retirement. Twenty-five years of moving every few years.” He set down his fork, expression softening. “I wanted roots. My sister lives in Burlington. She’s been nagging me to settle nearby for a decade. Finally ran out of excuses.”
“No family of your own?”
“Divorced. Amicably, thankfully. No kids.” He met her eyes. “What about you?”
“Widowed. Five years now. One daughter, Sophie. She’s a sophomore at NYU.”
“I bet you miss her.”
“Every day. But she’s thriving. That’s what matters.”
“Good mom answer.”
“What can I say? It’s true.”
They fell into an easy rhythm after that, swapping stories about small-town life. Nick recounted his disastrous first trip to the local hardware store. “Apparently, asking for military-grade duct tape makes you sound insane,” he said, shaking his head. They laughed over shared experiences, and hours slipped past like minutes.
When Meredith glanced at the clock, her eyes widened in shock. “It’s almost noon.”
“Is it?” Nick looked equally surprised. “I should probably finish your driveway.”
“Already done, remember?”
“Right. Then I should…” He trailed off, looking reluctant. “Let you get back to your snow day.”
Meredith hesitated. The rational part of her brain said to let him leave, thank him politely, maybe wave from the window next time she saw him.
The rest of her said something else entirely.
“Actually,” she said, “I was thinking about building a snowman.”
Nick’s eyebrows lifted. “A snowman.”
“Ridiculous, I know. I’m forty-two, not seven.”
“I was going to say it sounds perfect.”
“Give me a minute to get changed.” She wasn’t sure what she was doing but she was just going to roll with it.
***
The snowman turned into a snowwoman, complete with a scarf Meredith sacrificed and a carrot nose that kept falling sideways.
“She’s interesting,” Nick declared, stepping back to admire their lopsided creation.
“She’s a disaster.”
“She’s unique.” He bent down, scooping fresh snow. “Unlike all those boring, symmetrical snowmen everyone else makes.”
Meredith saw his mischievous grin a second too late.
The snowball caught her square in the shoulder.
“You did not,” she gasped.
“Seemed like a shame to waste good packing snow.”
She retaliated immediately, nailing him in the chest. They chased each other around the yard like teenagers, lobbing snowballs and shrieking with laughter until they both collapsed in the snow, breathlessly.
“Truce?” Nick managed.
“Truce,” Meredith agreed.
He sat up, brushing snow from his hair, and looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“For letting you shovel my driveway?”
“For breakfast. For this.” He gestured at the snow-covered yard, the crooked snow-woman, the whole ridiculous scene. “I wasn’t sure moving here was the right call. But this ... today ... it feels right.”
Meredith’s heart did a strange little flip. “Yeah. It does.”
***
They went inside as the afternoon light began to fade, both soaked and shivering. Meredith made hot chocolate while Nick built a fire in her living room fireplace.
“You’re dangerously competent,” she teased, handing him a mug topped with whipped cream with chocolate drizzled on the top.
“I like to think so.” He accepted it gratefully, settling onto the couch beside her. Close, but not too close. Respectful.
She appreciated that.
They talked through the afternoon, through the evening, through the moment when Meredith realized she should probably offer dinner.
“I could order pizza,” she suggested. “There’s a place in town that delivers even in snow.”
“Or,” Nick said, “I could make us grilled cheese.”
“You can make grilled cheese?”
“I can make excellent grilled cheese. It’s literally the only thing I can cook.”
“So, you aren’t competent at everything?”
“Not everything … but almost.” He winked at her, leaving to go to the kitchen.
He wasn’t lying. The sandwiches were perfect. Golden-crisp bread, gooey melted cheese, just the right amount of butter. They ate at the island again, knees bumping companionably.
“So,” Nick said eventually, setting down his empty plate. “I have a confession.”
Meredith’s pulse quickened. “Oh?”
“I didn’t just randomly decide to shovel your driveway.”
“You didn’t?”
He shook his head, looking almost sheepish. “I’ve been working up the courage to introduce myself all week. Then the storm hit, and I thought ... maybe this is my chance. So I grabbed your shovel and went for it.”
“That’s very forward, Mr. Carver.”
“Too forward?”
“Not too forward,” she said softly.
She stood, suddenly restless, and wandered to the archway between the kitchen and living room. She glanced up out of habit and froze.
Mistletoe.
Sophie had hung it there before leaving for school, teasing her mother about finding “a nice man to kiss at Christmas.” Meredith had rolled her eyes, fully intending to take it down.
She’d forgotten.
Nick followed her gaze, then looked at her. The firelight cast warm shadows across his face, softening the angles, deepening that warm-cocoa gaze.
“That’s mistletoe,” he observed.
“Very observant.”
“Did you come to this spot on purpose?”
Her eyes widened. “No, that’s not—”
“Seems a shame to waste it.”
Her heart hammered. “Does it?”
“Meredith.” He stepped closer, his voice low. “I don’t want to presume. But I’ve had the best day I’ve had in years, and it’s entirely because of you. So if there’s any chance ...”
She kissed him before her brain could catch up with her heart.
Gentle at first, tentative, testing. His lips were soft and warm, tasting of cocoa and cinnamon, and when he cupped her face with careful hands, something inside her blazed to life.
The kiss deepened, sweetened. The loneliness fell away like snow from a roof in spring. When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Nick rested his forehead against hers.
“Best. Snow day. Ever,” he whispered.
Meredith laughed, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks. “The café will probably reopen tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll come by. Order the famous cinnamon rolls.” He traced her jawline with his thumb, the touch achingly tender. “Can I take you to dinner? Once the roads clear?”
“I’d like that.”
“Good.” His smile could’ve warmed the whole house. “Because I think you just gave me the best Christmas gift I could’ve asked for.”
“What’s that?”
“Hope. A reason to stop moving. Someone worth staying for.”
Her throat tightened. “Nick—”
“Too much?” He pulled back slightly, concern flickering in those warm eyes.
“No.” She caught his hand, laced their fingers together. “Not too much. Just right.”
Outside, snow continued to fall in gentle drifts, covering their lopsided snow-woman in fresh powder. Inside, the fire crackled low, casting dancing shadows across walls that hadn’t held this much warmth in five years.
Nick kissed her once more, then drew her toward the couch. They settled together, her back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her waist. Through the window, fat snowflakes drifted past the streetlights like falling stars.
Sometimes the best gifts arrived without warning. Covered in snowflakes. Wielding a shovel and a smile that could melt the snow.
And sometimes, when you stopped looking, love simply showed up at your door and asked if you needed help.
