One more Christmas to love

Chapter Two: Ava's Choice

Chapter Two: Snowstorm Arrival – Ava’s Choice

The snowstorm had thickened overnight, turning the small mountain town into a quiet, white prison. Ava Bennett trudged through the drifts, her thick scarf wrapped tight, backpack weighed down by books, lesson plans, and the small laptop she carried everywhere. Every step sank ankle-deep into the snow, every gust of wind felt like it was trying to push her back.

She muttered under her breath, “Why did I think this was a good idea?”

This wasn’t just a tutoring placement. Ava’s life had been a series of wrong turns she didn’t allow anyone to see. Her mother, cold and demanding, had married a man who…

Ava’s hands clenched around her backpack strap. She had never called it by its proper name before, but she couldn’t lie to herself: he had abused her. Physical, verbal, the kind of pain that leaves bruises people never see and scars people rarely understand. Her mother had done nothing. Worse, she had chosen her husband over Ava every time, pretending that love required obedience and silence.

So, one night, after the worst beating yet, she had packed the few things she could carry and left. She had run from the small apartment that had been a cage for her, into the streets that smelled of asphalt, exhaust, and the icy winter night. For the first time, she had felt something close to freedom.

And from that night, Ava had made a promise to herself: she would dedicate her life to keeping children safe, to protecting innocence. She would become a teacher, a mentor, someone who shields them from the cruelty the world hides.

She had buried herself in books, in schoolwork, in nerdy obsessions that allowed her to escape the weight of her own trauma at night. Math puzzles, astronomy diagrams, fantasy novels—anything that let her forget the past for a few hours. Yet, despite her brilliance, she remained quietly haunted.

Her current job at Ella School had given her a purpose. Teaching, mentoring, and monitoring Emma Hart—her student—had brought Ava into Elijah Hart’s orbit long before the tutoring placement. She had observed him from afar, noticed the protective way he treated his daughter, and something inside her had sparked. A man like that needed no nonsense, yet no one had dared break through to him.

And Ava knew exactly how to apply. When she saw the holiday tutoring posting, she recognized the opportunity immediately. She could help Emma, stay for the holidays, and maybe… just maybe, navigate the walls around Elijah Hart.

The funny part, she recalled bitterly, was that she had met him once before. A bar, two years ago. She had been running from a day that ended in her mother’s neglect, drowning in the edge of wine and laughter. He had been dominant, arrogant, infuriating. Words had been exchanged, tension had flared, and Ava had walked out fuming, convinced she would never want to see him again.

Now, the universe—or fate, or whatever cruel joke it was playing—was throwing them together in his home during a snowstorm.

She approached the Hart residence, snow crunching under her boots. Her heart raced—not just from the cold, but from the memory of that night. Steeling herself, she lifted the brass knocker and rapped twice. The door swung open immediately.

Elijah Hart filled the frame, dark eyes sharp, body taut with authority. His expression registered surprise, recognition, and something she couldn’t name.

“You must be Ava,” he said, voice low and commanding.

Ava swallowed and managed a tight smile. “Yes. I—”

“You’re late,” he interrupted, his gaze piercing. “Come inside.”

She stepped in, brushing snow from her coat. Her eyes swept over the warm interior, taking in the decorations, the crackling fire, the faint smell of cinnamon and pine. Then she noticed Emma, bright-eyed and expectant, peeking from behind a chair.

“Hi! You’re the one Daddy’s letter said would stay!”

Ava’s chest tightened. She hadn’t expected Emma to be involved in this already, to wield that combination of innocence and sharpness that reminded her of herself.

“I’m here to help,” Ava said carefully. “Temporarily. But… I’m not Santa.”

Emma crossed her arms. “Temporary? Santa never sends temporary helpers. You better be good.”

Ava laughed softly, a sound that surprised even her. “I’ll try.”

Elijah’s jaw tightened, protective instinct flaring. He stepped closer, blocking any potential harm to his daughter, though Ava noticed a subtle tension in his posture—an internal battle between dominance and restraint.

“Come with me,” he said abruptly. “I’ll show you to your room, then we’ll go over Emma’s schedule. She’s a bright girl, but I don’t allow distractions.”

As they moved through the house, Ava’s eyes flicked to Elijah’s mother, standing in the doorway. She radiated disapproval, the kind that made walls feel heavier than snow drifts.

“And who exactly is this?” she asked, voice sharp as icicles.

“This is Ava Bennett,” Elijah said carefully. “She’s here for tutoring—temporarily.”

The older woman’s gaze hardened. “Temporarily or not, I do not allow strangers in my grandson’s life.”

Emma frowned. “Grandma, she’s going to help me! You can’t just—”

Ava realized, in that moment, that she was entering a battlefield. Not just the snowstorm outside, not just her own past, but the emotional minefield of a father who guarded his daughter fiercely and a grandmother who would oppose her at every turn.

The fire crackled, shadows danced, and Ava felt that familiar mix of fear and exhilaration. She had faced the worst of her past—abuse, neglect, betrayal—and survived. She could survive this too.

And somewhere, deep in the storm outside, she knew that meeting Elijah Hart again wasn’t a coincidence. She was here, in this house, for Emma, for herself… and maybe, unknowingly, for him.

A loud crash at the front window made everyone jump. Snow and wind rattled the panes like a warning.

Ava’s hand tightened on her backpack strap. She looked at Elijah, whose jaw was set, eyes dark and calculating, every inch the dominant man she had once argued with at a bar.

The snowstorm outside seemed to whisper a single truth:

Nothing in this house—or in your life—will ever be the same.