HOLIDAY ROOMATES

The storm came faster than expected. By the time Amara Cole’s rental SUV wound around the mountain curve, snow had swallowed the world whole. The road disappeared beneath a thick white blanket, and even her windshield wipers sounded tired. Her phone screen flickered no signal, of course. Perfect. Merry freaking Christmas. “This is what I get for trusting a ‘winter wonderland getaway,’” she muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter. Her navigation had stopped half an hour ago, leaving her alone with the storm, her suitcase, and the universe’s wicked sense of humor. The lodge she’d been hired to review for her travel blog, “Wander With Amara,” was supposed to be a festive paradise. She’d imagined herself sipping cocoa by a fireplace, filming sparkly Christmas reels, maybe flirting with some hot stranger by the bar. Instead, she was one snowflake away from hypothermia and emotional breakdown. When her tires finally lost grip, the SUV skidded sideways and stopped inches from a fallen pine branch. Her heart nearly stopped with it. Amara slammed her palm on the steering wheel. “Fantastic. Death by snow. Trendy.” She shoved the car door open, the freezing wind instantly biting her skin. Snowflakes clung to her lashes as she squinted into the blur ahead. Somewhere in the distance, faint lights flickered warm, golden ones. Civilization. She pulled her suitcase through the snow, muttering curses under her breath, until a large wooden cabin emerged from the white haze like a dream. Smoke rose from its chimney, and a black SUV was parked out front. “Finally,” she breathed, relief mixing with exhaustion. Amara climbed the porch and knocked, shivering. No answer. She knocked again louder this time. The door swung open, and the man standing there looked like trouble wrapped in expensive wool. Tall, broad shouldered, piercing gray eyes that could slice through glass. His jaw was dusted with stubble, his hair tousled in that infuriatingly careless way rich men seem to perfect without trying. He looked like winter itself cold, controlled, and breathtaking. “What the hell are you doing out there?” His voice was deep, low, carrying a hint of authority that made her spine tingle despite the cold. “I I got stuck in the storm,” she stammered. “My car’s buried, and my GPS died. Please tell me this is the Hale Mountain Lodge?” He frowned, studying her dripping coat and trembling fingers. “No. This is private property.” “Oh,” she said, her heart sinking. “I must’ve taken a wrong turn.” “Clearly.” He was about to shut the door when she planted her boot between the frame. “Wait! I’m freezing, and my car’s not starting. Can I just stay here until the storm calms down? I’ll be gone by morning.” He exhaled sharply, eyes flicking to the swirling snow outside. “Fine. But only until the storm passes.” Amara stepped inside, instantly wrapped in the scent of cedarwood and expensive cologne. The fire crackled in a massive stone fireplace, throwing soft light across the wooden walls. It felt like stepping into a Christmas card. “Thank you,” she said, peeling off her gloves. “You have no idea how relieved I am.” “Don’t thank me yet,” he muttered. “I don’t usually host strangers.” “Well, I don’t usually get trapped in snowstorms, so we’re both living dangerously tonight.” That earned her a brief flicker of amusement barely there, gone as fast as it came. She extended a hand. “Amara Cole.” He didn’t shake it. “Ethan Hale.” The name hit her like a jolt. Hale. As in Hale Resorts, the billion dollar chain that owned luxury lodges across the country. Oh, crap. The same Ethan Hale she’d once roasted in one of her blog posts for being “too rich to care about authenticity.” She prayed he wouldn’t recognize her. Her blog photo was mostly aesthetic shots of coffee cups and sunsets surely he wouldn’t connect the dots. Ethan motioned to the living room. “Sit by the fire. I’ll get you a towel.” She obeyed, watching as he disappeared down the hall. His presence seemed to fill the entire cabin, quiet but commanding. The kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to be obeyed. When he returned, a small figure peeked out from behind his leg a little girl, maybe six or seven, with dark curls and curious blue eyes. “Daddy, who’s that?” she asked softly. Ethan knelt beside her. “Just a traveler who got stuck in the snow. Go back to bed, sweetheart.” “But it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. Maybe she’s Santa’s helper,” the girl whispered, making Amara smile. “I wish,” Amara said playfully. “More like Santa’s lost intern.” The girl giggled. “I’m Lily. Do you like cookies?” “Do I like cookies? I practically survive on them.” Lily’s grin widened, but Ethan cleared his throat. “Lily, bed.” “Fine,” she sighed dramatically, skipping off down the hall. Ethan handed Amara the towel. “Sorry about that. She’s curious.” “She’s adorable,” Amara said, drying her hair. “Single dad?” His jaw tightened, and she instantly regretted it. “Sorry, that was too personal.” He didn’t answer, just turned back toward the fireplace, poker in hand, adjusting the flames. The silence stretched between them like fragile glass. Finally, Amara cleared her throat. “I can sleep on the couch if you have a blanket. I won’t be any trouble.” He glanced at her, eyes softening slightly. “I’ll get you one.” When he returned, she caught a whiff of cedar and clean linen as he draped a thick wool blanket over the couch. “Thank you, Ethan.” He hesitated, his gaze meeting hers. “You should rest. The storm’s not letting up anytime soon.” As he turned away, she noticed the faint scar near his temple. It made him look rugged, human. Something told her there was more to Ethan Hale than headlines and wealth. The next morning, sunlight barely managed to break through the gray sky. The world outside was buried in snow. Amara woke up to the smell of pancakes. Lily sat at the kitchen table, humming as she decorated her breakfast with whipped cream. Ethan stood by the stove, sleeves rolled up, looking unfairly good for someone cooking. Amara rubbed her eyes. “I must be dreaming. The billionaire cooks?” Ethan’s mouth twitched. “Don’t sound so shocked.” She grabbed a mug of coffee from the counter. “Mind if I ask why are you here instead of your fancy lodge?” “I own this cabin,” he said simply. “It’s where I bring Lily every Christmas. Away from noise. Away from..” His voice trailed off. She didn’t push further. “Weren’t you supposed to be at Hale Mountain Lodge?” he asked after a moment. Her coffee nearly went down the wrong way. “Uh yeah. I’m a travel content creator. Was invited to review it for the holidays.” His eyes sharpened. “Content creator, huh? Which one?” “Wander With Amara,” she said before she could stop herself. The silence that followed could’ve frozen lava. He turned slowly, lips curving into something dangerously close to a smirk. “So, you’re the woman who called my resorts ‘soulless mansions for bored millionaires.’” Her stomach dropped. “Oh God. You read that?” “Unfortunately, yes.” “I..I didn’t mean it that harshly,” she stammered. “It was just creative criticism.” “Creative, indeed,” he said dryly. “You gave us a two-star review.” She tried to laugh it off. “Look on the bright side at least it wasn’t one star.” He folded his arms. “You’re lucky my daughter likes you.” Amara pressed a hand to her face. “Can I crawl under a snowbank now?” He almost smiled, but turned back to his pancakes. “You can make it up to me.” She peeked up. “How?” “You cook dinner tonight.” She blinked. “What?” “You heard me. Consider it. an apology.” Amara crossed her arms. “You’re blackmailing me with food?” “Call it moral balance,” he said with a shrug. By evening, the cabin was glowing with Christmas lights Lily had dug out of storage. Ethan worked quietly in the corner, reading through a few papers by the fireplace, while Amara and Lily danced around the kitchen, burning half the cookies and laughing until their stomachs hurt. When she caught Ethan watching them with a soft, unguarded look, her heart did a strange little flip. After dinner, Lily fell asleep on the couch beside the fire. The cabin was quiet again too quiet. “You’re good with her,” Ethan said quietly. Amara smiled. “She’s easy to love.” Something flickered in his eyes. “Not everyone thinks so.” She frowned. “Anyone who doesn’t is an idiot.” He studied her for a long moment, and the air between them thickened. The fire crackled softly. His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before he looked away, jaw tightening. “I should get some sleep,” he said gruffly, standing. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Me too.” But as he turned toward the hallway, she whispered, “Ethan?” He looked back, eyes shadowed and unreadable. “Merry Christmas Eve.” His lips curved faintly. “Merry Christmas, Amara.” She watched him disappear into the hallway, her pulse racing. Outside, the snow continued to fall soft, relentless, and full of promise.