CHAPTER 3 — THE SNOWSTORM THAT RUINED EVERYTHING
1412 Words
Arielle North woke up the next morning with a smile on her face.
A real smile.
Not the polite, exhausted kind she usually forced on herself during December.
Last night with Noah had been… warm. Unexpected. Comfortable in a way she hadn’t felt in years. For once, nothing exploded, broke, or burst into flames. Not even the lights in his café.
For the first time in recent memory, Arielle felt like her holiday curse had taken a tiny step backward.
She stretched, kicked off her blankets, and—
BOOM.
Something slammed against her window.
Arielle froze, heart thudding.
Snow pelted the glass with violent gusts.
She shuffled to the window and pulled the curtains.
Her eyes widened.
A full blizzard had swallowed the town.
Wind whipped through the streets, swirling thick sheets of white. Visibility was nearly zero. Pinebrook looked less like a quaint winter town and more like the opening scene of a disaster movie.
“Oh no. Please no,” she whispered.
Snowstorms and Arielle had a long, terrible history:
— The one in 9th grade that trapped her in a school bathroom.
— The one at age nineteen that stranded her on a broken elevator.
— The Christmas Eve storm that shut down the craft shop and cost her a bonus.
— And the big one two years ago that ruined her sister’s birthday cake simply because Arielle stepped outside with it.
Snow loved ruining her life.
She grabbed her phone and checked the weather app.
BLIZZARD WARNING
SEVERE WEATHER — STAY INDOORS
ESTIMATED DURATION: ALL DAY
Her shoulders slumped. Today she was supposed to run errands. Get ingredients for real gingerbread cookies (ones that didn’t resemble charcoal). Buy wrapping paper. Pick up her forgotten jacket at work.
But the weather decided no.
Of course.
Arielle sighed, brushing her hair back. “Okay, okay… calm down. You can stay inside. You can be productive. You can—”
CRASH.
She darted to the living room.
Her gingerbread house—her proud, wobbly, three-hour accomplishment—had collapsed. Completely. Gumdrops rolled across the floor like colorful little traitors.
Arielle pressed her hand to her forehead. “Why, universe? Why can’t you just give me one good day?”
Her phone buzzed.
Noah Frost.
Her heart jolted.
She picked up. “H-hello?”
“Hey,” Noah said, voice soft but laced with concern. “You okay?”
Arielle blinked. “Um… yes? Why?”
“You didn’t answer my text. And there’s a blizzard outside. Half the streetlights are out. Just making sure you’re safe.”
Her stomach twisted—not with fear, but warmth.
He checked on her.
“Noah, I’m fine. My house is… uh… functioning. I think.”
“You think?” he teased.
She groaned. “My gingerbread house collapsed. Again.”
Noah chuckled softly. “I can’t decide if that’s tragic or adorable.”
“Tragic,” she muttered.
“Well, adorable,” he insisted. “I was planning to stop by with some pastries, but…” He paused. “Snow’s too heavy.”
Her breath hitched. Stop by?
He had planned to see her?
“Oh,” she said, unable to hide the slight disappointment in her voice. “That’s okay. Really.”
“Give me an hour,” Noah said. “If the wind slows, I’ll try to make it. You shouldn’t be alone during a storm.”
Arielle nearly swallowed her tongue. “No! You don’t have to risk your life because I can’t manage holiday desserts!”
“I’ll take my chances,” he said lightly. “Besides… I like seeing you.”
She froze.
Her heart punched her ribs.
Words completely evaporated.
Noah waited.
“…Arielle?”
“S-sorry! I’m here!” she squeaked.
He laughed softly. “I’ll call you soon. Don’t go outside, okay?”
“Okay.”
He hung up.
Arielle pressed the phone to her chest and sank onto the edge of the couch.
He likes seeing me?
Her?
The girl whose gingerbread houses spontaneously combusted?
She closed her eyes.
Maybe the letter was right.
Maybe her luck was changing.
She stood and wrapped herself in a thick blanket, determined to at least clean her kitchen. She grabbed a dustpan to sweep up the gingerbread rubble.
She managed three steps—
BOOM.
The power went out.
All lights blinked off.
The room plunged into darkness.
Arielle gasped, gripping the dustpan like a weapon. “Not again. Not again!”
Her phone vibrated in her hand.
Noah: Power out at your place?
Arielle: Yes. And I hate storms. And dark. And everything.
Noah: Stay away from windows. Lock the door. I’m coming.
Arielle nearly dropped her phone.
No. No no no.
She typed with trembling fingers:
Arielle: No! Don’t come. It’s dangerous.
Noah: I’m already on my way.
Her heart stopped.
He was coming. Through a blizzard.
For her.
She moved to the window, squinting through the swirling white—but she could barely see the house across the street.
“You stubborn, beautiful i***t,” she whispered.
He shouldn’t be out there.
He could slip.
He could get lost.
He could—
A loud knock at her door made her scream.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
“Who—who is it?” she called.
“Arielle, it’s me,” Noah’s voice answered, muffled by wind.
Her lungs nearly collapsed.
He made it.
In a blizzard.
She opened the door an inch—and snow blasted inside.
Noah stood there, dusted head-to-toe in white, hair blown wild, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
“I told you I’d come,” he said, stepping inside as she pulled him in and slammed the door.
“You’re insane!” Arielle cried, grabbing his arm and brushing snow off his coat. “You could’ve frozen!”
“Worth it,” he said.
Her breath caught.
He stared at her like she was the warmest thing in the coldest world.
“You didn’t have to—” she whispered.
“I wanted to.”
Silence hung between them.
Soft.
Hot.
Electric.
Arielle’s pulse thundered.
Noah finally looked around. “Power out?”
“Yeah. And my gingerbread house died.”
He snorted. “Tragic.”
A small laugh escaped her.
A tiny spark of light flickered in the corner of the room.
Noah turned. “Did… that lamp just turn itself on?”
Arielle blinked. “It’s not even plugged in.”
He stared at her.
She stared at the lamp.
A soft glow pulsed like a heartbeat.
The same warm gold as the ink on Santa’s letter.
Noah swallowed. “Your place does… weird things.”
“It’s not my place,” Arielle whispered.
The glow dimmed.
Then strengthened.
Then slowly faded.
Her fingers trembled as she touched her coat pocket where the red letter was hidden.
Noah stepped closer, his voice low. “Arielle… what’s going on?”
She looked up at him.
Wind howled outside.
Snow hammered the windows.
Yet the space between them felt warm.
Too warm.
Too magical.
“I… I think something’s happening,” she whispered. “Ever since yesterday. Lights. My phone. The snow. This house. You.”
“Me?” Noah’s brow lifted.
Arielle swallowed. “When you’re around… things don’t break.”
He stared at her like he wasn’t sure if she was joking.
She wasn’t.
“I’m cursed, Noah. But last night… and now… it’s like something’s different.”
His expression shifted—softening, deepening—like her words sparked something inside him.
He stepped closer. Close enough that she could see the snow melting from his lashes.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” he murmured. “But I’m not scared.”
Arielle froze.
“You’re not?” she whispered.
“No.” He smiled gently. “I’m more scared of the storm outside than whatever this is.”
Her heart tripped.
They stood there— inches apart— the world outside raging, the room dim and warm, the air between them charged with something she couldn’t name.
Then Noah held up a thermos.
“I brought hot chocolate,” he said, almost shy.
Her chest tightened.
“Arielle?” he added softly. “Can I stay until the storm passes?”
She nodded.
Slowly.
Warmly.
“Yes.”
The blizzard roared.
The lights stayed off.
But somehow, Arielle North felt safer than she ever had.
Because for the first time in her life…
a storm didn’t ruin everything.
It brought someone to her.
- Writer
