Sleighed Into Her Cookie

ASPEN This is outrageous. As if losing my job ten days before Christmas wasn’t enough, my mom went ahead and added my name to the bridesmaid list for my cousin’s wedding, forcing me to book a flight to watch her marry my ex-boyfriend. To make it worse, the departure board keeps glitching and flickering between CANCELLED and DELAYED like it can’t decide how best to ruin my life. I stand there with my suitcase digging into my ankle, trying to pretend I’m not one breath away from a meltdown that would absolutely end up on someone’s t****k. “Flights to Colorado are suspended until further notice,” the gate agent announces into the mic, her voice carrying a fake hint of enthusiasm. Perfect. Of course, because why not add this to the week from hell? Betrayed and dumped on Valentine’s Day by my boyfriend of four years for my cousin, fired for something I didn’t do, and now stranded in an airport that smells of stale beer and old newspapers. I squeeze the handle of my suitcase and swallow down the pressure building in my throat. Crying in public is for inspirational movie heroines in movies, not for me, a woman currently held together by caffeine and spite. I step out of the crowd, muttering to myself. “I should’ve just stayed home. Let them all think I’m miserable. Let Mom—” My voice trails off as I dig my nails into my palm as if the pain can keep the tears back. “Rough day?” I hear a low, yet cranky voice. I turn to see an older man standing a few feet away, leaning on a cane carved with tiny symbols I don’t recognize. His eyes are bright in a way that feels oddly steadying. “That obvious?” I ask. He chuckles softly. “You look like someone waiting for a break that never comes.” He says, then reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small bronze coin, jagged at the edges. “Here.” I blink at it. “No, thanks. I don’t need your money,” I replied, pushing back his hand to him. The man chuckles. “It’s not for me,” he says, then takes my hand without hesitation and places the coin in my palm. “Make a wish.” I stare at him, utterly bewildered at how ridiculous he sounded. My life was not some poorly produced hallmark movie where Christmas wishes are granted after speaking into some old, useless coin. “I don’t— I’m not doing the whole magic charm thing. I don’t even believe in luck.” “Doesn’t matter.” the old man closes my fingers over the coin. “Wish anyway.” The terminal buzzes around us with people frustrated, hurrying and complaining about the flight delay. Maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe it’s the week I’ve had, but something inside me gives way. “Fine,” I whisper. And realising how foolish this entire scenario was, I closed my eyes and wished on the coin. “Please, please, give me a hot sexy date for this wedding so I don’t look pathetic.” When I open my eyes, the man’s eyes are warm and almost amused. “There it is,” he says quietly. “Safe travels, dear.” And before I can roll my eyes or ask him what that meant, he disappears into the crowd like he was never there at all. A chime rings through the terminal and I look up. BOARDING NOW flashes across the screen in bold letters. The gate agent's voice booms into the mic. “Uh… Flight 428 to Denver is now boarding.” While people gasp, I just stand there, caught between disbelief and the uneasy feeling that the universe is playing some kind of joke I’m not in on. I shove the coin into my pocket, grab my suitcase, and join the rush. If this is luck, it feels a lot like a setup. ***** The moment I step out of the shuttle, the cold slaps me across the face like even the weather wants to remind me I’m an i***t for coming here. I drag my suitcase through the snow, my boots sinking with every miserable step, and then I see the venue. And holy f**k, it’s beautiful. Fairy lights glow along the wooden beams of a massive lodge while green garlands wrap around the entryway, and a huge wreath hangs above the door like the finishing touch on the world’s most smug Christmas card. This is the kind of place brides gush about on Pinterest boards and influencers use to announce engagements. It’s everything I ever wanted. Exactly the fairytale I spent years imagining. The wedding I once planned in my head with Grayson. My chest tightens so fast it almost knocks the breath right out of me. Of course Noelle would pick this. Of course she and Grayson would build a perfect winter wonderland, knowing damn well I used to dream about a Christmas wedding in Denver. It feels deliberate, like they sat down together and said, “How can we make Aspen’s life just a little more pathetic today?” I hitch my suitcase higher, trying not to let the weight—or the memories—drag me down. Snowflakes cling to my lashes as my fingers go numb. I’m so focused on not crying and not falling apart, that I don’t realize there’s someone directly in my path. I slam into a solid chest before I can stop myself. “Whoa—!” My suitcase jerks out of my hand, my boots skid, and gravity just gives up on me. I pitch backward into the snow, but the stranger reaches for me at the same time. His hand catches my wrist. His palms are warm even through the gloves, but the movement throws him off balance too, so we both go down and the impact sends a burst of snow flying around us. "Well," the stranger says in the most sultry tone I’d ever heard that shoots a wave of electricity through me and a wet heat begins to build between my thighs. “Aren’t you a Christmas miracle?” ______