A Winter's Reckoning

Chapter 2 :The Morning after

Chapter Two

The Morning After

Olivia awoke to the soft glow of morning light streaming through the frosted window, her limbs tangled in the luxurious white sheets of an unfamiliar bed. The scent of cedarwood and something faintly spicy lingered in the air, stirring memories of the night before. Her muscles ached in ways that made her pulse quicken, a vivid reminder of Ethan—the stranger whose touch had left her breathless and whose name she now knew only in passing.

The room was immaculate and masculine. Dark wood furniture, minimalist decor, and a roaring fireplace that had burned down to embers spoke of understated luxury. A single leather armchair sat near the window, and beside it, a small table held an empty glass and a book left open, as though someone had been reading there not long ago.

She stretched, a lazy smile tugging at her lips, until she turned her head and saw the other side of the bed—empty. The smile faltered. The sheets were rumpled but cold, and there was no sign of Ethan anywhere in the room. Her chest tightened, a mix of embarrassment and disappointment settling in her stomach.

“Of course,” she muttered to herself, pulling the sheets tighter around her body. What had she expected? A heartfelt goodbye? Breakfast in bed? They had been two consenting adults looking for an escape on a snowy night. Nothing more.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of hurt. She slid out of bed, her bare feet brushing against the plush rug. Her dress from the night before was draped over the back of the armchair, and her heels lay discarded near the fireplace. She moved toward the chair, grabbing her dress and pulling it over her head. The zipper caught halfway up, and she let out a frustrated sigh, her arms twisting awkwardly behind her back.

A folded piece of paper on the nightstand caught her attention. Her breath hitched as she picked it up, unfolding it with trembling fingers.

**Olivia,**

Last night was unforgettable. But mornings aren’t really my thing.

Safe travels.

—E

Her cheeks burned as she crumpled the note in her fist. “Unbelievable,” she muttered. Mornings weren’t his thing? What did that even mean? She shoved the note into her coat pocket, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. Of course, he’d leave a charming, cryptic goodbye. It was probably his signature move.

She dressed quickly, pulling on her coat and boots before glancing around the room one last time. The fire had gone out completely now, leaving only a faint warmth lingering in the air. She hesitated for a moment, her hand on the doorknob. Part of her wanted to slam the door on her way out, but she forced herself to leave quietly, her head held high.

---

The lodge’s main hall was bustling with activity when she stepped out of the room. Guests in ski gear chatted animatedly near the large stone fireplace, and the smell of fresh coffee wafted from the small café in the corner. Olivia kept her head down as she crossed the room, feeling a flush creep up her neck. She imagined everyone knew what she’d been up to, though logically, she knew that was impossible.

Outside, the morning sun glinted off the snow, casting the landscape in a blinding white glow. She drew her coat tighter around her as she made her way to her car. The cold air stung her cheeks, but it did little to cool the frustration simmering beneath her skin.

The drive back to Maplewood Hollow was quiet, the hum of the car engine the only sound. Olivia’s mind raced as the familiar countryside came into view. Rolling hills blanketed in snow, dense forests of evergreens, and the occasional farmhouse dotted the landscape. It was beautiful, serene—and suffocating.

She hadn’t planned to come back here, not really. The town held too many memories, too much pain. But her father’s phone calls had grown more frequent, his voice tinged with loneliness. She couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Pulling into the driveway of her childhood home, Olivia’s chest tightened. The house looked exactly as she remembered: a two-story Victorian with pale blue siding and white trim, its wraparound porch dusted with snow. Smoke curled from the chimney, and a string of Christmas lights framed the windows, though a few bulbs had gone out. Her father’s touch, she thought with a sad smile.

She parked and sat for a moment, her hands gripping the steering wheel. The thought of walking through that door, of facing her father and the memories she’d tried to leave behind, was almost too much. But she had made her choice. She was here now, and she couldn’t turn back.

The front door creaked open before she even reached the porch. Her father stood in the doorway, his flannel shirt untucked and his hair more gray than she remembered. His face lit up when he saw her, and for a moment, the years melted away.

“Olivia,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You made it.”

She managed a smile, stepping into his open arms. “Hi, Dad.”

He hugged her tightly, and for a moment, she allowed herself to relax. The scent of his aftershave—a mix of pine and something earthy—was comfortingly familiar. When he pulled back, his eyes searched hers, a hint of worry creasing his brow.

“You look tired,” he said. “The drive must’ve been rough.”

“It wasn’t too bad,” she replied, brushing past him into the warmth of the house. The familiar creak of the floorboards beneath her boots sent a pang through her chest. Everything was the same, and yet it felt so different.

Her father followed her into the living room, where the Christmas tree stood half-decorated in the corner. Boxes of ornaments were scattered on the floor, and a strand of lights blinked erratically.

“I was waiting for you to finish it,” he said, nodding toward the tree. “Didn’t feel right doing it alone.”

Olivia swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’ll help after I unpack,” she said softly.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer. “I’ll make us some coffee. You still take it black?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Dad.”

As he disappeared into the kitchen, Olivia sank onto the couch, her eyes wandering to the tree. Memories of past Christmases flooded her mind—her mother’s laughter, the smell of cookies baking in the oven, the way the house had once felt so full of life. She blinked back tears, reminding herself why she had come back. Her father needed her, and maybe, just maybe, she needed this too.

But as she sat there, the events of the previous night crept back into her thoughts. Ethan’s face, his touch, the way he had looked at her like she was the only person in the world. And then the note, so cold and dismissive.

Olivia shook her head, forcing the memories aside. She had bigger things to deal with than a one-night stand gone wrong. This was her chance to start over, to make things right with her father. She couldn’t let anything—or anyone—distract her from that.