CHAPTER TWO — Ghosts in the Snow
1302 Words
Jade didn’t sleep.
She lay awake in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the wooden ceiling beams as the wind whispered against the balcony doors. Snow tapped gently at the glass, like the town itself trying to get her attention.
Welcome back, it seemed to say. You can’t hide anymore.
The lodge was quiet — too quiet. In the city, silence never existed. There was always traffic, notifications, voices, noise. Here, the quiet felt intentional. Sacred, even. It pressed against her chest until memories slipped through the cracks.
Seventeen-year-old Jade.
A Christmas dance.
Laughter turning into whispers.
A mistake she never got to explain.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Don’t go there. Not tonight.
Eventually, exhaustion won. When she woke again, pale winter light spilled across the room. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand — notifications stacked like a judgment she wasn’t ready to face.
She ignored them.
Jade pulled on a sweater and stepped onto the balcony. The lake below was frozen solid, its surface dusted in white. Smoke curled from chimneys around town. Somewhere, church bells rang softly.
It was beautiful.
That was the problem.
She headed downstairs, following the scent of coffee and cinnamon. The lodge’s dining area was already alive — a fire crackled in the stone hearth, garlands draped along banisters, and Christmas music played softly in the background.
And there was Noah.
He stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, pouring coffee into mismatched mugs. He looked… comfortable. Like this was exactly where he belonged.
“Morning,” he said, glancing up.
“Is it?” Jade muttered.
He smiled. “Barely. Coffee?”
She hesitated. Then nodded. “Please.”
He slid a mug toward her. Their fingers didn’t touch this time, but the awareness lingered anyway.
“You sleep okay?” Noah asked casually.
Jade took a sip and sighed despite herself. “Unfortunately, yes. This coffee might be illegal.”
“My secret weapon,” he said. “Mrs. Willow’s recipe.”
Of course it was.
She leaned against the counter, watching the snow fall beyond the windows. “So… you really run this place now.”
“Yeah,” Noah said. “Bought it three years ago. Renovated most of it myself.”
“That explains the excessive Christmas cheer.”
He laughed. “You say that like it’s a flaw.”
“It’s a personality trait,” she said. “Borderline obsession.”
He grinned. “You loved Christmas.”
She stiffened. “Loved. Past tense.”
Noah’s smile softened. “Fair enough.”
Silence settled — not awkward exactly, but loaded. Jade hated how easily he read her. Always had.
“So,” he said carefully, “your parents told me you’re staying until New Year’s.”
Her stomach dropped. “They said that?”
“They sounded hopeful,” Noah added. “Very hopeful.”
Jade rubbed her temple. “I’m just here to… reset.”
“Right,” he said, not pushing.
Before she could escape, the lodge doors burst open and a swirl of cold air rushed in, followed by laughter.
“Hannah?” Jade turned just in time to be tackled by her younger sister.
“You’re really here!” Hannah squealed, hugging her fiercely. “I told Mom she couldn’t keep secrets in this town.”
Jade laughed for the first time in days. “You’re freezing.”
“I know!” Hannah beamed. “Isn’t it perfect?”
Jade glanced at Noah. He was watching them quietly, a fond smile playing at his lips.
“Hey, Noah,” Hannah said. “Thanks for letting Jade stay.”
“Of course,” he replied. “She’s… family.”
The word hit Jade unexpectedly.
Hannah grabbed Jade’s arm. “Come on. You’re helping me today.”
“With what?”
“Decorating the square! The Christmas festival committee meets tonight. Noah’s in charge this year.”
Jade groaned. “I just got here.”
“And you’re already useful,” Hannah teased. “Come on.”
They walked through town as snowflakes danced around them. Jade noticed how people smiled at her — warmly, without judgment. Mrs. Willow waved from the bakery. A group of kids shouted her name like she’d never left.
It unsettled her.
“You okay?” Hannah asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” Jade admitted. “This place feels like a memory that didn’t fade.”
“That’s because it’s real,” Hannah said simply.
At the town square, volunteers bustled around a towering Christmas tree. Strings of lights lay tangled at its base.
Noah joined them moments later, clipboard in hand. “All right, team,” he called. “Let’s make Merry Ridge shine.”
Jade rolled her eyes. “You sound like a motivational poster.”
He smirked. “You always hated my speeches.”
“Because they worked.”
They were assigned to hang lights together.
Of course.
They climbed ladders side by side, passing strings back and forth. Every brush of his arm sent a shock through her. She tried to focus on the task, but the past hovered too close.
“Jade,” Noah said suddenly, voice low. “About before—”
She froze. “Noah. Not here.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
But the moment stretched between them, unresolved and heavy.
As they worked, laughter filled the square. Snow fell harder. Music played. Jade found herself smiling without meaning to.
Then she heard it.
A whisper.
A laugh.
Too familiar.
Her chest tightened.
She glanced toward the benches where a group of teens stood, phones raised, filming each other. One girl laughed nervously, pulling her coat tighter as a boy teased her.
Jade’s hands shook.
The memory crashed over her — the whispers, the video, the humiliation spreading faster than truth ever could.
“Jade?” Noah’s voice cut through the fog.
She swayed.
He caught her just in time, hands gripping her arms. “Hey. Hey, I’ve got you.”
Her breath came shallow. “I need— I need air.”
He guided her away from the square, into a quiet alley dusted with snow.
“What happened?” he asked gently.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
He didn’t believe her. “You’re not.”
The words unlocked something inside her.
“I ran because of this place,” she said, voice trembling. “Because of what happened. And because of you.”
Noah went still.
“I was seventeen,” she continued. “I trusted you. And when that video spread, you didn’t defend me.”
His face drained of color.
“I tried,” he said quietly. “I was stupid. Scared. I thought if I stayed quiet, it would die down.”
“It didn’t,” Jade said. “It followed me everywhere.”
“I know,” he whispered. “And I am so sorry.”
The sincerity in his voice cracked something open.
“I never meant to hurt you,” he said. “I’ve carried that guilt for years.”
She looked at him, really looked at him, and saw regret etched deep into his expression.
“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” she said.
“I don’t expect you to,” he replied. “I just want you to know… I see you now.”
Snow fell between them, soft and steady.
Jade swallowed hard. “I need time.”
“You can have all of it,” Noah said.
They returned to the square in silence, but something had shifted.
That night, as Jade lay in bed again, she stared at the ceiling — but this time, her thoughts weren’t running.
The past had a voice.
And for the first time, she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep silencing it.
- Writer
