She didn’t mean to crash her car into a snowbank halfway up a mountain. And she definitely didn’t mean to end up on the doorstep of her ex-husband. But with a blizzard bearing down, no cell signal, and nowhere else to go, Piper finds herself face-to-face with the last man she expected to see again. The grump. The recluse. The man she once walked out on without a word.

Too bad he’s still hot.

Too bad his cabin only has one bed.

 Chapter One 

Piper 

Let It Snow

I’ve made a lot of questionable decisions in my life, but driving up a snow-covered mountain in a compact SUV with bald tires, one granola bar, and a Spotify playlist called Festive as F?*

Yeah. This one’s top three.

The snow wasn’t supposed to start until late tonight. That’s what the app said. I was supposed to beat the worst of it, cruise into the cabin with time to light the fire, pour a drink, and pretend I didn’t just spend the last week getting ghosted by my own family.

Instead, I’m gripping the steering wheel like it might save me, leaning forward as if an extra ten degrees of squinting will help me see through the blizzard.

“Come on, come on, come on…”

The tires slip again.

I don’t even realize I’m sliding until the back of the car fishtails. There’s a sick swoop in my stomach. I pump the brakes, try to steer into it—

Too late.

The car jerks to the right and dips nose-first into a shallow ditch.

The engine’s still running, but it’s tilted. Stuck.

“Oh, perfect,” I mutter, throwing it in reverse. Nothing. I try again. The tires spin, spraying slush and not budging an inch.

For a second, I just sit there. Breathing through my nose.

Not panicking.

Not crying.

Definitely not fantasizing about how nice it would’ve been if this week had gone literally any other way.

I grab my phone. No bars. Not even a flicker.

“Of course. Ugh!”

There’s no one to call. No signal. No magic tow truck appearing out of the storm.

I’m officially stranded.

I peer through the side window. The snow’s coming down so thick, I can barely see past the trees. Everything’s white and blurry and getting worse by the second. But I remember, vaguely, a cabin a little ways back. Looked rustic. Maybe abandoned. But it’s better than freezing in a half-dead SUV hoping someone thinks to check the road.

I grab my bag from the passenger seat, thank you, overpacking tendencies and push out into the cold. The wind hits me like a slap. I curl into my coat, duck my head, and start walking.

It’s farther than I thought. My boots sink into fresh snow with every step, and my jeans are soaked halfway up my thighs before I even see the outline of the cabin roof through the trees.

But there’s a light on.

I blink.

I could swear it was dark when I passed earlier. But there it is, a soft, golden glow bleeding through the front window like a little miracle.

“Please be a nice, retired couple with cocoa and a guest room,” I whisper, crunching up the steps. “Or, honestly, I’ll take someone with snacks and low-level survival instincts.”

I knock.

The wind whistles behind me. Snow clings to my coat, lashes, hair. I’m already shivering when the footsteps thud behind the door.

It swings open.

And any hope I had of a gentle welcome immediately dies.

Holt. My ex… of course.

I haven’t seen him since the night I left without saying goodbye.

He’s broader now. Seems a little more closed off too. Like winter carved its name across his whole damn face. He’s wrapped in flannel and glaring like I just insulted his woodpile.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He says it like a prayer, or maybe it was a threat.

I force a smile, though my lips are frozen and I’m positive my hair looks like a frostbitten disaster. “Hi.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too.”

He doesn’t move. Just stares. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look more annoyed to have their night interrupted, and I once interrupted a blind date who turned out to be my ex’s cousin.

“I slid off the road,” I explain, motioning vaguely down the hill. “No signal. Car’s stuck. This was the closest thing with walls and a roof, so…”

“You thought you’d just show up to a strange house and invite yourself in?”

“No,” I deadpan. “I thought I’d knock politely and hope the person inside wasn’t a total jackass.”

His brow twitches. Not enough to be a full reaction, but enough for me to notice.

“Look,” I add, my teeth starting to chatter now. “I just need somewhere to warm up until the storm lets up. I won’t touch anything. I won’t sing carols. I’ll pretend you don’t exist, if that helps.”

He doesn’t respond right away.

The snow whips harder behind me. My legs are already numb. If he slams the door in my face, I’m either freezing to death or attempting to break into a tool shed and fashioning a tent out of lawn furniture.

Holt mutters something under his breath. Then—

He steps back.

I don’t wait. I slide past him into the heat, boots thudding against the wood floor, and nearly collapse from the relief of it.

The cabin’s warm and dimly lit, fire crackling low in the stone hearth. It smells like cedar and something slightly burnt. There’s a half-empty mug on the table and a single blanket thrown over the back of a battered armchair.

Minimal. Manly. Way too tidy for someone who apparently lives in the middle of nowhere and hates people. When did he move here?

He shuts the door hard. Locks it with a sharp click.

“Boots off. Don’t track snow all over.”

“Yes, sir,” I mutter, kicking them off.

He narrows his eyes but says nothing.

I peel off my soaked coat, hanging it near the fire, and try to wring out my wet hair. My hands are shaking and I pretend not to notice.

Holt stays standing, arms crossed like he’s regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.

“I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to,” I offer. “I won’t get in your way. Just… don’t make me go back out there.”

More silence. More glaring.

Then finally:

“Don’t touch anything. Don’t talk too much. And don’t make me regret this.”

I flash a tired, freezing smile. “Too late.”

He exhales through his nose, then turns and walks into the kitchen without another word.

I stand there for a second, dripping and unsure, staring around the cabin like it might bite me. It’s weird seeing someone you used to know in a place you didn’t expect them to be. Like the universe shuffled the deck wrong.

Holt wasn’t supposed to be here.

Then again, neither was I.

The fire crackles softly behind me. My socks squish with every step as I inch closer to the hearth, holding out my frozen fingers. I don’t ask if I can sit. I just do. Because if I think too hard about the fact that I’m in his space again—after all this time—I might lose the nerve to stay.

“This isn’t permanent,” he calls from the other room.

I smile at the flames. “Didn’t plan on marrying you again, Holt.”

Silence. Then the clink of a mug hitting the counter.

Maybe he thought I forgot. Maybe he did too.

But that’s the thing about history.

It doesn’t melt just because you’re standing by the fire.

Come back tomorrow for Chapter Two

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: December 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix