Kissmas Wishes (Love In All Seasons #3) - Frankie Love Page 0,1

24/7 and I’m hoping Siri can tell me that the weather is going to clear up in the next three to five minutes or something.

She doesn’t tell me anything.

NO SIGNAL.

Fantastic.

Pursing my lips in concentration, I try to retrace my steps. But the snow is coming down so heavily that I can’t even see where I came from. And it’s getting cold. I can’t feel my toe, it’s so cold.

And I’m walking in circles trying to find my way but only getting more turned around.

Frick.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m not one to panic. While I maybe not be exactly conventional in my methods, I have a system for everything. I’m prepared and organized and do things in order. Evie order.

Step 1: Get the hell out of the forest

Step 2: Find some whiskey and warm up

Step 3: Go to the hardware store and buy some freaking pre-made wreaths.

Lost in a snowstorm wasn’t the plan. Making wreaths to put a smile on my neighbor’s faces shouldn’t be this complicated.

I want to be a strong, independent woman, and for the most part -- I am.

But right now, I need help.

I feel my eyes prick with tears, and suddenly I feel alone. And scared.

And that is pretty much the last way anyone should feel two days before Christmas.

Chapter Two

Sitting in my cabin is usually my favorite fucking place to be.

This year, though, it’s different.

Maybe I’m restless, just needing some sort of change of scenery. Not that I’d ever leave my place in the woods -- hell no, but sometimes it feels like I am missing something.

Missing someone.

I run my fingers over the worn photograph of my family. My parents and sister. They died when I was twenty-two, in a car accident -- coming to visit me in the city. Fucking sad as hell, a tragedy without any silver lining. They were the salt of the earth people, true grit -- good as gold. Taken way too damn soon.

It put life into fucking perspective. I got rid of the three-piece suits and silver cufflinks I wore for my stupid-ass job where I clocked in for the man, and started reading about living a slower life. One where I’m wasn’t chasing the next weekend high of parties and friends and women.

So, I built a cabin. Planted a garden. Fucking canned tomatoes and got a goat, some chickens, and a few pigs. I was all in. That’s how I’ve always been with everything.

And I documented it all. One entry a day, and three hundred and sixty-five days later I had a book. And then another. So far I’ve published five. Day in the Life of an American Mountain Man.

The lifestyle is great in the spring, planning and planting a garden. The summer is tending crops and chopping wood. The fall is nice, harvesting and canning.

But then winter comes.

And it’s lonely as fuck.

And long.

Really fucking long.

I put down the photograph and open and close the cupboard doors. There are no Christmas cookies or toffee. My mom always made that stuff. I have her old recipe book, but every time I think about making a dozen cookies to eat alone I get sad as fuck.

Now look, I’m not some depressed dude in the woods -- I love this life, I honestly do.

But Christmas makes me sentimental. Makes me think about years past when there were lights on a tree and stockings hung and presents wrapped.

Not one to sit and wallow, I grab my coat and pull on my boots. I may be alone, but I can still make it a memorable Christmas.

Stepping outside, I grab a saw, holler for my chocolate lab, Johnny Walker, and shut the door.

The snow has gotten worse over the past few hours, and I’m surprised at how heavy it’s falling. The sky is still bright, and the freshly fallen snow shines. My feet sink in the inches that have already accumulated, and I head toward the edge of my property. The Northstar Forest surrounds my homestead.

I’m trying to think of any good Christmas-sized trees I may have seen, and Johnny Walker runs ahead, yapping at something he must see or smell. Can’t imagine too many forest animals would be out right now in this weather. Seems like I’m the only beast crazy enough to come out today.

I follow the old boy, knowing he must be on to something. I cut across the snow-covered garden, beyond the livestock barn that houses the animals for the winter. We cross into the forest, and immediately things are