Stranded in a blizzard on Christmas Eve wasn’t part of the plan, but neither was the six-foot-something man who rescued me.
This was supposed to be my year, the Christmas I finally stopped playing small and started taking up space.
So I rented a cabin in the mountains, packed my camera, and headed into the wilderness alone.
What I didn’t plan on was a whiteout blizzard, a wrecked car, and a brooding mountain man appearing through the snow like some kind of flannel-wearing guardian angel.
When Jason wraps me in his flannel shirt and his grandmother’s quilt, I feel safer than I have in years. But the storm won’t last forever. What happens when the snow melts and reality comes knocking?
