Snow One Like You Read Online Free Page A

of
cards, never broken.
    “ What would you sell?” he
encouraged her.
    “ Similar to what I do
here.” she said. “All-things Vermont, necessities and
novelties.”
    Simplistic, but saleable. The idea
took. Perhaps it was time to exchange board games for keepsakes.
“Maybe I could move you up-mountain,” he said.
    “ Maybe you should check
with your parents first.”
    Practical Allie. His mom and dad
adored her. She was like a daughter. They would welcome the
expansion. It was a win-win for both families. “Something to
consider.”
    “ Contemplation’s good.” She
returned to the tea, only to raise a question he hadn’t expected.
Allie touched on his personal life. “Whatever happened to Victoria
George? At one time she wanted to bring designer winter wear to
town.”
    Victoria…gorgeous and
high-maintenance. He’d met her at the lodge, vacationing. They’d
dated four months. A renowned fashion designer, she found mountain
living difficult. She missed the glitz and glamour; the fast-paced
lifestyle of New York City. Which Rhys found toxic.
    She’d begged him to retire from skiing
and become the face of Rugged Ice, her latest men’s collection.
Never meant to be a male model or spokesman, Rhys had passed.
Without second thought. He’d been fond of Victoria, but hadn’t
loved her. The Green Mountain Range called to him. It was his life.
Always would be.
    “ Not enough action at the
lodge for her,” said Rhys. “Whenever she came to visit, her stays
became shorter and shorter. Until they were
non-existent.”
    “ The heart of the mountain
beats quiet and peaceful,” Allie softly said. “You value the steady
pulse.”
    She understood him. He was physically
strong, but gained inner strength from nature’s own serenity. His
soul soared when he skied. There was nothing like it. He shook out
his arms, shifted his stance, and asked, “What can I bring you from
the storeroom?”
    “ Boxes marked Country Store
Cookbooks and glassware.”
    He glanced up at the rafter, and
sidestepped the mistletoe. He wondered what Allie would do if he
stood under it. Would she approach him for a kiss or pretend not to
see him. Perhaps he’d chance it later. Better still, maybe he’d
catch her beneath the sprig of spiky green leaves and white
berries. An opportunity not to be missed. He’d make his
move.
    He made two trips. She’d opened the
box of cookbooks by the time he returned with the glassware. His
mother gifted visitors with the cookbook. Especially those who
loved to cook or bake. The book reflected generations of recipes
from general stores across Vermont. Grandmothers updated
fresh-from-the-farm ingredients with traditional methods of
cooking. There were photos plus a wealth of history and
trivia.
    He watched as Allie unpacked a dozen
copies. He admired the curve of her body when she leaned down
toward the box; the feminine flex of her shoulders when she
straightened. Her long hair swept her face, shiny and flowing. A
second later, she sleeked the strands into a ponytail, twisted,
without a band. It always amazed Rhys how her hair stayed in
place.
    She went on to bookend the cookbooks
between large tins of homemade bite-size cookie buttons. Next came
the glassware. Allie’s face softened as she carefully unwrapped
each piece. “I made a trip to the Vermont Glassblowing Factory,”
she told him. “I selected hand-blown evergreens and snowflakes.
They are beautiful.” She held up one of each for him to
see.
    He nodded his appreciation. “Good
taste. Excellent choices.” He knew little to nothing about the
glass. Other than each item sparked with a life of its own. A hint
of green tinted the trees. The snowflakes were clear,
crystalline.
    “ The glassware isn’t solely
for Christmas,” she said. “The pieces are decorative
year-round.”
    Rhys admired the hand-blown champagne
flutes. New Year’s Eve. Dom Pérignon Vintage. He didn’t have a date
to toast. Not yet anyway.
    “ Next box?”