Holly Winters wanted a white Christmas… My birthday was coming soon, and this year I would turn twenty-five on the twenty-fifth of December.
I barely remembered being outside and watching the snow fall. I had the pictures on the internet and television to remind me. I knew how to surf, but it was my dream to go snow skiing. Soaring down the mountain next to a hunky ski instructor was the image that stuck in my head.
So, this year I was trying to convince my parents to take us on a skiing trip to the mountains instead of our usual trip to the Bahamas. The possibilities were endless, and I would use my age and my name to shame them.
"Mom, why did you name me Holly if you didn't want me to enjoy Christmas to the fullest?"
Nicholas Cringle was tired of the name jokes…This year, the puns would be even worse. My great uncle Christopher died, leaving me a ski resort in the Rockies. I was grateful when I first learned of it. But my thoughts quickly went to, 'How much money could I make if I sold it?'
I didn't ski, I knew nothing about running a resort, and I wasn't fond of the snow. In fact, I hated it. But my uncle put a stipulation in his will saying I would have to live at the resort for five years before I could sell the property, or Grand Flurry would go to my stuck up, younger cousin, Derk Poindexter.
In five years, I would be thirty-five. Could I give up my winters on the beach for that long? It would be worth it in the long run. Who knows, I might fall in love with a ski bunny. Fat chance, but why not give it a try.
