His Contract Bride for Christmas

Dani: The wind howled through the bare branches of the maple trees lining the street, carrying a chill that sank deeply into my bones. Each crunch of snow beneath my boots felt like another step into a void, a vortex that threatened to swallow me whole. I stopped at the porch of my grandmother's house, staring at the foreclosure notice pinned to the door like a cruel Christmas greeting. The words blurred as I blinked back tears, but the meaning was painfully clear. This wasn't just any house—it was my grandmother's legacy. It was where I'd learned to cook, dream, and feel safe. Losing it wasn't an option. The slam of a car door shattered the stillness. I froze, dread pooling in my stomach as I turned to see him. William Fletcher stepped out of his shiny black SUV, the kind of vehicle that screamed success and soulless ambition. He looked the same as always: confident, polished, and utterly infuriating. "Dani," he called, his voice carrying across the driveway like an unwelcome echo from my past. I stiffened, gripping the crumpled notice in my hand. "What do you want, Will?" Before he could answer, his gaze flicked past me to the house. "I heard about the foreclosure." "Of course you did," I muttered, folding my arms. "This is Danville. News travels faster than the flu." "I thought you might need a friend," he said, stopping at the edge of the porch. "Friend?" I laughed bitterly. "Is that what we're calling it now?" His charm faltered momentarily, but he slipped back into the polished mask I knew too well. "I just want to help." "Help?" My voice rose. "Like when you slept with your assistant? Or when you tried to buy this house out from under me?" His jaw tightened. "Carly and I were a mistake. You and I—" "Don't," I snapped, cutting him off. "You didn't just leave me, Will. You broke me." The tension crackled in the icy air, and his expression darkened. "I'm offering a solution," he said, his voice low. "Sell me the house. I'll pay more than it's worth, and you can walk away from this mess." "You think you can fix everything with money?" I spat. "This isn't just a house. It's my home. My memories. My grandmother's life." Before I could say more, the crunch of boots on snow caught my attention. I turned to see a man standing at the gate, his face half-hidden beneath a thick scarf and hood. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, his voice calm but hesitant. "I'm looking for the Evergreen Bed and Breakfast. Am I in the right place?" Will scowled, clearly annoyed. "This isn't the time," he snapped. The man ignored him, his gaze shifting to me. His presence was unassuming, but there was something steady about how he stood as if he wasn't easily rattled. "It's closed," I said, my voice still edged with tension. "Has been for a while." He frowned, glancing at the house. "That's a shame. I'm just passing through and need a place to stay for the week. I heard good things about this place." I blinked, caught off guard. "I'm sorry, but—" "Move along," Will interrupted, his tone sharp. "This is private property." The man's gaze flicked to Will, his expression unreadable. "I wasn't talking to you." Something about how he said it made Will bristle, but he didn't respond. Turning back to me, the man offered a small, apologetic smile. "If there's no chance of a room, I'll head out. But if you change your mind, I'll be at the café down the street for a bit." He gave a polite nod and walked away, leaving a strange mix of tension and curiosity behind. "Who was that?" Will asked, his voice dripping with disdain. I watched the man's retreating figure, my heart still racing from the argument. "I don't know," I said honestly. Will scoffed. "Doesn't matter. Let's focus on what's important. Dani, this house isn't worth what you're putting yourself through. Let it go." His words reignited my anger. "You don't get to decide what's worth it to me," I snapped. His jaw tightened, but I didn't allow him to respond. "Leave, Will. We're done here." For once, he didn't argue. With a sharp exhale, he stalked back to his car. As his SUV roared away, I leaned against the porch railing, the foreclosure notice still heavy in my hand. But the stranger's offer lingered in my mind, a faint spark of something I hadn't felt in a long time: possibility. The house was colder than I remembered. Quieter, too. Save for the faint hum of the furnace. I closed the door behind me, the faint creak of the hinges echoing in the silence. The foreclosure notice was still crumpled in my hand, but I couldn't bring myself to look at it again. I shoved it into my coat pocket and stepped further into the dim hallway. The scent of old wood and faint traces of cinnamon still lingered, though the warmth this house once held had long since faded. My grandmother's touch was everywhere—her floral wallpaper peeling slightly at the edges, the hand-stitched quilt draped over the back of the sofa, the antique clock on the mantle that hadn't worked in years but still sat proudly in its place. I ran my fingers over the edge of the dining table, its surface worn smooth from decades of family dinners, morning coffees, and long talks. The memories here weren't just mine—they were hers. They were us. I paused at the fireplace, staring at the empty grate. It hadn't been lit in weeks. It was still broken, and without the knowledge to fix it or the money to pay to have it fixed, I turned to the furnace despite keeping the utilities paid, a battle I was slowly losing. The thought of filling the house with warmth again felt like a distant dream. But it was still home. It was still the place I ran to after Will's affair. I sank onto the arm of the sofa, staring out the frosted window at the swirling snow. Will's words replayed in my mind, his offer to buy the house gnawing at me like a splinter I couldn't remove. Sell it? Walk away? As if it were just a building? I pressed my hands to my face, willing the tears to stay at bay. No. I couldn't give up. Not yet. The stranger's face flashed in my mind—his steady voice, the calm way he'd ignored Will's hostility, the quiet assurance in his offer—a room for a week. It wasn't much, but it was something. My heart pounded as I stood and grabbed my coat from the hook by the door. The house felt colder than ever, the silence pressing down on me like a weight. I didn't have a plan, but I knew one thing: I couldn't do this alone. The wind hit me like a wall when I stepped outside, biting at my cheeks and tugging at my hair. I pulled my scarf tighter and trudged down the snow-covered driveway, my boots crunching with each step. The café wasn't far, but the swirling snow made the walk feel endless. When I finally reached the small building, its warm light spilling onto the sidewalk, I hesitated. What was I even doing? Inviting a stranger into my home? It was risky, maybe even foolish. But desperation had a way of making you take chances you never thought you would. I pushed the door open, the bell above it jingling softly. The warmth and smell of fresh coffee and baked goods hit me immediately. I scanned the room, my heart pounding harder than it should have. There he was, sitting at a corner table, a steaming mug in his hands. I admit my heart racing turned into panic as his handsome features demanded attention. His dark, shaggy hair, piercing blue eyes, and the dimple on the left when he smiled at me were gorgeous. He was striking, demanding the attention of the room. He looked up as the door closed behind me, his expression shifting from surprise to something softer—curiosity, maybe. I took a deep breath and walked over, my boots squeaking against the polished floor. "Hey," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "About that room..." His eyebrows lifted, and he set his mug down. "You've reconsidered?" I nodded, swallowing hard. "It's not much, but if you still need a place to stay, I can offer you a room for the week." A small smile tugged at his lips, and I noticed how kind his eyes were for the first time. "I'd appreciate that," he said. "Thank you." I nodded again, unsure what else to say. My stomach twisted with nerves, but there was also a flicker of relief. This may be the first step toward saving what matters most. "Come on," I said, gesturing toward the door. "It's not far." He stood, pulling on his coat and scarf. As we stepped back out into the snow, I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. "By the way," I said, my voice quieter now. "I didn't catch your name." "Ryan," he said, his breath visible in the cold air. "And you're Dani, right?" I nodded, surprised he remembered. "Thanks for taking a chance on me, Dani," he said, his tone sincere. I didn't respond, my gaze fixed on the path ahead. Taking a chance? Maybe. Or maybe I was just out of options.