Merry Rekindled Hearts

She made a list of what she wanted in a husband. Might be time to check it…twice.

Junie Harper is no stranger to the rumor that Santa’s radio brings couples together. She’s heard stories of the radio’s matchmaking magic her whole life. As a child, Junie created a list of everything she wanted in a husband, just to make sure Santa paired her with the right person.

But Santa never got the list. It was still in her stocking Christmas morning. And though the radio played for her and Harper’s Inn’s chef, Mason Devries, Mason is nothing like the qualities she’d specified she wanted all those years before.

When nothing comes of the radio’s interference, the two play it off and attempt to pretend the connection they experienced never happened. But when a flurry on the mountaintop traps Junie and Mason together at the inn's event center, they discover that Santa isn’t done with them yet.

Fans of close proximity, Santa magic, and second chance romance will love this adorable installment in the Snowed In for Christmas Clean Romance series by best-selling sweet romance author Catelyn Meadows!

Prologue
Mason

The kitchen’s heat was stifling. I couldn’t step outside to cool off, though. Tension built in my back, and I concentrated, holding the spinach filling in its paper towel to squeeze out the excess liquid before adding it to the puff pastries on the counter.

Six guests were coming to one of my coveted personal tastings at Harper’s Inn that night. I’d never delivered anything less than perfect in the two years I’d worked here.

I had to maintain that streak.

A finished batch sat on its sheet on the counter, the scent of savory cream cheese, spinach, and feta filling the kitchen. The buttery squares encasing the filling were setting effortlessly, leaving a forked opening on top for those eating them to enjoy the colors before indulging.

Just how I wanted them to be.

Once I added the filling to the remaining pastries, I checked everything before opening the oven door and carefully sliding the final pan into the oven.

With that, I exhaled and sank back onto my stool, feeling the strain in my muscles relax. I wiped my hands on my apron and smiled at Logan.

“Got them in?” my junior chef asked, gesturing to the oven beside me.

“Got them. How is the flatbread coming?”

“Looking good.” Logan gestured to the bowl whose contents he’d been stirring. “I’ll have it in the oven as soon as I roll it out.”

Nodding, I checked the list taped to one of the cupboard doors to verify everything we needed for the remainder of the day was taken care of. The majority of the afternoon was typically spent in the kitchen on most days, and from the amount of work still left to do, today would be no different.

And I didn’t mind in the slightest.

This was my dream life—stress and all. I rested my hand on my knee and inhaled, absorbing the seconds before I had to get back at it.

An unexpected cool breeze swept through the kitchen, cooling the heat in my skin and giving me pause.

Frowning, I peered at the various stations, from the ovens to Paxton chopping vegetables in his usual corner.

Had someone opened a window? It didn’t look like it.

The breeze disappeared just as quickly as it had come, but for some reason, I paused, still staring. Music played on my phone from its place on a dock on the counter, but a tinkling melody overrode every other sound.

That sound speared right into my chest with such a stark impact, I rubbed my sternum and frowned.

Time stilled.

And there was something about that sound that I couldn’t ignore.

The puffs would be fine. The team had everything in hand.

They didn’t need me here.

Dazed and distracted, I rose from my stool. With robotic motions, with my ears peeled on that sound, I reached back to undo my apron. I lifted it over my head and let it fall.

“Everything okay?” Logan asked.

I waved my hand in his direction, but my gaze was fixed on the kitchen’s swinging doors.

Without a word, I stepped past Logan and the others and out into the large dining room.

The large gathering room was empty, which was all the better. I was in no mood to talk to anyone—not until I got to the source of that music.

Wide windows to the left revealed the prominent, snowy mountainside and the trees surrounding it. But I barely noticed them. I moved in a stupor. Curiosity was like a dangled carrot, luring me.

And I followed.

The music grew louder. Anticipation built in my chest, and I walked faster, mind trained on the hypnotic music—on the hovering, wafting, energetic way it insisted my feet find its source.

Before I knew it, I was in the inn’s front lobby. My gaze was trained on the old radio.

Music serenaded from the antique on the table located directly across from the fireplace. The sound was comprised of strings and winds, intermingled with crackling feedback as though the channel needed to be adjusted to catch a better signal.

The resonance poured into my chest as though it was plugged directly into me.

Other things accompanied the radio where it stood—hand-painted teacups and leatherbound books—but I didn’t care about anything else.

Not when I realized I wasn’t the only one who’d come in to hear the melody play.

Junie Harper stood in front of the table, staring at the radio with wide brown eyes. Her curly brown hair gathered around her shoulders, and though she was bent toward the radio, as soon as I stepped in the room, she straightened and pressed her hands to her stomach like she was caught being somewhere she shouldn’t be.

She wore a pink sweater that looked soft enough to touch. I wasn’t sure why, but I was lured with the desire to stand closer to her.

It clawed in my chest, sending a calling to my fingers. To twine with hers. To touch her.

I had to give in.

Without thinking, I walked in a trance, crossing the final few steps until I stood near her.

Her hand was still pressed to her stomach, and moving tentatively but intentionally, I took it.

My fingers brushed the soft weave of her sweater for only moments, but all I cared about now was holding her hand. I watched her pretty face, taking in every freckle, in the way a tiny gasp escaped her soft lips.

That sound hitched something in my chest. Was she okay with me touching her?

She didn’t pull away, and that fact cranked my pulse higher. I wove my fingers into hers, my breathing growing headier by the second.

“The radio is playing,” I said.

“I never thought I’d hear it.” Wonder sparked off the gold flecks circling her toffee-brown eyes, and I was struck.

Junie had always been beautiful, but now? Here in the living room, encased in the heat from the fire and the magic of the moment, she was enchanting.

Why hadn’t I ever noticed before?

Words interrupted the song’s orchestration, crossing wavelengths and wedging their way into my thoughts:

“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me a partridge in a pear tree.”

The interlude faded. The music ceased, and with it, the cloud that shrouded over my mind lifted.

I inhaled a sharp breath, blinking hard and fast. I was stupidly aware of just how hard my heart was beating. It was like I’d run a three-mile marathon in only seconds.

And I was still holding Junie Harper’s hand. Junie. Who was technically my boss.

Confusion replaced the desire that had flooded me moments before. I looked down at her with my heart wedged in my throat. What were we doing here?

“It’s you,” she said in a whisper.

She stared at me with shimmering hope in her eyes as though all her dreams were about to come true. Slowly, the corners of her mouth lifted into a dazzling smile.

Lovely as she was, I grimaced. Her words unsettled me—like she knew more about what was going on here than I did.

I didn’t like that much.

With another glance at our hands, I separated my fingers from hers. Ignoring the hurt pout on her face, I took a step back.

“What’s me?”

Redness splotched Junie’s cheeks. She shook herself and covered her cheeks with her hands, still gaping at me.

“Did I just say that?”

My defenses flared. I frowned from her to the radio and back, and a grim warning slid into the space behind my sternum.

Having worked at Harper’s Inn for the last few years, I knew full well the superstition that shrouded this particular radio and exactly what Junie might expect to happen.

The lore claimed that the radio was a matchmaker. That those who heard the mesmerizing songs play from its base would fall in love.

Was that—?

Did she think—?

My thoughts shook themselves like wet dogs.

Not happening.

I liked Junie, sure. She was cute and fun to talk to, and since she’d stepped into the position of manager and had taken over a lot of the duties Meg used to handle, I’d spent more time with her than he had when he first started cooking here.

But marrying Junie?

Back up. I couldn’t marry anyone. Marriage was not in my life plan.

She kept gaping at me with that gooey smile.

“Hold on,” I said. “You don’t think…”

I couldn’t let her carry on with the delusion that was sure to come. Judging by the way she talked about the radio and that little spiel she gave every year on Christmas Eve,
Junie bought into the stories just as much as the guests who flocked here every year to hear them did.

Seconds ticked past, and she seemed to realize how lovesick she looked. Shaking herself, she ran a hand over her brown curls as if trying to flatten them.

“You mean you and me? The radio?” Her voice was too high-pitched. She fluttered her lips and waved her hand. “No way.”

Her proclamation was too forced, too false. Not ten seconds again, she’d said, “It’s you.”

Yeah. I saw right through her.

She bought it. She figured the radio had selected the two of us to be soul mates. Chances were, she was envisioning all kinds of romance from this point on and would wait any day for my proposal.

Well.

I didn’t mean to be so harsh. Sympathy stroked through me, dashing my bitter thoughts and putting them back in their places.

Junie really was one of the sweetest people. She was spunky, lighthearted, kind, and good-natured. As far as bosses went, she was easygoing and great to work with.

The last thing I wanted was to hurt her.

But I couldn’t let her get her hopes up any more than I suspected they already were.

I was here at the inn because the Harpers paid well, and because I’d earned the title of top chef. Not only that, but since working here, I’d been featured on the Food Station channel. This little fact had only served to bring more business to the inn.

And yeah, to spread its tale about Santa Claus himself visiting and depositing his own personal radio on the premises.

I’d heard it time and time again, but I wasn’t sure I believed the stories surrounding the radio. Even if I did believe that its magic had the ability to force people to develop feelings for one another, I couldn’t allow myself to get close to anyone.

Not after what had happened with Katy, the last woman I’d dated. The memories of that dumpster fire attempted to rattle me, but I pushed them away.

The other reason I couldn’t get hoodwinked into this had to do with my father.

Dad was controlling. He interfered in my life more than he had any right to. His forced opinions were bad enough. I didn’t need a magic radio telling me what to do and who to love.

That thought steeled my resolve. I took another step away from her and tried to ignore the look of confusion sweeping across Junie’s face.

“I’d better get back to the kitchen,” I said, not wanting to let her live in the radio’s delusion any longer.

The memory of our interaction haunted me through the rest of the day and into the night.

I did my best to avoid Junie the next day. But around the same time, as I was preparing the next spread for the personal tasting that evening, the music played again.

And I found myself standing with Junie in front of the radio while “The second day of Christmas” pealed through.

Once that verse ended, we were holding hands again.

Junie gave a little chuckle. She glanced down at our joined hands, tucked her hair behind her ears, and chewed her lip. Heat flared up my arm like a bolt of electricity.

“Weird,” I said, opening my hand and releasing her as soon as the music ended.

“Yeah.”

The third day was no coincidence. Nor the fourth, which was the most frustrating because I burned the spinach puffs.

And I never burned anything.

I’d had to start over from scratch and had barely had them ready for the tasting that night, which only amplified my frustration.

Gritting my teeth, I wadded the towel I’d wiped my hands on and threw it on the counter.

“What’s going on?” Logan asked, a hairnet covering his long blond hair and keeping it out of his face.

I jabbed a finger toward the kitchen’s double swinging doors. “If I wander out of the kitchen like a lost fool tomorrow, don’t let me leave.”

My attempt to avoid being pulled in by the radio didn’t work. The snow started then, closing the pass down to West Hills. I’d been left without an option but to sleep in one of the old family rooms.

I overheard Junie and Boone arguing about the radio as well, about the meddling the radio was doing in Boone’s interactions with one of the guests—a woman named Grace.

Boone had heard it, too? This was going too far.

Huffing from my place in Junie’s mom’s unused bedroom, I determined to do everything I could to avoid the radio’s magical pull.

I refused to let anything or anyone control my life but me.
The radio played the next morning rather than the evening, throwing me off yet again.

I shook myself free to find I stood in front of the radio. And this time, my arms were around Junie. Her body was molded to mine. My cheek was pressed to her soft hair, and I was breathing in her peppermint shampoo.

I was embracing Junie rather than simply holding her hand.

And it felt—good.

The feel of her against me filled me with warmth. She was sweet and her body fit perfectly with mine. As she pressed her cheek to my chest, her arms were wrapped around my waist, and something like victory filled me to the brim.

My heart thudded like thunder in my chest.

Once the music faded completely, she lifted her face. Color flooded her cheeks, but she didn’t pull away.

Neither did I. Energy raced through my veins like electric currents as I noticed the fullness and shape of her lips and just how good her curves felt.

Realization surged through me, striking me right in the gut. My mouth went dry.

I’d never noticed Junie in this way before. She was plucky and attractive—but she was a friend. A boss. Nothing more.

With conscious effort, without a word to her, I extricated myself and headed for the kitchen, the bathroom, anywhere I could have some space to think for a moment.
I settled on the bathroom, since it was closer.

“What am I doing?” I muttered to the sink, resting my hands on its porcelain sides and hunching over as though I needed to catch my breath.

The inn’s annual bonfire was tomorrow, and there was so much to do for it. I didn’t have time to wade through so much confusion—not right now.

It was my job to offer a spread for the guests to enjoy around the fire. I needed to concentrate on that, not on finding Junie so I could hold her close again.

The fifth day, Christmas Eve, I thought I made it through scot-free. But just before the guests collected for the sleigh ride to the bonfire, there I was, standing in the living room with my arms around Junie once more.

She burrowed her face into my chest, her ear pressed to my rapidly beating heart. Her curls brushed my fingers, and I didn’t move away quite as quickly this time.

This time, my curiosity got the better of me.

I let my fingers trail into her curls. They were thick, tempting, and tangling. They wrapped around my fingers, latching like ivy. I found my way to her jaw, to her tender skin. It was so smooth.

She wasn’t the only one who drew in a shallow breath.
The truth was, I liked being close to her. I hadn’t dated anyone in a long time, and being around her reminded me of the reasons people dated: closeness, embraces, having someone to talk to, to share moments just like this with.

To know you weren’t alone.

There was something reviving about being held—about having someone hold you in return. Desire flared low but heady within me, desire to keep her close, to ask her about her day, to inhale the scent of peppermint in her hair.

Questions began to override my stubbornness, pricking it away one layer at a time.

Would it really be so bad? To hold her like this? To get to know her?

To kiss her?

She lifted her head then. The sight of her pretty freckled face, of her inquisitive eyes of her pink lips—it toyed with my breathing all the more.

“What are you thinking right now?” she asked.

I looked at her mouth, and the sight was magnetic. My pulse elevated. Heat spread to the edges of my skin, and my hands slid down her spine to settle around her slim waist once more.

The music had stopped playing, yet I still felt drawn to her. Why was that?

“I’m thinking I don’t know what’s going on,” I said truthfully.

Her arms tightened around me. “Me, neither.”

Christmas Day, I found myself eagerly waiting for the music to play if only to see what might happen.

Sure enough, six pipers piped, and this time, I ran to the living room where a beaming Junie leaped into my arms.

I did it then. I couldn’t explain why, but something about her pulled me in, and I lost any and all resistance.

My mouth captured hers. My arms encompassed her, and I tasted the sweetness of her lips.

Never in a million years had I ever considered anything more with Junie Harper than friendly passing glances or the occasional banter over meal plans for the inn.

Yet, this kiss? The feel of her mouth and her softness in my arms unraveled me.

The kiss slowed, and I was awhirl, caught in the gust of the connection we shared. My heart thrummed in his chest, pounding blood through my veins with so much life I swam with it.

She pulled away and smiled at me.

Quivering, overwhelmed, I was ready to let the strange emotions dominate, to dip in for another kiss and for whatever would come along with it. Yet, the sight of
Junie’s smile punctured me and allowed all of my previous doubts to cycle in.

What was I doing? This couldn’t be what she wanted. It wasn’t possible.

I wasn’t looking to get married, not when the situation with my family was so awful and complicated. Knowing how much Junie banked on the radio’s reputation, she did want marriage.

I couldn’t offer her that. And I didn’t want to hurt her.

“Same time tomorrow?” she joked.

I stroked her lower lip, knowing it would be the last time I touched it. “I don’t know about this, Junie,” I said.

“What don’t you know?”

“It’s a fluke.”

She flinched. There. There was the hurt I was hoping to avoid.

A fraction of movement at a time, I retreated, letting her go and hoping she could read the withdrawal in my body language without me needing to say a word and hurt her even more.

I pressed my lips into an apologetic grimace and turned my back on her, giving the radio a mental nudge to stay out of my business.

The day after Christmas, I wasn’t sure what to do if the radio played again, but I didn’t have to decide after all.

It never did.

I was relieved. I accepted its lack of sound, and hoped Junie did, too.

Our connection was a coincidence, nothing more. Our kiss had been nice, but was definitely meant to be a one-time thing.

It was for the best. Hopefully, Junie would accept as much.

I would make a terrible husband. Nothing between us could be allowed to happen again.