That Christmas, Those Heels, and That Unexpected Kiss  (Maybe) 

 ✨ Introduction to the First Chapter 

Some stories begin with a kiss. Others with snowfall. Mine… with a pair of heels too high and a spectacular fall.

Greta wasn’t looking for shelter. Jean wasn’t looking for anyone. And yet, in the middle of the snow, in front of a crackling fire, something began to warm.

An unexpected encounter. An evening gown out of place. Mulled wine, a blanket, and maybe… a kiss.

In the first chapter of this novel, I invite you into a house hidden among the trees, where silence is broken only by the crackle of the fire and suspended thoughts.

Two strangers. Two searching souls. And a night that could change everything.

📖 The first chapter is now available as a preview. Discover it below… and let yourself be wrapped in snow, mystery, and a touch of magic.

🚴😍😍😍😍😍😍 Chapter One

"Heels in the Snow and a Rescue in a Tie "

 The snow was falling thick. The wipers raced like mad. Greta, motionless in her car stalled for endless minutes, stared at the road ahead with the same look she reserved for indecisive clients: “Move or get out.” Her phone was completely dead. She wore her favorite coat and the inevitable white wool hat that gave her a chic elf look. How on earth had she ended up there? Isolated road, night, snowfall straight out of a drama movie… and a broken‑down car. Perfect. All that was missing was a wolf. She took a deep breath, tried to start the engine. Nothing. Silence. Mechanical death.

The cold began to creep everywhere. Greta closed her eyes and whispered a prayer: “Dear God, I swear from today I’ll be good. No lies, no swearing… not even when at work they make me want to throw the printer. But please, help me. I’m alone, on a mountain road, with a chic coat, designer heels, and zero signal. Please…”

A childhood memory came back: kneeling by her bed, hands clasped, her white bunny beside her, her mother smiling from the doorway. “That was the real Wi‑Fi of the soul.”

Then, in the rearview mirror, two headlights. Her heart leapt. 

She got out and waved. A black sports car pulled over. The window lowered slowly. Inside, an elegant man, dark glasses, a look that said “I’m not a serial killer, I swear.” “Problems?” he asked.

Greta was about to answer with a curse, but remembered her promise to God. “Yes… I’d say so. My car decided to die in the snow.” Without getting out, he replied: “Come. I’ll take you to the nearest gas station. They can help you there.”

Greta hesitated. “What if he’s a maniac? No… too elegant. Too well‑scented. But… at night, in a stranger’s car?” She looked back at her car. Sighed. Grabbed her bag, her suitcase, and got in. Crossed her fingers. And her knees.

Inside: spa‑like warmth. Classical music. Vivaldi. “Okay, not a maniac. A refined maniac.” He drove carefully. Pinstripe suit, blue tie, shirt pressed like from a luxury laundry. Greta watched him. He noticed. She looked away. “It’s not polite to stare at strangers. Even if they have perfect shoulders.”

To break the ice,literally,Greta said: “I ran away from a birthday party, got lost, tried to fix the GPS and… puff. The car decided to act like a diva and shut down.”

 He half‑smiled. Turned up the volume. Vivaldi swelled.

Snow fell. Covering every trace of the past. Racing toward the future.

They reached a gas station. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked. Greta looked at him like you look at a man offering help without ulterior motives. But, being a self‑made woman, she answered ironically: “I think I can manage, thanks.”

She got out. Didn’t see the sheet of ice. Twelve‑centimeter heels. Fall. Sitting. Elegance: zero. He got out, worried. Saw her furious look. Burst out laughing. Greta tried to get up. Slipped again. “Instead of laughing… could you help me?” she snapped. He offered both hands. Greta stood. They looked at each other under the lamplight. Him: tall, lean, muscular, intense eyes. Her: frozen, annoyed, but struck by the stranger.

“Need help?” An old man in boots and a cap watched them. “We’re closing! With this snow, no work.” They explained. “Leave the keys. Tomorrow morning my son and I will recover it.”

Greta was about to swear. But remembered her promise. “Can you take me to a hotel?” The old man laughed. “There’s no hotel here. Welcome to nowhere.”

The man turned. “My name is Jean.” Greta smiled faintly. “I’m Greta.” “If you want, you can come with me. I have a house nearby. Tomorrow I’ll bring you back to the station.”

Greta felt aches everywhere. Heels, backside, patience gone. “Thank you, Jean. It’s not my habit… but I feel I can trust you.” “At your service, Miss Greta.” He offered his arm to keep the superwoman from falling again in her towering heels.

The car drove down a side road. Wrought‑iron gate. Remote control. Lights turning on one by one. Greta thought: “Okay, not a maniac. He’s Batman.”

The house was modern, elegant, with glass walls and a wide courtyard. Jean opened the door. Greta stepped out. Stunned. Enchanted. 

Inside: polished parquet, lit fireplace, exposed beams. Boxes of Christmas decorations abandoned. As if someone had started… then stopped.

Then, a woman rushed in. Perfect bun, embroidered apron. “Mr. Jean!” She stopped. “Oh… I see we have guests. How wonderful!” Jean smiled. “Clotilde, this is Greta.”

😄 Have you read the first chapter and you’re still not tired of me? Then maybe I could reveal the second one… Do you want to know what happens next? “Available now on Amazon , don’t miss it!”