Part 1
A Snowball's Chance in Paradise
Chapter 1
Valerie
“I think I’m cursed,”I whispered, leaning covertly over the polished counter of the bar.
The bartender’s rag slowed as he looked up, meeting my gaze over the din of laughter and a reggae-infused holiday remix. Palm fronds strung with twinkle lights swayed in the warm, salty air, and an inflatable snowman bobbed in the pool, its plastic grin unwavering in the blinding sun.
Don’t be fooled by the tropical vibes; this wasn’t a vacation. I was trapped in a holiday-themed paradise thanks to corporate’s mandatedSnow and Sun Wellness Retreat.The three-day boot camp combined our Snowbelt and Sunbelt divisions, where agents like me—witches tasked with conjuring holiday miracles for clients in need—gathered to “bond” and level up our festive spells.
Think trust falls into fake snow drifts, a ropes course that would test even Santa’s tolerance for heights, and a coastal rivalry that no spiked eggnog fountain could smooth over.
The rivalry was friendly enough. We were all on the same team, after all, and miracles lost their shine if you weren’t casting them for the right reasons. But while I’d moonlightedon a few Snowbelt cases, and even taught a seminar in their so-called wonderland of slushy streets and gray skies, I was a Sunbelter through and through. Give me sunscreen and a sandman dotted with seashells over blizzards and fifteen layers crammed into a parka any day.
From my seat at the tiki bar, I watched coworkers line up at the s’mores station while a DJ in a sequined red shirt tested speakers for tonight’s big Snow-meets-Sun luau. As head of the retreat’s party-planning committee, I should’ve been out there schmoozing and handing out souvenir tumblers. Instead, I was hiding behind giant sunglasses at the bar, trying to dig up intel for a different kind of mission. One that might finally fix what I like to call theGlitch.
Rumor had it there was an enchanted waterfall deep in the jungle that could fix broken magic. I needed to know if the stories were true, and maybe grab a map. Which was why I crooked my finger to signal the bartender closer, pausing only long enough to point to a tray of sugary cherries and whisper, “Bring those with you.”
The tropical breeze ruffled his ash-blond hair as he slid the tray in front of me. “You said you’re cursed? That sounds serious.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I muttered, popping a cherry into my mouth.
The burst of flavor made my eyelids sink to half-mast. Was it weird that I preferred cocktail fruit to actual cocktails?
No. It made perfect sense, considering my line of work.
“This is a safe space, right?” I asked, sliding my palms across the bar as if it doubled as a confessional. “You won’t tell anyone what we talk about?”
“It’s our creed," he said, bracing his elbow against the counter.
I checked for eavesdroppers before tapping my painted fingernails against the fruit tray. “See these?”
He nodded.
“My job’s the human equivalent of a maraschino cherry. I bring the ingredients together, add a magic twist to balance the flavors, and then I’m left perched on the rim. Don’t get me wrong, I love helping couples. But these days, I’m always the garnish, never the drink.” I bent forward and dropped my voice. “My love life is tamer than a Shirley Temple.”
His brow lifted. “That’s… bleak.”
“Right?” I stabbed another cherry with my straw. “And it’s not just a metaphor. Look.”
I tugged my badge dangling from its glittery chain and flashed it at him. Beneath an ID photo, with my dark curls flat-ironed into submission, lucky heart-shaped earrings catching the light, and a smile that was a little too optimistic, it read: Valerie Spellman, Chief Operating Meet-cute Maker. (COMM, because even witches love acronyms.)
“My title sounds fake, but it’s real. I’ve got a razor-sharp Cupid’s bow, and I never miss.”
The bartender squinted as if he didn’t buy it.
They never do.Skepticism in all things, especially love, was on the rise these days. Which made my job harder than ever.
I flicked my straw like a wand, and the twinkle lights above the lifeguard’s umbrella blinked green and gold, forming an arrow that pointed straight to the bar. The lifeguard glanced over, her lips curving into a slow smile as she gave a shy wave.
“The resort manager will whisk her away if you don’t act quickly. She has a break in ten minutes. Allyou have to do is ask her out.” I slid a sparkly business card across the bar. “I’ll take care of the rest. On the house.”
A flash of color tinted the man’s cheeks as he rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. He reached for the card and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “All right. You’re perceptive. If you’re so good at your job, what’s the problem?”
“I’m the problem.” I dropped my chin into my hand and snarled at the fruit tray. “The truth is, my magic’s gotten glitchy. It still works on others, but not on me. When I’m one-half of the meet-cute equation, every shot backfires. Every coffee shop encounter ends with some poor guy backing away, brushing latte foam off his dry-clean-only blazer. One guy called the cops. Apparently, that counts as assault with a piping-hot weapon.”
