The clouds above Portland were swollen with moist promise; a pair of frontal systems grayly colluding to deliver a white Christmas. Amy and Olvia drove up from New London on December 23. The girls had gone to high school together and were now both enrolled at Connecticut College, but they rarely spoke unless it was to coordinate on a carpool or bus ticket home.

“Did you hear about Mr. Valentine?” Amy asked, as she flipped on her windshield wipers to combat the falling snow. “No?” Olivia said flatly. She hadn’t thought about their old English teacher since graduating.

“He wrote some big bestselling novel,” Amy said, “and then sold the rights to Netflix for like a gazillion dollars.” She paused to slurp down a mouthful of her Starbucks peppermint latte. “He lives in Los Angeles now and is dating some TV actress.”

Olivia blushed. Her and her friends had once giggled and gushed over how handsome Mr. Valentine was, with his sharp features, tapered undercut, and Clark Kent glasses. His sardonic wit and liberal use of cuss words earned him the reputation of being the coolest teacher on the Deering faculty.

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Olivia’s childhood home smelled predictably of sugar cookies and pine. The piano sounds of A Charlie Brown Christmas were playing on the stereo when she came through the front door. She was almost immediately greeted by the smothering embrace of her mother. Her stepfather, Carl, came sauntering in from the living room a moment later. He had raised Olivia since she was eleven, but still opted for a handshake over a hug.

Her bedroom was exactly as she had left it; periwinkle bedspread, dusty candles, polaroids of her field hockey team scotch taped to the wall. Her iPhone kept buzzing with text messages from her friends, who were plotting to reunite at the Oak & Oyster Tavern later, regardless of how inclement the weather was.

Lying on her back, she opened Safari and searched his name. James Valentine. The first result was his black and white author photo. He looked the same, save for a few extra wisps of gray peppered into his otherwise dark hair. The second result was his book, The Melancholy Pursuit, which Amazon described as “a riveting novel of suspense and suspicion.”

She decided to listen to a 3-minute preview of the audiobook. She pressed play and heard his voice for the first time in years. It had the same authoritative timber she remembered; the same voice that had once imparted lessons about Huck Finn and Catcher in the Rye.

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By 11PM, the snowfall was reaching blizzard-like conditions. Roads were closed and the shops downtown were announcing their plans to stay closed tomorrow, throwing a wrench into the plans of the last-minute holiday shoppers. Meanwhile, inside the cozy confines of the Oak & Oyster Tavern, Portlanders were drinking and laughing and singing along with Christmas carols on the jukebox. Olivia was among them, her brain fuzzy and her spirits high thanks to two white wine spritzers. Her and her friends spoke about their professors, roommates, and crushes at school.

Soon, she decided to step outside in search of an Uber to take her home. Cars were slipping and sliding haphazardly along Commercial Street. The greenery strung between the lamp posts was swaying in the icy breeze. She was struggling to use her iPhone with her mittened fingers when she heard a familiar voice say her name. “Olivia?”

She turned her head, and there was James Valentine. He was tightly wrapped in a green winter jacket with a plastic bag from a nearby drugstore dangling from his fist. He was also visiting family for the holidays. He had a room at the Hyatt Place up the block.

Olivia’s lips curved into a mischievous smirk. With all that had transpired, bumping into him felt serendipitous… an unexpected bit of Christmas magic.

[Thanks for reading! I’m looking for a descriptive and collaborative writing partner to continue this story with. Ideally, you will be primarily responsible for Olivia while I own James (but I’m flexible and open to other arrangements).

It’s important to me that my partner feel ownership over her side of the story. As such I invite you to adjust any of the above details to suit your style and preferences. I'd also like you to decide Olivia's physical appearance and style. Feel free to send me a DM with questions or thoughts. If you want to dive right in and continue the story, that’s okay too.

Feel free to respond whenever you read this. I’m looking forward to collaborating!]