The scent of cedar permeates the air as you stand there, watching the traffic pass you by. Your hair is pulled away from your face in a low-rise ponytail, and the beanie you have on your head is one you have never worn before. You’re not used to the coldness you can feel seeping in whenever the door is opened. The wood of your room seems to retain the cold despite the roaring fire dancing in the fireplace.

You never expected to be in a place like this. After all, you’ve never seen actual snow in your lifetime. Yet here you are, sitting on the window seat in the ski lodge. Around you is the constant, steady buzz of talking. People come in and out as they head out to decide whether to take to the slopes. You can hear the excited chatter of the children as they determine if they will ski or snowboard.

The cold was not something you’re happy with. The feeling of coldness seeps into your bones, even with the thick flannel and bulky jacket and pants you wear. Maybe that is why you are choosing to sit with your hands wrapped around a warm mug of hot chocolate—the smell of the rich dark chocolate soothing your nerves. The bruises are aching with the cold, but your time on the slopes was fun. Even though you had fallen and rolled a bit. At least you didn’t hit a tree.

To your right was a bookshelf. Upon the shelves are a series of books open to the public to read, and you wonder if any of them would catch your eye. So you sip at your cocoa and peruse the titles. You are finding one that looks to be a murder mystery that takes place in a ski lodge.