Below, take a sneak peek at Aimee Friedman’s story, “Working in a Winter Wonderland.”

As Maxine wandered the crowded aisles of the holiday market, her eyes flicking over displays of beaded necklaces, velour gloves, and fat, scented candles, she wondered if a winter-break job might be the best solution to her money woes. After all, she reasoned, her home life was driving her nuts, and her social life would be laughable until New Year’s. If only she had the slightest idea where to find work. She cast a glance at a nearby stall selling hideous winter hats, as if a HELP WANTED sign might be hanging there.

A sudden, near-arctic wind tore through the market, rattling a display of glass bowls. “Damn, it’s cold!” someone cried in a Southern accent — a tourist, Maxine guessed, who’d been under the mistaken impression that New York City would be balmy on December 17. Shivering, Maxine hurried over to the hat stand, cursing herself for leaving her cloche hat somewhere in her messy bedroom. Whatever, she decided as she selected a fuzzy leopard-print number with earflaps. I’d rather look like a first-class freak than die of hypothermia. She was adjusting the hat on her head when she heard a familiar male voice behind her.

“Madeline? Madeline Silverman?”

Oh, God. Can it be —

Turning very slowly, Maxine found herself staring into the almond-shaped, bright hazel eyes of Heath Barton.

Yes, Heath Barton. His glossy jet-black hair blew across his dark eyebrows and a smile played on his full lips. Maxine noticed that his leather jacket hung open, revealing a black turtleneck and black jeans ripped at the knees. Dazedly, she wondered why he wasn’t freezing, until she realized that his own out-of-this-world hotness must have been keeping him nice and toasty. Maxine felt her body temperature climbing by the second.

“Madeline,” Heath repeated with utter assurance, his square-jawed face now breaking into a wide grin. “From high school. You remember me, right?”

You could say that.

“Oh … sure,” Maxine said, doing her best imitation of breeziness. She cocked her head to one side, studying him. “Heath … Barton, is it?” As he nodded, eyes glinting, she added, “And it’s not Madeline, by the way. I’m Maxine. Maxine Silver.”

Not that she necessarily expected Heath Barton to remember her name. Back in high school, he’d been the ringleader of the rich-boy slackers and always had some pouty groupie — Maxine had nicknamed them “Heathies” — on his arm. Ensconced in her artsy circle of friends, Maxine had outwardly mocked Heath and his ilk, but went all jelly-kneed at the sight of him. And there’d been certain moments that Maxine had caught Heath shooting her inquisitive glances that had clearly meant Hmm … maybe sometime. Maxine had been counting on New Year’s, but maybe the time was, well, right now.

Or could have been now, had she not been wearing a leopard-print hat with earflaps.

Just as Maxine’s hands were reaching up to remove the unfortunate accessory, Heath stepped forward, eliminating the space between them. “Maxine — that’s right,” he said, laughing softly. “My bad. I was close though, huh?”

He was certainly getting close. Maxine barely had time to notice that Heath smelled like wood smoke and cider and spice — and that he’d somehow become even hotter since high school — before he plucked the ridiculous hat off her head, his fingers brushing her sideswept bangs. As he set the hat down on the counter behind them, Maxine frantically tried to mash her post-hat hair back into some semblance of place.

“Don’t do that.” Heath chuckled, turning back to her. “You’re ruining the cuteness effect.”

Oh, damn. Maxine wasn’t a big blusher, but now she felt an unavoidable warmth stealing up her neck.

“So catch me up, Maxine Silver,” Heath drawled, resting one elbow on the counter as his eyes held hers. “College adventures, crimes, scandals, holiday plans?”

Maxine shrugged. “You know, the usual, I guess,” she replied, hoping the conversation would steer its way back to the subject of her supposed cuteness.

“I’m stoked to be out of New Haven,” Heath confessed with a world-weary sigh, running a hand through his floppy hair. “There’s nothing like winter in the city — chilling with my boys, helping out my dad at his store —” Heath paused meaningfully, and raised an eyebrow at Maxine. “Oh — I’m not sure if you know who my dad — I mean —” He ducked his head.

Maxine nodded. “I know,” she whispered. Everyone knew who Heath’s father was: Cecil Barton III, owner of Barton’s, the sumptuous jewel box of a department store on Fifth Avenue. Maxine remembered the buzz Mr. Barton, in his bow tie and bowler hat, had created at their graduation alongside Heath’s mother, who was an equally famous — and stunning — Japanese former supermodel.

“I’m actually here for my dad today,” Heath was saying, as if he’d read her mind. “Doing market research — to check out the competition and all.” With a slight air of distaste, he gestured to the packed stalls around them. “Technically I’m supposed to be on my lunch break but we’re so swamped at the store that I’ve got to mix business with pleasure.” Maxine was forcing herself not to fixate on the word pleasure coming out of Heath’s mouth when he rolled his long-lashed eyes and went on. “It’s madness over there — one of the salesgirls quit this morning so the manager wasn’t giving me a moment’s rest. I was all like, ‘Mr. Perry, can I at least get a ciggie break?’ and he was like —”

“Wait.” The word had escaped Maxine’s lips almost without her realizing it. Swamped at the store. Salesgirl quit. She felt inspiration flooding through her body, making her skin prickle and her breath catch. She found she couldn’t move. “There’s — there’s an opening at Barton’s?” she asked. Furiously, her mind fought to process this incredible piece of information. An opening, just when she most needed a job? An opening at the very place where Heath Barton himself was working?

“Uh-huh,” Heath said distractedly, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a sleek BlackBerry. Then he lifted his head and met Maxine’s gaze, which she knew must have been wild-eyed and borderline manic. She tried to compose her features into a mask of glamorous sophistication, but then Heath’s own eyes widened, and his lips slowly parted. “Maxine, are you interested?” he murmured, and then he tilted his head to one side, clearly sizing her up — though for what, Maxine wasn’t sure. Then Heath spoke again, sending all the blood rushing to her face.

“You’d be perfect,” was what Heath Barton said. “Perfect for the position.”

The flattery roared in Maxine’s ears, half-drowning out the rest of what Heath was saying — something about how she should go see Mr. Perry now if she was seriously interested, because those types of positions were usually snatched up right away.

“I can totally stop by Barton’s now,” Maxine exclaimed, suddenly grateful that her schedule was so empty. “Want to walk back with me?” she added casually, as if the thought of an afternoon stroll with Heath wasn’t making her belly flip over.

“I’d love to, Maxine,” Heath replied, knitting his brows together. “Only I still need to run a couple of errands for my dad. But hey —” He took another step closer, rested a hand on the sleeve of her corduroy jacket, and gave her arm a small squeeze. “Do good, okay? If you get the position, maybe I’ll see you at the store tomorrow?”

Forget maybe. Maxine Silver was going for the gold.