Page 103 of Snowed Inn

The hallway is empty. I make my way to the storage room—the same one where he kissed me for the first time.

He’s there. Clipboard in hand, counting bottles.

I let out a breath. “There you are.” I keep my voice light, casual, but the second he turns to face me, my stomach drops.

His face is cold. Expressionless. A mask of stone.

He says nothing.

I force a smile. “I’m about to leave for the airport,” I say, flapping my arms awkwardly at my sides, because why is this so damn weird?

“Yep?” Jesse replies. Still cold. Still distant.

“Yep.” I nod.

“Safe travels.”

“Safe travels?” I echo, numb. My lungs deflate. That’s it?

Okay. I deserve this. I did the same thing to him earlier when he tried to talk to me. I came out here to say more. I want to tell him that I—I don’t even know. That I’m not ready to walk away from this? From him? I want to ask him if he feels the same. But it’s clear that he no longer wants to talk.

“That’s it?” I manage, my throat slowly closing with dread and panic.

He shifts his stance and narrows his eyes on me. “I don’t know—is it? I got the distinct impression earlier that you didn’t have much to say to me, Maria.”

I take a deep breath. He’s right. “Look, I’m sorry, I—”

I was about to say I’m sorry for earlier, for being a jerk. But Jesse tosses the clipboard onto a nearby crate and his whole posture shifts, like he’s gearing up for a fight. “No need to explain. I get it. You were always leaving, Maria. This whole time, this was just some temporary little holiday escape for you. A game.”

Wait. What? Anger slams into me so fast, so hard that I stagger backward. “A game?” I repeat. “Are you serious?”

He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Go on—tell me I’m wrong.”

I step toward him, my pulse pounding. “You don’t get to do this.” My voice shakes—frustration, hurt, and something I refuse to name. Something that feels too much like fear. Not of Jesse. Never him. The fear is more that this might be the end of whatever we’ve started, and I don’t want to let it go.

“Do what?” Jesse challenges.

“Turn this around on me.” My pulse is pounding in my ears. “I came here to say . . . I came here to—I don’t know. To see if this meant anything to you. And instead, you’re acting like I—like I was just here to play pretend?”

Jesse clenches his jaw. “That’s exactly what this was, Maria. Pretend. You have your life in New York. You have your fancy PR clients, your city apartment, your flashy boyfriends—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Jesse! I liked you.” The words come out too fast, too raw, but it’s too late to take them back. “And I thought you liked me. But you never even gave me the chance to figure out what I wanted. Apparently, you decided for me.”

Jesse exhales roughly, dragging a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t.” My voice breaks, because this is killing me. “So explain it to me.”

Jesse’s gaze meets mine. Something cracks.

“You could never love someone like me,” he says.

The words hit like a truck.

“What does that even mean?” I say.

He looks away. His voice is strained. “I always knew exactly how this was going to end.”

“Funny,” I breathe. “I didn’t.”