Page 112 of Snowed Inn

El takes a sip from her flute and nudges me. “He’s standing in the front middle of the bar.”

I freeze mid-sip. “Who?”

El gives me a long-suffering stare. “Seriously?”

Okay fine. I knew who she meant. I exhale a shaky breath. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” she counters immediately. “You already are.”

Aiden clears his throat. “Uh, not to interrupt this moment, but I’m just going to point out that Butler has been staring at you since the second we got here.”

Oh, hell. The cake pop in my throat seems to expand.

Involuntarily, I snap my gaze toward the bar, and there he is.

Jesse Butler, Ball Cap himself, standing in front of the bar, arms crossed, staring straight at me like I’m the only person who exists in this entire crowd. It’s the same spot he was in when I took that first picture of him here back in December.

And damn it, he looks good. Black button-down, sleeves pushed up to reveal the tattoos on his forearms. Scruff that makes him look exactly as annoyingly attractive as my brain had forced itself to forget.

He doesn’t look arrogant. Or smug. Or like he’s about to make some snarky remark just to get under my skin.

He looks like he’s waiting.

My stomach flips so hard I nearly reach for a chair. Heat rushes up my chest like my body forgot how to regulate basic temperature. For a split second, I swear my legs forget how to function. The only reason I don’t sway is because sheer stubbornness anchors me in place. Jesse Butler is looking at me like he never stopped.

I take a deep breath. “I can do this,” I whisper.

El nods encouragingly. “Damn right.”

We step forward together. But as we get closer, something shifts in Jesse’s stance. He doesn’t wait—he moves. He pushes through the crowd toward me, his expression unreadable, his blue eyes locked onto mine.

And then, in front of everyone, Jesse stops right in front of me.

“Maria.” His voice is low. Rough. I’ve missed it.

I swallow. “Ball Cap.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. He glances at the people around us, then lets out a breath and reaches for my hand.

Holy. Hell. My entire nervous system short-circuits. My skin goes hot, then cold, then hot again, like my body can’t decide if I’m panicking or melting. Every breath feels shallow, and my hand—his hand—is suddenly the most distracting point of contact in human history. His thumb brushes my knuckles and my bones turn to champagne fizz.

“I’m glad you came,” he breathes into my ear.

I shudder a little. And pray to the god of shaking knees to keep me upright.

I glance at El. She looks like she might spontaneously combust from anticipation.

Aiden gives me an encouraging nod.

I look back at Jesse. Up close, he’s even more devastating. There’s a faint line between his brows like he’s nervous too, and something about that cracks me open. My heart stutters, then thuds harder, like it’s trying to break out of my chest and make its case before I can screw this up again. I want to say something casual. Cool. I end up just staring at him instead—quiet, breathless, completely out of my depth. “Can we talk?”

He glances around. “Sure. Just give me a few. Meet me in the back room,” he says near my ear. “I have it roped off for VIPs.”

He disappears into the crowd, and I search around until I find El again. She flicks her fingers toward me to tell me to keep going. I swallow, turn, and spy the VIP Room sign on the back wall. I head for it.

When I get to the rope, there’s a beautiful young blond woman standing in front of it. She’s dressed like a Vogue spread come to life, with perfect hair and perfect teeth. She looks like every single blond girl at my high school who didn’t think I was cool enough to hang out with. “Name?” she asks.

Oh, shit. Am I on the list? Is that even possible? “Uh, Maria Agostini.” I hope I’m on there because this is gonna be hella embarrassing if I have to slink back to the bar. I feel like a thousand eyes are watching me.