Page 113 of Snowed Inn

To my surprise, the blond woman’s face blooms into a huge smile. “Oh, you’re Maria!” she exclaims.

I frown. “You know me?”

“Of course I do. Jesse talks about you all the time. He’s really grateful for all the advice you gave him about promoting this place.”

“Oh, yeah.” I can hear the words come out of my mouth, but I feel like I’m floating outside of my body. Who is this woman and why does she know so much about me?

“Yeah,” she continues, unhooking the velvet rope and ushering me into the private room. “In fact, just this morning at breakfast he mentioned that he hoped you’d be able to make it tonight.”

I have never fainted in my life. My vision goes fuzzy around the edges, and my skin flushes hot like I’ve been set under a heat lamp. Something twists hard and low in my gut—an ugly, bracing punch of jealousy and regret. Because the minute I hear the words “at breakfast” I am positive I am standing in front of Jesse’s girlfriend and that the only reason he didn’t send me packing the moment he saw me was to show me how well he’s doing without me.

My cheeks burn. My heart’s caught somewhere between shattering and sprinting, and I suddenly feel like I’m thirteen again—left out of the sleepover and pretending I didn’t care. I turn on my heel, ready to bolt out of the VIP Room, collect El, and get the hell out of here.

But Jesse steps through the velvet rope. He gently cups my elbow and says, “Come sit with me.”

His voice is gentle. It shoots straight through my panic like a grounding wire. I freeze—not because I’m convinced, but because for one wild second, I want to be.

I’m stuck. If I pull away from him and flee, I will make a scene. And I don’t want to do that for about a dozen reasons, not the least of which is that I don’t want the Hot Sheet’s lead story tomorrow to be how Jesse’s scorned Christmas fling ran out of his new bar when she found out about his gorgeous new girlfriend. That’s way too pathetic. Plus, I am a grown woman. I will stay here. I will speak to him politely. I will congratulate him. I will stop by a real bar on the way home and buy an entire bottle of tequila. And then I will go back to my room at the inn and cry.

He ushers me toward a round dark booth in the back corner and waits for me to sit. His girlfriend remains near the velvet rope, the clipboard of VIP-eligible names firmly clutched in her grasp. He must have asked her to be on VIP duty tonight. Doesn’t seem like much of a party for her but what do I know about their relationship?

I walk like I’m in a dream, each step weirdly floaty and heavy all at once, like my legs are made of sandbags wrapped in strappy sandals. My pulse thrums in my ears, drowning out the chatter from the main room. I am shaking slightly but I force myself to thread my fingers together in my lap and lift my chin to face Jesse, who has also taken a seat.

If I felt like I was going to throw up on the way in here, it’s nothing compared to the nausea making an appearance in my middle now.

The bar is quiet. Or as quiet as it can be with a hundred people laughing and shouting outside in the main event space. But in here—tucked in the private back room with exposed brick walls and barrels stacked against them—it feels like it’s just me and Jesse.

Before Jesse can say anything, I raise a hand. I need to get this out.

“Wait.” I force a breath through my lungs. “There’s something I’ve got to say.”

He pauses, his expression caught between caution and curiosity. “Okay.”

I glance toward the front of the room, where the blond woman still stands guard near the velvet rope with her glossy hair, her stylish clipboard, and her whole “cool girl energy” thing. I look back at Jesse, heart pounding.

“I just wanted to tell you . . .” My voice wavers. “First, the bar is incredible. Congratulations.”

A flicker of something softer passes across his face. “I appreciate that.”

“And second?” I blow out a breath. This is going to physically hurt. My throat tightens. My fingers tangle and untangle in my lap, like even they want to escape this humiliation. “Your girlfriend is beautiful. I truly hope you’re happy together.”

Jesse blinks. Then lets out a short, confused laugh. “My what?”

I nod solemnly toward the front. “The blond woman at the rope? She said she had breakfast with you this morning.”

Realization dawns in his eyes like a slow sunrise. And then he laughs. A real, chest-deep, warm laugh that cracks the tension like ice underfoot. “Maria,” he says, still smiling, “that’s Carrie.”

My mouth drops. “Carrie?” The mortification hits like a rogue wave. My brain goes blank, then races through every awkward thing I’ve ever said or done, and this still somehow tops the list.

“Yes,” he says gently. “My sister. Carrie.”

“Oh my God. Carrie?” I want to sink through the floor.

“I got in touch with her after you left. She went back to rehab,” Jesse continues. “Made it this time. I gave her a job here as the hostess. It’s hers as long as she stays sober.” He glances toward the door. “She’s been clean for nearly five months.”

I cover my face with both hands. “Oh my God. I’m an idiot.”

He smiles softly. “No, you’re not. And I have you to thank for it. If you hadn’t pushed me to reach out . . .” He trails off for a second. “I’m not sure she’d be here now. I’m seriously grateful to you, Maria.”