Page 22 of Snowed Inn

And with that, he disappears into the back of the bar, leaving me standing behind the bakery counter with my heart doing this weird little flippy thing. And my mind wondering why he didn’t invite me to his place.

Hmm. Christmas dinner with Jesse Butler.

It’s not a date. Definitely not.

But, maybe—just maybe—it won’t be the worst way to spend the evening.

Back in the attic apartment, I collapse onto the overstuffed armchair with a groan that echoes through the empty space. Christmas immediately springs onto my lap like she’s been waiting for this exact moment all day. She curls into a little crescent of purring warmth, and something in my chest unclenches.

I pet her while I spend a few minutes putting together a to-do list on my phone for El’s New Year’s Eve bash. Nowhere is open on Christmas Day, but come tomorrow, I’ll be making a dozen phone calls. El will probably still be sick—flu doesn’t just go away overnight, right?—so someone has to take over. And while this weather remains awful, I might as well make myself useful.

Once the list is done, I turn my attention back to the kitten. “It wasn’t so bad today,” I murmur, stroking behind her tiny ears. “I may have a future in pastry sales.”

Christmas blinks up at me with sleepy approval.

For a second, I let the quiet wash over me. Snow falls outside the window. It’s warm and cozy in this little apartment. No Monica. No ringing phones. No last-minute wardrobe crises or Instagram algorithm debates. Just me, this oddly soothing quiet, and a tiny creature who thinks my lap is the most important place in the world.

It’s . . . weird. But kind of lovely.

I shift, looking out the frost-rimmed window at the snowy landscape below. Lights twinkle on the inn’s eaves, warm and golden against the blue-gray hush of early evening. Somewhere out there, Jesse is probably shaking up one of those sinfully good martinis.

I hate how easily I picture him doing it. Confident hands. Rolled sleeves. That smug, stupid grin that’s less irritating now than it was yesterday.

Ugh.

I sip warmed-up coffee from a novelty mug El’s mom left in the cupboard—“All I Want for Christmas Is a Nap”—and try not to think about how nice it was working next to him today. Or how he looked last night when he said, “You’re falling in love with the kitten, aren’t you?”

Because I am. Damn it.

I exhale and sink deeper into the chair. Christmas lets out a tiny squeak of protest when I move, then headbutts my wrist in forgiveness. She is so trusting it makes my stomach twist.

Oh, crap. A sudden thought makes my throat go dry. Maybe it’s not just her I’m scared of getting attached to.

I need something familiar. I glance at my phone. No new texts. Monica has finally, miraculously, run out of things to say. I force myself to look away from the holiday scroll and after a few moments, the silence feels almost sacred. I could call my family—again—but I don’t want to interrupt my nieces, who are no doubt playing with all their presents.

I rub my temples and whisper to Christmas, “Tell me the truth. Is this what peace feels like?”

She licks her paw and offers no comment.

I sigh. “Okay, fine. I have something to tell you.” I take a deep breath as if I’m in a confessional. “I agreed to have dinner with Butler.” I pause dramatically. “But it’s not a date. Absolutely not. Just two people eating food because neither of us has anywhere else to be. Completely platonic. Zero romance. I am immune to charming bartenders with insufferable smiles.”

Christmas tilts her head like she’s heard this song and dance before.

“I see that look. Don’t judge me. He practically guilt-tripped me into it. El and Aiden are sick. Sera’s busy. What was I supposed to do? Say no? Be the Bah Humbug who refuses Christmas dinner with a lonely man? That’s just bad manners.”

The kitten knocks her tiny head against my wrist again. Purring louder now.

“This isn’t helping, you know,” I mutter. “You’re cute, but I’m trying to justify a terrible idea and you’re just making me feel all warm and fuzzy about it.”

She blinks slowly, kneading her tiny paws into my lap like she’s fluffing her pillow.

“I’m not overthinking this,” I add, for both our benefit. “It’s dinner. That’s it. I’m going because it’s polite. And fine, maybe I like the way he makes me laugh. And maybe I’m curious what it’s like to spend time with him when we’re not sniping at each other over dishes and tricky payment machines.”

Christmas gives me an unimpressed little chirp, like even she’s not buying this.

“I’m serious,” I insist.

I set down the mug and stroke her soft fur again. “I’ll have dinner with him. But I am not falling for that man. Not tonight. Not ever. This is strictly neighborly.”