Page 2 of Snowed Inn

I carefully make my way up the porch steps, my high-heeled boots clicking against the wood. Not my smartest footwear choice for a snowstorm, but hey, fashion over function. I pause at the door, glancing down at the apple-shaped brass knocker, shaking my head and smiling a little. This place definitely leans into the whole orchard aesthetic.

A movement in the big bay window catches my eye. I can’t help but smile. It’s a pug wearing orange pajamas. That is Pumpkin, El’s parents’ dog. You might not know it to look at him, but he’s an internet sensation. We kind of made him famous last autumn when he was the star attraction at the Honeycrisp Orchard Inn’s Autumn Harvest Festival. Pumpkin’s got over two hundred and fifty thousand followers on social. He’s a pupfluencer.

I wave to Pumpkin and step inside the inn. The second I do, warmth engulfs me. Along with the scent—peppermint combined with something rich and chocolaty—it wraps around me like a cozy sweater. It’s unexpectedly . . . nice. I breathe it in. Maybe it won’t be so bad out here after all. I’ve never spent Christmas in the snow before.

While it’s pretty, this blizzard screwed me over. My flight home to LA was canceled—every major airport shut down like the universe personally wanted me to be alone for Christmas. I might’ve stayed in the city sulking in my tiny apartment, staring at my phone even more than I already do, but Ellie refused to let that happen. She called me, bossy as ever, and ordered me onto a train to Harvest Hollow. So here I am, trudging into a snow globe version of Christmas when I should be basking in seventy-degree sunshine with my family. The only silver lining? Ellie swore up and down that Jesse Butler—the infuriating brewer who manages to get under my skin every single time I see him—wouldn’t be anywhere in sight.

The lobby is full of coat piles and rosy-cheeked guests sipping cocoa while boots drip slush into little rubber trays by the fireplace. These guests are snowed in too. I guess we’re all in this together.

“Maria!”

I look up just in time to see El rushing toward me, her hazel eyes wide with excitement.

“Why didn’t you text? Aiden and I were going to pick you up!” she scolds, before her gaze drops to the furball in my arms. “Wait—oh my God. Why do you have a kitten?”

“Long story,” I say, shrugging out of my black wool coat.

El reaches out, and I gladly hand over the kitten. She snuggles her instantly, cooing in that soft, affectionate voice that makes me wonder how we’ve managed to stay friends all these years. She’s warmth and kindness, while I’m . . . not.

“I’d keep her, but I’m allergic,” she says apologetically, scratching behind the kitten’s tiny ear. “In fact, I’m gonna need to take an allergy pill just for petting her.” She hands the kitten back to me.

Damn. I was kind of banking on El taking over this whole “responsibility” thing. The kitten and I exchange a look. I’m pretty sure she’d prefer El too. Poor kitten.

My moment of disappointment is interrupted when the front door swings open again, and in walks him.

Jesse Butler.

I swear, the temperature drops ten degrees.

Tall, broad, tattooed, and infuriating, Jesse is the ball-cap-wearing thirty-year-old who runs the brewery on the orchard. Our previous interactions have been less friendly banter and more verbal warfare. When we first met last autumn, he accused me of being a spoiled rich girl before I’d even said hello, and I may or may not have threatened to tell him exactly where he could shove his cider. He was unbelievably rude, and I was equally unforgiving. And now? Well, he just rubs me the wrong way, which is annoying, because if I had a physical type—and I don’t—it would probably look exactly like him. The blond-hair, blue-eyed-with-muscles-for-days part at least. The plaid shirt, long-sleeved thermal, ripped jeans part really isn’t my thing. I usually date guys whose wristwatches cost more than Jesse’s whole wardrobe probably does. The polished, put-together types who make sense on paper and nowhere else.

Once, fresh out of college, I fell hard for one of them. His name was Trevor. He was handsome, successful, and charming in that curated, Manhattan way. I opened myself up, stupidly believing he might actually be The One. He wasn’t. He took off, and I was left feeling like an idiot for letting him in.

After that, I learned to play smarter. Stick to the surface. Keep things light. Walk away before they can. It’s easier that way. Cleaner. At least that’s what I tell myself.

And Jesse? He’s the opposite of every man I’ve dated since. He strikes me as the type who just sort of fell into bartending and never looked back. The kind of guy who’s content slinging drinks in a small town, no five-year plan required. Which is fine. It’s just . . . not me. (I have a ten-year plan, thank you very much.) Which only makes his hotness more infuriating. Because he might look like a Calvin Klein fever dream, but he’s also a total jerk.

“Well, well,” Jesse drawls, his light-blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “If it isn’t Ms. Agostini, gracing us with her presence.”

I scowl. “Jesse.” My voice simmers with distaste. I’m not even trying to hide it.

“A kitten?” he asks, stepping closer. He looks as surprised to see me with a kitten as El did.

“Yes,” I say, tightening my grip ever so slightly on the kitten’s round little tummy. “I’m looking for a home for her. And no, you can’t have her.” A minute ago, I was ready to hand this kitten to the first taker, but if Jesse wants her, it’s a no.

“Relax, principessa.” He smirks. “I was just going to say she looks hungry.”

He disappears down the hall and I take the moment to scowl hard at El because she specifically told me Butler—or Ball Cap, as I prefer to call him—would not be here.

She already looks guilty, like she’s trying to whistle nonchalantly but can’t manage it.

“I thought you said Jesse wasn’t working during Christmas,” I point out, because that’s exactly what she said on the phone a few hours ago when she convinced me to come out here.

“I lied,” El admits. Oh, yeah, she definitely looks guilty. Good of her to be so blunt. But damn it. I was looking forward to relaxing out here and now I’ve got to deal with Jesse?

“He doesn’t have any family to spend Christmas with,” El continues, giving me her best blinky puppy-dog-eye expression. And now she knows she’s got me because I can’t imagine not having family. Mine means the world to me. Especially my older brother, Luca. We’re super close.

Before I can say anything, Jesse returns with a small bowl of water and a little plate of what looks and smells like tuna. Where he got a cat lunch so quickly, I’ll never know. He sets both on the floor next to the counter like it’s nothing, like he does this kind of thing all the time.