Page 3 of Snowed Inn

“What’s her name?” he asks, crossing his arms over his far-too-broad chest.

“Christmas,” I inform him.

There’s a beat of hesitation before he offers, “Eve is a better name.”

We watch as Christmas—or Eve, as he’s now calling her—immediately dives in. And I hate that it makes my heart do something stupid and fluttery. But feeding a hungry kitten is a nice thing to do.

I clear my throat, pushing down whatever ridiculous feeling is creeping up my spine.

“Thanks,” I say begrudgingly.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies, flashing that maddening grin. “Come out to the food barn later and I’ll buy you a drink,” he offers.

I give him another tight smile. The last thing I’m gonna do is make nice with Jesse Butler. I don’t care if it is Christmas. I have a PhD in grudge-holding. “No, thanks,” I say.

First, he frowns, then he shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

Sigh. If this blizzard doesn’t let up, this is gonna be a loooong Christmas.

Chapter 2

The place is sold out, so Ellie put me in the penthouse. Which, at the Honeycrisp Orchard Inn, means a cozy two-bedroom attic apartment. It’s up on the fourth floor, with slanted ceilings and radiator heat that makes charming clanking noises. It’s adorable, a little drafty, and filled with small furniture and soft throw blankets in every shade of red and green. Not exactly my style, but it’s charming.

Less charming? Being told by Ellie that Jesse Butler also lives on the property, which means bumping into him is basically guaranteed. Lucky me.

After hauling my suitcases up all four flights of stairs, Donny gave me a dramatic bow. I tipped him extra for the performance and for not complaining once. Honestly, the man deserves a medal. My suitcases are heavy.

I sit on the edge of the bed and scroll through Instagram like a masochist, double-tapping strangers’ holiday tablescapes and pretending I don’t care. Everyone looks shiny and put together. Meanwhile, I’m trapped in an attic in the middle of nowhere. And to make matters worse, my engagement is down. Like way down. Probably because everyone is enjoying their holiday with their families.

I glance around the apartment. I have to admit that El’s new life is pretty cozy. When the inn and orchard were hurting last fall, El came out here to help her family plan their Autumn Harvest Festival, and I pitched in with PR. We both worked our asses off to make it happen. The festival ended up bringing in a ton of money, and it put this place on the map. But afterward, El left her job at a big event planning firm in the city to live and work out here with her family and Aiden. I don’t see her as often as I used to. I’ve missed her.

I stand up and unzip my first suitcase. Lying on top is the amazing Dolce & Gabbana red satin corset dress I planned to wear for New Year’s Eve in LA. Such a shame to let a dress like this go to waste. I’m still holding out hope that the blizzard will calm down, flights will resume, and I’ll be sipping champagne under the California sun soon.

I pull the dress out of the suitcase and hold it up in front of me for Christmas the kitten to admire.

She watches me with surprisingly knowing eyes as I unpack. Turns out, having someone to talk to—even if they don’t talk back—is kind of nice. And no, I am not getting attached. She’s just a temporary guest until I find her a new home. With anyone except Ball Cap.

My phone buzzes with a FaceTime call from Luca, and I swipe to answer.

“Where the hell are you, Maria?” he asks, the screen jiggling as he shoves a bite of something into his mouth. “Mom’s threatening to FedEx you a lasagna.”

“I’m in the attic of a Christmas-themed inn on Long Island,” I deadpan.

He blinks. “Like . . . voluntarily?”

“Not exactly. The blizzard grounded my flight. El offered me a place to stay.”

Luca leans in, squinting at the screen. “Are those wood-paneled walls? Are you in a small-town Christmas movie? Blink twice if you’ve been kidnapped by holiday cultists.”

I squint at him. “What’s a holiday cultist?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. People who really love the holidays?”

This is why I adore my brother. Of all the people in our family, his absurd view on life is closest to my own.

I lift the kitten to show him. “I found a stray. Her name is Christmas.”

He covers his mouth with his hand. “Oh my God. You’re bonding with an animal. This is worse than I thought. Do I need to charter a plane to come get you?”