Page 30 of Snowed Inn

And for the first time all day, I forget I’m not with my family.

Chapter 10

It’s after midnight, and I’m lying in bed, wide awake, glaring at the wooden ceiling beams like they’re responsible for every bad decision I’ve ever made. I am debating texting Ellie even though she’s probably unconscious due to flu. And Luca is probably passed out on the couch at Nonna’s house. It would be selfish to wake him.

But I need to talk to somebody . . .

Because I almost kissed Jesse Butler under the mistletoe tonight.

And I totally might have if Charlotte hadn’t burst into the apartment. And worse? I wanted to kiss him again, later. What the hell is wrong with me?

I bolt upright and grab my phone. I open my text thread with El and my thumbs hover over the keyboard.

Ugh. She’s already sick. She doesn’t need a fever dream of her best friend hooking up with her coworker to make things worse.

So I do what any emotionally stunted woman does at midnight: I open my notes app.

Draft Journal Entry. Not for Public Consumption. Burn after reading.

Dear Self,

What. Just. Happened.

One minute I’m laughing about cranberry jelly and avoiding eye contact, and the next, I’m standing under mistletoe with a man I used to loathe, who now is apparently someone I want to kiss. Which feels incorrect. Someone check the math.

But his hand brushed mine. Our eyes met. There was banter. It was witty. I think I leaned. Did I lean? I feel like I leaned.

And for a second—a whole, full second—I wanted him to kiss me.

Which of course is a phenomenally bad idea because this just isn’t some tech bro I met in a bar or a finance bro I met in another bar closer to Wall Street, it’s a guy I’ll have to see again and again WHENEVER I VISIT MY BEST FRIEND. I cannot do anything with this particular guy. Not now. Not ever.

I mean he’s hot and everything, but it feels like it’s more than that. Like something is seriously wrong with me. Is the peppermint in the air drugged? Was the canned cranberry sauce laced with pheromones?

I need to get a grip.

One thing I know for sure? It wasn’t the hot chocolate. I didn’t drink that till after I leaned . . .

I sigh and drop the phone on the quilt. It bounces and lands on my foot. Ouch. I don’t even have Christmas here to talk to anymore because I handed her over to Jesse. Which immediately makes me remember how he fully evaded my question about where he lives. Why doesn’t he want me stopping by? I need to do a little private investigating.

It’s really not because I need to see where he’s keeping Christmas. I know deep down that Jesse will take good care of her. I wouldn’t have given her to him if I didn’t truly believe that. The minute I saw her in his arms I just about melted. He cuddled her like a baby, and she had total heart eyes for him. I can’t take her back to the city with me. I definitely can’t take her on a plane to LA.

“Let’s get you home,” Jesse said to Christmas right before he left with her. “I hope you like living with me. Let me know if I can do anything to make you more comfortable.”

Christmas just stared up at him meowing and honestly, I kind of felt like doing the same thing. That was the cutest speech ever. But if I think about that anymore, I’ll tear up and I’ve already got enough to think about. Like that near kiss with Jesse that I can’t get out of my mind.

“I wasn’t actually going to kiss him,” I whisper defensively to myself.

“I wasn’t!” I insist.

Okay, fine. I totally was.

Because here’s the thing no one tells you about slow-burn enemies-to-something-maybe-more situations: they sneak up on you. One second you’re trading insults, the next he’s making you martinis and saving you from public face-plants and adopting your abandoned kitten like it’s a joint-custody arrangement.

And now he’s in my head.

I flop back onto the pillow with a groan.

My phone pings.