Page 49 of Snowed Inn

“You’re going into town?” I blurt out, way too eagerly. “I mean, you can do that?”

His mouth pulls into this faint, maddening smile. “Yeah. I heard they cleared Highway twelve since the snow stopped. I need to pick up a couple of things for the bar.”

“I’m coming with you.” It’s a declaration, not a question, and I’m fully ready to climb into the passenger seat, the truck bed, or the glove compartment—whatever it takes to escape my own brain—and this inn—for an hour.

This makes him full-on grin, and damn, why does he look so good when he does that? “That desperate to get out, are you?”

I cross my arms. “It’s been days. Do you know what happens to a city girl when she’s been trapped in one place for too long?”

“She loses her mind?” he guesses.

“She gets dangerous.” I narrow my eyes at him dramatically, then grab my coat from behind the front desk before he can argue. “Let’s go.”

A ride into town . . . This will be the perfect opportunity for a nice long conversation to find out where he lives.

While we jostle toward downtown Harvest Hollow in a very old red truck, only one thing disturbs me. The number of times I think about my near kiss with Jesse in the snow yesterday. It’s playing through my head like it’s on repeat. It’s also driving me bananas.

El’s always telling me to go to therapy. But I’ve been. In LA, therapy is like oat milk—everywhere, expected, and somehow involved in every conversation. I started going when I was a teenager. It didn’t help much. Being told by a person who’s clearly into image that I shouldn’t be so into my image is not helpful. I mean everyone at my high school was obsessed with their image—even with uniforms during the day, what you wore at night and on weekends seriously mattered. The clothes you wear and the group you hang out with will make or break you in high school, especially in LA. It didn’t help that my family wasn’t rich. I worked two part-time jobs to be able to afford my wardrobe. And I still wasn’t in the cool crowd.

I tried therapy again when I came to New York, and it still didn’t help. I already know what’s wrong with me. I don’t need a psychologist to point it out. I’m only attracted to guys who suck. But Jesse is making me question everything. Usually, the men I pick are shallow. Great-looking, well-dressed, but kiddie-pool shallow. Jesse, on the other hand, has proven not to be so shallow. Which throws me for a loop. So that’s why I didn’t kiss him. But it’s also why I’m still thinking about it.

I glance over at him. Despite the obvious death trap that is this icy road into town, he drives effortlessly. I watch as his hands grip the wheel, strong and sure, and—nope. Absolutely not. I am not thinking about his hands. Or his wrist. Or how his thumb hooks over the wheel and—

I clear my throat and focus on the conversation. “So, what exactly are we getting in town?”

“Some hardware for the brewery,” he says.

“I need to pick up a couple of things from Duane Reade,” I say.

“Oh, there’s no Duane Reade out here,” he informs me, chuckling. “But we do have a local pharmacy.”

I sigh and shake my head. “Okay, then. I’ll go there.”

A few more moments of silence pass before Jesse glances at me. “It’s nice of you to stay and help out, Maria.” His voice is low and there’s not even a hint of sarcasm.

I’m not fully prepared for a serious Jesse, so I keep my eyes trained on the road ahead and give a stiff nod. “El would do the same for me.”

He considers that, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “You and Ellie are pretty close, huh?”

“She’s my best friend,” I say. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

“Yeah, like what?”

I shrug. “Oh, you know, the usual. Breakups, promotions, epically bad hair decisions.”

Jesse laughs as I continue. “She invited me out here for Christmas because she knew I’d be stuck alone in the city otherwise.” I rub my mittens down my thighs and sigh. “I’ve missed her a lot since she moved out here.”

Jesse doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches me from the corner of his eye, like he’s seeing something he didn’t expect. Honestly, I didn’t expect to share that much either. But I don’t need to tell him the details. He already knows what happened last fall.

Jesse nods. “Big change, huh?”

I nod too. “Yeah. I’m happy for her, seriously, but I do miss her. She and Aiden are in love, and she gets to work for herself now, and I want only the best for her.” I stuff my hands in my coat pockets. “She got the guy, the business, the happy ending. And I’m still in Manhattan, babysitting celebrities and debating nail polish colors via text.”

Wow. I have no idea why I’m pouring my heart out to Jesse like this. Maybe it’s true that bartenders are just easy to talk to. Only we’re not in a bar.

Maybe I’ve just been lonely for too long. That thought makes a lump form in my throat.

“Where’s your phone?” he asks next. “Seems to me I haven’t heard it buzz in a minute.”