Page 58 of Snowed Inn

He may be a good guy. A good, hot guy. But it’s better to keep my lips to myself and my heart even further away. I will survive Harvest Hollow and its cozy trap of twinkling lights and thoughtful brewery owners. I just have to avoid eye contact, small talk, and any more grilled cheese dates with Jesse.

Easy, right?

Chapter 21

After turndown service, I’m sitting behind the front desk with Charlotte. “Thank you again, Maria,” she says. “We’ll never be able to repay you for all you’ve done to help us this week.”

“Seriously, don’t mention it,” I tell her. “It’s been fun to try new things.” I’m specifically thinking about how I laughed until my sides ached racing Jesse down the hill. It made me feel like a kid again. I need to have more fun like that more often. I’ll add that to my list of New Year’s resolutions.

I’ve also felt more needed in the last few days than in I don’t know when. I mean, PR is a whole profession, but sporadically answering Monica’s texts hasn’t exactly been life-affirming. Working at the inn has made me feel as if what I spent my time doing all day actually mattered. And you know what else made me feel like I actually mattered? Thinking up ideas for Jesse’s mocktail bar. I already have a whole slew of them outlined in a document on my laptop. I forgot how much fun it is to brainstorm launching something new.

However, after I went back to my room this afternoon, I made the mistake of checking my phone. That decision resulted in fielding a half dozen idiotic texts from Monica—four of which involved whether she should get a spray tan. Then, I checked in with El again. She’s feeling better, and it’s all systems go for Saturday night.

Honestly, it’s been fun pitching in to plan the New Year’s Eve party too. Way more fun than debating the ethics of spray tanning in winter. Or whether it can be classified as a medical expense if it boosts your self-esteem.

Because of course I haven’t just been sitting around with a to-do list from Ellie. I’ve done what any self-respecting PR maven would do and put some of my own ideas in play. And a few of them are quite good, like chef’s-kiss good, if I do say so myself. Jesse and Charlotte have pitched in too. This New Year’s Eve party is going to be major.

I’ve worked a little of my PR magic and made this thing a whole event on social media. With Charlotte’s fantastic pictures and my knack for copy, the place to be on eastern Long Island this New Year’s Eve is the Honeycrisp Orchard Inn.

Jesse’s created a new cocktail for the evening. The Midnight Spark. It’s gin, elderflower liqueur, and a splash of lemon juice topped with champagne. I tried it (more than once), and it’s delicious. The man knows how to make a drink! He also came up with a mocktail version called the Midnight Glow. I love them both equally.

“I have some good news,” Charlotte says with her signature bright smile on her face, pulling me from my thoughts. “Since the snow has stopped and the roads are cleared, the other maids are able to come back to work tomorrow.”

“Oh.” It’s weird, but despite Charlotte’s smile, that thought makes me a little sad. “Okay. Well, I can still help out wherever you need.”

Charlotte frowns. “Ellie mentioned you might try to hop a flight to LA once the airports are open.”

That is true. I could get on a plane and go to LA now.

So . . . what is keeping me from it?

Jesse?

I hate how easily he sneaks into my head. One stupid word—date—sent me spiraling. It reminds me too much of the last time I let myself believe in someone. Trevor. I opened the door wide and got burned for it. Ever since, I’ve kept things shallow, safe. Jesse doesn’t fit that plan, and it makes me want to run and lean closer at the same time.

But Charlotte is right. I could spend New Year’s Eve weekend with my family in LA, dodging backyard sparkler duels and eating until I explode. Cell phones and ridiculous client emergencies exist there too.

So why haven’t I been looking at flights? “I want to make sure the New Year’s Eve party goes smoothly if Ellie’s still sick,” I tell Charlotte.

But I know that’s just an excuse. Ellie wouldn’t blame me for taking off. Why. Am. I. Staying?

“You’re a great friend,” Charlotte replies. She stands to leave. “Hey, Chef’s got dinner in the employee break room if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks,” I say. I’m not hungry, but what else do I have to do? My apartment upstairs is empty. Even my temporary kitten is gone.

Which reminds me . . .

“Hey, Charlotte?” I call. “Do you know where Jesse lives?”

Chapter 22

It’s super easy getting Jesse’s address from Charlotte. All I have to do is tell her that I want to visit Christmas, and she doesn’t even blink. Just grabs a notepad and starts drawing a map.

“Go down the lane, around the work barn, past the greenhouse, and to the right,” she says, scribbling a tiny arrow. “You’ll see it. You can’t miss it.”

“How far is it?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Fifteen-minute walk, maybe. You want to borrow Miller’s snowmobile?”