Page 70 of Snowed Inn

“What’s up, Charlotte? Need any help?”

She gives me a patient smile and shakes her head. “Go out to the food barn, Maria. Have some cider! Enjoy yourself.”

Don’t think I haven’t considered it, but going out there would be a little too close to Jesse, who I pretty much want to maul at the moment, so I’ll stay here.

“Please let me help you,” I beg, bending at the knees and threading my fingers together like I’m praying.

It hits me then—Charlotte actually looks a little sad.

I’ve never seen Charlotte look sad before. She’s the happiest person I know. Seeing her sad feels . . . wrong. Like a golden retriever having a bad day. I pull up in the seat next to her. “You okay, Charlotte?”

“Yeah. Yes, of course,” she assures me, but her voice wavers a little.

The thing about perpetually happy people like Charlotte is that they stick out like knockoff Louboutins at Fashion Week when they aren’t happy.

“You seem a little down,” I tell her.

Her head bows and when she looks back up at me, there are tears in her eyes. Oh, shit. Something is wrong.

I glance around the lobby. No one is there. “Let’s go into the apartment and talk,” I tell her. “If anyone rings the bell, I’ll take care of it.”

Charlotte must be pretty upset, because she nods and immediately disappears into the apartment. I follow her. Pumpkin, that little main character, remains snoring in his bed.

When I enter the apartment, Charlotte is already curled up on the couch. “I’m sorry, Maria. I know you’re on vacation, but I really need someone to talk to. Someone who won’t tell my brother or my parents or Ellie, for that matter.”

I cross my heart with my finger. “I promise to keep everything that is said here completely secret.” She has no idea that she’s actually doing me a favor. Wasn’t I just asking the universe to send me someone to help? Mission accomplished.

“Thank you,” she replies.

I sit beside her and squeeze her hand. “What’s wrong?”

Charlotte takes a deep breath. “It’s Miller,” she begins.

“What did Miller do? I’ll kick his ass if—”

“No. No,” she hastens to add. “He didn’t do anything. It’s me. I’m the problem.”

It’s more difficult for me to help with a problem that involves talking. I’m more of a take-action sort. If Miller needed a smackdown, I’d be perfect for it. An emotional talk? That’s more El’s department. But I’m willing to try for Charlotte’s sake.

“What’s the problem?” I heard somewhere that asking open-ended questions is best for emotional talks. I seriously hope that’s true, because at the moment, it’s all I’ve got.

“I really, really like him,” she says with a long sigh. “Really.”

I give her side-eye. “I may not be a therapist, but I know when someone uses the word ‘really’ three times in a row, they’re probably trying to convince themselves of something that’s not true.”

Poor Charlotte’s face has the exact expression of someone who just found out her favorite mascara was discontinued. “No, really, uh.” She stops. I don’t have to point it out. It was her fourth really. We both heard it.

“I like him. I mean, he’s cute, he’s successful, he’s great to me.” She bites her lip.

“Buuuut?”

“But . . . why am I not in love with him?”

I’m pretty sure I know why she’s not in love with him. The whole inn does. Charlotte’s big crush on Sawyer is pretty much an open secret, but Charlotte has no idea everyone else knows. I wish she did, though, because I really want to ask her why—despite Sawyer working at the orchard for so long—the two of them have never gotten together. The guess is that Sawyer isn’t interested. But no one really knows for sure. I need to bring this up delicately. Too bad I’m not delicate.

“Can I ask you something personal?” I pause.

She nods.