Page 88 of Snowed Inn

His lips move over mine with the perfect amount of pressure—firm but slow, teasing yet demanding. My hands find his chest, sliding up over the smooth lapels of his jacket, and then I’m fisting the fabric because holy hell, this kiss. It’s deep and intoxicating and absolutely nothing like the sweet, restrained kiss I usually share with whoever I’m dancing with at midnight on New Year’s Eve. This is something else entirely. This is desire, coiled and controlled, finally released.

He angles my face up, deepening it, making me feel it all the way to my toes.

We are in public. We should stop. I should pull away. It’s risky doing this in front of the entire town. The Hot Sheet is gonna spin this into a three-part exposé with blurry photos and unnecessary emojis.

But I can’t stop.

“Damn!”

Charlotte’s voice cuts through the moment like a blade, and I yank myself away from Jesse, blinking as reality crashes back in.

I turn to see her mouth shaped in a giant O. “I saw that,” she says, hands hovering near her mouth like she’s not sure whether to gasp or giggle.

I touch my fingers to my lips, still tingling from Jesse’s kiss, and try to form words. Any words at all.

Jesse’s mouth curves, slow and unapologetic, like he knows exactly what he’s done to me.

And then, low enough for only me to hear, he murmurs, “Happy New Year, Maria.”

Chapter 32

It’s two a.m., and I’m pacing. I never pace. Correction: I never paced until recently. I didn’t even know I knew how to pace, yet here I am, doing laps in my little attic bedroom like a woman on the verge of a breakdown.

The New Year’s Eve party? A total success. Ellie was ecstatic. The whole town had fun. The food was perfect, the drinks were flowing, and people will be talking about it for weeks.

So why am I up here spiraling?

Jesse.

I cannot stop thinking about him. More specifically, I can’t stop thinking about the two kisses we shared.

The first one? Absolutely scorching. It might’ve singed my soul.

The second? It somehow has wrecked me even more. The first kiss . . . was lust. The second one . . . was something else. The kind of kiss that could actually mean something.

I know I should get out of here. I need to board my flight tomorrow afternoon, go back to LA, and leave all this—including Jesse and his perfect lips—behind. We can’t work. Not when my whole life is in the city and his is rooted here in the orchard. Not when I’ve spent years clawing my way up in PR while he’s been busy brewing cider and fixing pipes. I cannot let myself go down this road. Just because Jesse kissed me at midnight like his soul was on fire doesn’t mean he wants more. Right?

Unless he does.

Damn it. Stop thinking about it, Maria!

To make matters worse, Luca is at a party in LA tonight and unavailable for texts. Because believe me, I already tried.

I force myself to sit, but I’m up in less than five seconds, pacing again because my brain will not shut up.

Would it be so bad if I went to Jesse? Just one night of fun. No strings. No expectations. Just—closure.

No. No. That is not a good idea. I need to leave this place with my two kisses and my dignity intact. Jesse and I can bounce back from two kisses. But sex? That’s a whole different game. That’s a level of intimacy that I am not prepared for.

Of course, the devil on my shoulder pipes up.

Would it really be the worst thing in the world?

It’s just one night. One potentially very, very hot night. We’re two consenting adults. We could enjoy ourselves, say a polite goodbye afterward, and—

I groan and rub my hands over my face, trying to shake myself out of this spiral. The only thing I know for sure is that I need to make a decision before I drive myself insane. Either stay here and forget about it, or—

I grab my coat and pull it on.