“So late on the 23rdor midday the 24th.”
“Yes. It’ll be great, I promise. We’ll check the weather in the morning and I bet it’ll be fine.”
I nodded, not because I agreed, but because I was making peace with having no other choice. Best-case scenario, the weather would hold and our schedule would be impacted, but we would arrive in Maryland on the 23rd. Worse-case scenario, the snowstorm would hit, we’d be further delayed, and arrive on the 24th. Worst-case, we’d be hit with a blizzard and snowed in for days, my credibility with HEAT would be shot, and Lang’s boss would speak to my boss. Then I’d be on everyone’s naughty list, also known as the shit list.
CHAPTER 14
CARA
I’d broken something between us.
We’d spent the remaining hours of yesterday’s drive in silence. We’d checked into our average-looking hotel in the middle of a generic American town. He’d carried my luggage to my room door and bid me goodnight. I’d ordered room service and slept alone, and might as well have been making a solo trip for all I saw or heard of him until we met at the car at 8 a.m.
Today hadn’t been much better. Nick’s early morning weather check had confirmed our odds of avoiding a big snow event at about fifty-fifty. It didn’t help my growing guilt that the longest conversation we had consisted of Nick listing off more non-snow weather issues that could make the rest of our drive treacherous. Driving rain. High winds. Black ice.
We barely spoke for most of the drive, let alone flirted. I set the stereo to an early aughts station, which elicited a small, wistful smile from him but nothing more.
A couple of hours past sunset, I climbed a small hill, knowing what would be on the other side. “Almost at our destination,” I said.
Nick sat up straighter and gripped the pull strap like he was bracing for impact. That answered my unasked question about whether he’d researched the town when I’d sent him my itinerary. He hadn’t tried to talk me out of visiting the Christmas-themed tourist destination, but then again, for the first day-and-a-half of the trip he’d thought we were taking a different route, and for the past day plus, we’d barely spoken to each other.
At the top of the hill, a disc of glittering white lights rose out of the dark landscape. I took the highway exit and within minutes we were on a narrow two-lane road lined with billboards announcing our destination, as if the beacon of lights hadn’t made it obvious. As soon as we crossed into the town limits, the white lights were revealed to be in the shapes of snowflakes and stars lining every street. From quaint shops to more modern-looking chain stores, every business we passed sported green, white, and red decorations. Nearly every house, too, was decked out in festive holiday décor.
Candy-cane-striped poles with red wooden arrows, each listing a Christmas event or display, lined the main street through the ville. I didn’t need my GPS because the Claus Towne Inn was well-represented in the seasonal signage. We pulled up in front of the lodge shortly after six p.m. The online photo gallery hadn’t done it justice. It resembled a mountain-side ski chalet, complete with high-beamed ceilings and rustic chandeliers inside the welcoming lobby. And from the tasteful white lights outside to the crisscrossed colored lights, three decorated Christmas trees, and wreaths strategically hung on walls, doors, and even the reception desk inside, the inn was awash in holiday cheer.
I glanced sidelong at Nick, whose face was expressionless save for the tight clench of his jaw. A pang stabbed my gut because in our short time together, it had become clear that his loathing of the season wasn’t merely curmudgeonly annoyance. Whatever he held against the season was deeply personal and painful. I silently vowed to finish my morning photo shoot as quickly as possible so we—meaning, really, he—could escape as quickly as possible what must be a hellscape for him.
The owner, Buddy, was a grinning, beer-bellied, cherub of a man who could have passed as one of Santa’s jolliest elves. Nick was polite, if not exactly cordial to the innkeeper. He politely refused Buddy’s offer to help carry our bags to our rooms. Nick shoulders his own duffle and my overnight bag, and rolled my suitcase behind him onto the elevator. I followed with my large purse slung across me and nothing in my hands like I was helpless. Or a lost cause. I hated thinking Nick believed either of those things about me.
Nick left my bags with me on my room doorstep and bid me goodnight He disappeared down the hall. Once again, he made no mention of sharing dinner or spending time together. Not so much as a joke about meeting for breakfast. I carried my bags the rest of the way into the room and collapsed onto the bed. I was exhausted, hungry, and needed a shower. But I couldn’t motivate myself to move.
Fifteen minutes later I was still busy doing nothing when my phone pinged. Gabi and Summer had been checking on me regularly and complimenting me on my teaser posts I’d been putting on social media, but tonight I didn’t have the energy to text them back. I turned my phone over on the night stand and crawled under the covers. A minute later, there was a knock at the door.
“Who is it?”
“Cara, it’s Nick. I texted but you didn’t respond.”
I climbed out of bed and hurried to the door. I peered through the peep hole. His hair was slicked back like he, too, had decided to take a second shower of the day, but he’d followed through on it. And he was wearing dark jeans and a white button-down shirt and looked so, so good. If things had gone differently for us, maybe he would have shown up outside my apartment door one day looking like this, to pick me up for a date.
He pressed his hand against the door and spoke softly. “I was hoping you’d join me for dinner. There’s a bar and restaurant next door.”
I opened the door, ready to flirt with him and teasingly ask whether he was asking me on a date. The serious look on his face stopped me. “What’s wrong?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing. Did you turn off your phone?”
I shook my head. “I thought it was Gabi or Summer and I wasn’t up for a chat.”
He nodded his head and let out a sigh. “I understand. Any chance you’d be up for a chat with me? I’ll throw in what the inn owner promises is a great dinner and passable wine. I owe you an explanation for the past day.”
“No, I owe you an apology. I wasn’t thinking. You have somewhere to be, and now I screwed it up. I’m really sorry.”
He reached toward me like he was going to stroke my hair. I waited for his touch, but he withdrew his hand. “I know you didn’t mean any harm, and we’ll figure it out. Come to dinner with me. Please?”
“I’d love to. But I’d also like to shower first. It won’t take as long as this morning because I won’t need to wash and dry my hair. You can wait in here if you’d like.”
A look I couldn’t interpret crossed his face. “How about I wait at the bar next door? I’ll order a cocktail for you. What was it you were drinking at Mason’s?”
“A margarita on the rocks.”
