Page 29 of Snowed Inn

Sera laughs. “Sure.”

Jesse and I avoid each other’s eyes, while Charlotte and Sera exchange a knowing look that I do not care for.

I sip my hot chocolate. This stuff better not be a real love potion.

Either way . . . I am so screwed.

Chapter 9

By the time Charlotte and Sera bundle themselves out the door with their cocoa tray and their suspicious glances, the apartment feels quieter. Too quiet.

Apparently, a few of the snowed-in guests were starting to get that antsy, trapped-on-a-cruise-ship glint in their eyes, and someone had to go oversee emergency Christmas caroling in the parlor.

It’s just me, Jesse, and the tiny ball of fluff batting her paw at the collar of his flannel shirt. I am slumped on the sofa and it’s the second time today I haven’t felt the buzz of urgency behind my ribs. It makes me wonder—have I ever really been still before? Or have I just been busy? And not the good kind of busy, the answering-Monica-Moss’s-latest-faux-emergency busy.

Jesse cradles the kitten against his chest. His rough hands look ridiculously gentle holding something so small, and I feel my insides do a flip I absolutely do not approve of.

The peppermint martini buzz has worn off so I can’t even blame that. Though there is a lingering cocoa sugar high.

“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “Guess it’s time.”

Jesse shoots me a quick, puzzled look. “Time for what?”

I gesture at the kitten, who is currently trying to gnaw on his fingertip like it’s her life’s work. “Time for me to do the responsible thing and let you take her. You’re clearly smitten, and I really can’t keep her.”

He smiles. It’s slow and devastating and makes me regret every bad thing I’ve said about him. “Smitten with a kitten. Don’t tell anyone or it’ll ruin my image.”

I roll my eyes, but my heart gives a painful squeeze. “I mean it, Jesse. You have to promise me you’ll take good care of her. Clean litter box. Shots. No forgetting to feed her when you’re brewing your latest cider.”

He looks straight at me, blue eyes serious now. “I promise. I’ll take good care of her.”

For one suspended second, I believe him, and I’m at peace with my decision.

Then he ruins it by adding, “But her name is Eve now.”

I scowl. “What?”

“Eve,” he repeats with an infuriating shrug. “You found her on Christmas Eve, right? It fits.”

I groan. “Of course it does.”

Fine. He keeps her. He names her. But in my head, I know she’ll always be Christmas. My Christmas.

I pet her, our fingers brushing, and for one wild second I wish we’d done this under the mistletoe. The thought sneaks up on me and makes my heart beat faster.

As if he can read my mind, Jesse studies me with that quiet intensity he has sometimes, like he sees too much. Then he glances down at the kitten. “Girls like you don’t usually stick around with guys like me. Learned that lesson early,” he nearly whispers. “But this time . . . it’s for keeps.”

The edge under the words makes me freeze. He was looking at the kitten but somehow, I know those words were really meant for me. He’s opening up. A little. I want to ask what he means, who didn’t stick around, but I can’t quite make my mouth cooperate. Instead, I just stare at him, feeling something sharp and tender twist in my chest.

“So, where do you live?” I ask, mostly to keep myself from tearing up at the thought of giving my kitten away. “I want to come visit her while I’m here.”

“No worries,” he replies a little too quickly. “I’ll bring her to visit you here at the inn.”

I want to press him. To insist I inspect her future living conditions. But something tells me he really doesn’t want me to see where he lives for some reason. Which, of course, only makes me more curious. I’m about to open my mouth and demand his address.

He must notice, because his smile softens. “Merry Christmas, Maria.” It comes out warm, low, like a secret.

My throat tightens, and I decide not to press him. Not tonight. Not while our truce is so new. Instead, I whisper back, “Merry Christmas, Jesse.”