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“It’s time for me to move on,” I finally say. That’s true. I’m not a legal secretary. I was a teenage girl living her best and worst van life on social media, who happened to be in the right place at the right time—a coffee shop in Conception Ridge—when Jacob’s website crashed while he was working at the next table.
Little old me came to the rescue, because fixing websites is like breathing for me, and then he asked if I knew anything about email listservs. After I stopped giggling and told him that’s not what email management clients are called, he offered me a job if I could fix that for him as well.
Two years later, and my epic road trip all the way around the country is still on hold.
So I give her the Coles Notes version of me quitting—leaving out all the parts that feel private, like how it felt when we were alone in the office, and the way my stomach would flip-flop when Jacob brought me coffee in the morning because he’d asked me to come in early. I remembered to call him Mr. Lowe every time, didn’t slip on the name at all, and when I finish, I think I’ve done a good job of misdirection, just like Jacob did at dinner.
She doesn’t say anything, just lets me vent, then hands me a spoon for a taste test.
“A tiny bit more orange rind?”
She nods. “I agree.”
From the great room on the other side of the dining room, where everyone is decorating the tree, I hear raucous laughter, and I find myself listening for Jacob—Jake’s—voice in the mix.
I don’t know what bedtime is going to bring, or how I’m going to share a room with him all night when he’s clearly livid with me, but able to cover it up with scorching hot kisses.
I look at the blustering snow out the back window and contemplate racing out into the dark stormy night.
Nan hands me her flask. “Need this?”
“Why would I…?” I sigh, take a swig, then hand it back to her. “Thanks.” I pause. “It’s just…”
And then I trail off, because it’s too hard to explain.
She winks at me. “It’ll be fine.”
Oh, no, it won’t, but I can’t tell my grandmother that. It would dull her gloriously wild Christmas spirit.
“Sienna.” My heart leaps at the sound of my name in Jacob’s careful, deep voice.
I spin and see him in the doorway. “Yes?”
“Your mother says you like to put the star on the tree.” His brow is pulled tight, like he’s trying to make sense of what he’s seeing of my family and what he knows about me and my life back in Conception Ridge.
I swallow hard. “They like it,” I correct him. “Because I’m the youngest. The baby.”
Nana pats my hand. “Go. It makes them happy. And then take this young man upstairs and let him makeyouhappy.”
ChapterFour
JacobJake
Sienna gaspsat her grandmother’s shameless suggestion.
“I’ll do that at the first opportunity,” I promise. Then I catch her arm as she passes me. I lower my voice. “Seriously, if you want to turn in early, it would be understandable.”
Her eyes go wide. “With you?”
Yes, with me.
Why is every part of this confusing to her? It’s her ridiculous plan.
I’m just making the most of it.
Aware of her Nana behind us, I propel her forward, moving her across the dining room. “We’ll make the little bed work.”
She squeaks, which makes me smile.
