Page 100 of Snowed Inn

The second the words leave my mouth, I feel them settle between us like ash.

He doesn’t respond right away. Just stares at me like he doesn’t recognize the version of me standing in front of him.

And honestly, I don’t either.

My stomach lurches, shame curdling in the back of my throat. I didn’t have to say it like that. I didn’t have to say it at all. But the weight of last night is still wrapped around me like something dangerous. Something I’m not ready for.

So I do the only thing I know how to do when I’m cornered.

I pretend it didn’t matter.

Even if part of me already knows that’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told.

I dare a glance at him and he’s studying my face as if he doesn’t quite believe me. Oh God. I need to make him believe.

I swallow and avert my eyes, pointing back toward the lobby. “I should go. Ellie needs me.”

Ellie, of course, does not need me. But I can’t stay here in this room with him. Not when the silence between us feels thick with things I’m not ready to admit. If I stay, I’ll fall into his arms and say something I won’t be able to take back.

Something true.

“Okay, then,” he says.

His voice is flat. His face, unreadable. But the space between us fills with everything he isn’t saying. And it makes something sharp twist in my chest.

“See you around, I guess.” This time there’s something in it—anger, yes, and hurt too. Definitely. And underneath both . . . disappointment. So quiet and clear it’s like hearing a whisper instead of a shout. But no less obvious.

I start to reach for him. Instinct, maybe. Or hope. I want to tell him to give Christmas an extra treat for me. I want to tell him the Mockingbird is going to be incredible. That he’s going to be incredible. That being with him cracked something open in me I didn’t even know was closed. That I felt . . . safe. Seen.

But none of those words make it past my lips.

Besides, they’d only drag this out. Make it harder. Make it real.My hand curls, then drops back to my side, heavy and useless.

I say nothing.

He hesitates just long enough that I almost believe he might turn back. Then the door opens. Closes. The sound echoes more than it should.

The second he’s gone, I lean against the counter, pressing both palms to my face.

“Jesus, Maria,” I whisper.

I count to fifty before moving, needing to make sure Jesse is long gone before I step back into the lobby.

I straighten my sweater. I lift my chin.

When I finally return, Ellie’s eyes lock on me like heat-seeking missiles. I shake my head, just slightly. A warning. Not now.

She gets the message—barely—and turns back to help the last guests checking out. I duck behind the counter and almost collapse on top of it.

God. I’m the worst. I didn’t just shut Jesse down—I iced him out like he meant nothing.

Pumpkin shifts on the dog bed beneath me, letting out a sigh so loud it feels personal. I glance down. The pug is judging me. Of course he is. I grimace. “You’re wearing orange in December,” I murmur. “Let’s not throw stones.”

Ellie finishes up and strolls over like she’s got all the time in the world to ruin mine. She leans against the desk, arms folded, expression loaded.

“So . . . you wanna tell me what that was?”

I don’t look at her. “Nope.”