Page 104 of Snowed Inn

He turns back to the wall and my stomach twists.

“So that’s it, then?” My voice is hoarse. “You’re just gonna—what? Shut down? Push me away?”

“It’s like I said. I’m the guy you leave behind.”

“That’s not how I saw it.” I bite the words out. My eyes are burning, but I am determined not to let a single tear fall.

He turns, his expression hard. “Wasn’t it, Maria?”

“No.” My voice cracks on the word, and I hate how much it gives me away.

Jesse doesn’t say anything else. He just breaks eye contact.

I nod, once. Sharp. Final.

“Got it.”

Then I turn and walk out.

He doesn’t stop me.

Five minutes later, I’m standing beside Donny’s hatchback, acting like my eyes aren’t glassy and my chest isn’t aching. Ellie sees right through me, of course. She pulls me into a hug and whispers something about how everything will work out the way it’s meant to.

I nod like I believe her. Like I don’t feel completely wrecked.

Donny opens the door, and I slide into the back seat.

“Ready?” he asks.

The lump in my throat says no.

My heart says no.

But my brain is screaming yes.

“Let’s go,” I say, pulling the door shut behind me.

I was only here for eight days.

But in those eight days, Jesse saw more of me than most people ever do.

And now I have to figure out how to forget him.

When I’m not even sure I want to.

Chapter 40

Three Days Later

Los Angeles welcomed me with its perfect, predictable seventy-degree weather, palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze, and not a single snowflake in sight. I should feel relief. I should feel at home.

Instead, I feel hollow.

I’m standing on my parents’ back patio, nursing a glass of red wine while my family bustles around the kitchen inside, preparing for tonight’s belated Christmas celebration. My nieces have already torn through half the presents I brought them—squealing over the cute outfits meant for their dolls, the glittery bags, and the limited-edition lip glosses that Monica helped me source. My mom is in full Italian matriarch mode, directing traffic in the kitchen while simultaneously telling my dad he’s chopping the garlic wrong.

It should feel perfect. This is what I wanted—what I missed so desperately during the blizzard.

So why do I keep checking my phone?