Page 11 of Snowed Inn

Luca’s face falls. “Hey, Ri, you okay?”

I force myself to smile. I will not put a damper on their holiday. “I’m good. Just wish I was there.”

Before he can say more, Mom swoops into the frame. “Is that my baby?” she cries, already holding the phone too close to her face. “Maria, sweetie, we miss you!”

Then Dad leans in from the side, still holding a carving knife. “Merry Christmas, peanut! You want us to FedEx some meatballs?”

Veronica and Jackie pop into view, squishing their faces together. “You’d better be wearing the matching pajamas we sent you!”

“I will be later,” I assure them. “They’re so cozy.”

The screen jolts as four little humans scream, “MERRY CHRISTMAS, ZIETTA MARIA!” in a chaotic, high-pitched chorus, then immediately start arguing over who gets to open the first present.

In the background, Nonna yells, “Luca! Find the remote! The pontiff is talking and I can’t hear a blessed word!”

“I’m on it!” Luca shouts over the din, diving off-screen.

I press my hand to my heart, laughing. My eyes sting. “You guys, I’m fine. Really. If the blizzard clears, I’ll try to come . . . tomorrow, maybe.”

“You’d better!” Jackie shouts.

“We saved you a cannoli!” one of my nieces yells, holding it up like a prized trophy.

“I love you all,” I say. “Go eat. Be loud. I’ll call again later.”

They blow kisses and shout goodbyes as the screen jitters and spins with everyone trying to wave at once. And then, just like that, the screen goes dark.

I sit there on the edge of my bed for a moment, the silence pressing in. Ugh. That was brutal. This is the first Christmas I haven’t been with my family. It’s also the first time I’ve regretted moving to New York. Normally, I adore my fast-paced life. I love that I don’t have to sit in hours-long traffic to get anywhere. I can just hop on the subway. But the weather here is keeping me from my family, so right now I hate everything about this coast.

All right. Enough moping. I take a deep breath and tuck my phone into my bag just as Christmas—the cat, not the holiday—jumps on my lap.

She looks like she’s slightly judging me, all huge eyes and— Oh, shit. She’s hungry.

Donny, jack-of-all-trades that he is, left a bag of kibble and a tiny bowl at my door earlier, so I shake a little dinner into it and set it beside her. “There you go,” I murmur. “Thank you for the reminder. I’m not exactly maternal.”

Clearly not one to hold a grudge, she digs in.

“I miss my family,” I admit to her. It feels good to say it out loud. And, staring at her as she chomps her meal, it hits me right in the heart like an arrow. She must miss her family too. Donny and I searched around the alley earlier for her mother or any kitten siblings. We didn’t find any. “I guess it’s kind of fitting that we’re together for the holiday this year, huh?” I ask her.

She doesn’t look up from her bowl.

“Don’t worry,” I assure her. “I’ll find you someone great to stay with. I promise.”

When I got back from the food barn earlier, Charlotte was behind the front desk, so I asked her if she could take Christmas. But Charlotte still lives in her parents’ house on the far end of the property and is pretty sure her dad will say no. She also mentioned that her boyfriend, Miller, is allergic. Still, I’m not convinced Ball Cap is the best I can do. There must be other choices.

I’ll think about it more later. Right now, I need to be around people. Time to make some new holiday memories—even if I’m doing it in a snowed-in inn with a guy who may erroneously believe I’m flirting.

I leave Christmas snuggled in a little blanket bed I made for her on top of the mattress. I also gave her a pair of rolled socks to play with, and if the amount of time she’s spent batting them around means anything, I’m pretty sure she loves them.

I change into a Christmas-Eve-appropriate dress and head down the stairs from the attic to the door that leads into the Lawsons’ apartment. There’s another door that leads outside but I’m not trying to go out into that blizzard again. I nearly fell over more than once on my way back from the food barn earlier.

When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I take a deep breath and knock on the door to the apartment. I may feel out of place but at least my dress is on point. It’s silver, sleek, and entirely impractical for winter—but worth every shiver. It hugs me in all the right places, its fabric catching the light like tinsel every time I move. The neckline dips just enough to whisper “festive” without screaming “sexy,” and the hem skims mid-thigh, which means my legs are doing all the heavy lifting tonight. It’s bold, it’s dazzling, and it’s exactly the kind of armor a city girl like me needs when facing small-town flannel.

“It’s open!” El calls out, sounding downright merry.

I turn the knob and step inside and I immediately feel a little better.

It’s a winter wonderland in here. There’s a big Christmas tree in the living room, twinkling with white lights. A ceramic Christmas village is staged upon the mantel. Stockings hang above the roaring fireplace. Poinsettias and wreaths fill the space, and a string of gingerbread people is strung across the window.