Page 25 of Snowed Inn

I take a sip of martini and arch a brow. It’s the perfect time to give him a little hell. Just for old time’s sake. “Who says I’ve forgiven you?”

I try for a smile but feel an ache rise in my chest. Jesse studies me for a beat, then looks me straight in the eye. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. I was kind of an ass to you when we first met.”

That makes me blink. “Kind of?”

He smiles sheepishly and wrinkles up his nose. “Okay, fine. Full-on ass. I had a . . .” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. The fact is, you didn’t deserve that.”

I nod. “That’s true. I didn’t.”

“I know,” he says. “And I’m sorry.”

He’s mesmerizing me with his eyes. I’ve always had a thing for blue eyes and his are particularly hooded and assessing and . . . oh God . . . intelligent. I nod slowly. “Thanks for saying that.”

“So?” The edge of his mouth lifts, more heat than humor behind it. “Truce? Officially?”

I circle the rim of the martini glass with my holly-red gel-manicured nail and flash him a smile. “A whole truce? That’s asking a lot, isn’t it? In addition to forgiving you?”

He side-eyes me and cocks a brow. “Come on, you have to forgive me. I’m cooking you dinner.”

My smile grows even bigger. “You also made me a very good martini.”

“Thank you. Just so you know, the martini is probably better than the dinner will be.”

I laugh. “Then maybe I need another martini, so I won’t notice the taste.”

“That I can do.” He winks at me and honestly, I’m glad I’m sitting because my knees go weak. Damn it. Why am I always attracted to the wrong guy? It’s quite clear to me. The fact that I’m attracted to Jesse proves he’s wrong. And yet, here I am picturing him backing me up against the nearest wall and—

Nope. No. That sort of thinking is not cool. Besides, it’s Christmas. And I’m Catholic. Or at least I was raised Catholic. I shouldn’t be thinking about sex. I should be thinking about . . . I don’t know . . . Baby Jesus’s birth? Would Baby Jesus approve of the martini I’m drinking? Oh, great. Everything I’m doing right now is probably sacrilegious.

Jesse presents me with another martini and another wink.

Shit. Why is his smile so devastating?

I narrow my eyes. “You think you’re charming, don’t you?”

He barely bites his lip. “I know I’m charming.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t push it, Ball Cap.”

The kitten is hopping along the floor without a care in the world. I watch her and laugh. Jesse laughs too as he continues to prep the meal.

I’m three-fourths done with my second martini when he brings our plates to the table, then returns with a small white bowl.

He sets it down.

I gasp.

The cranberry sauce is still in the shape of the can.

“Oh, my God,” I whisper.

Jesse pauses. “What? Oh, sorry about that. I should have stirred it.”

“No. This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” I practically have heart eyes.

Jesse bursts out laughing. “Wait—you actually like it like this?”

“Of course! My family always had canned cranberry sauce growing up. It looked exactly like this.”