Page 41 of Snowed Inn

I make a half-scoffing, half-dismissive cough-like noise. “I am fun.” The irony of having to declare my fun status while sitting on a couch like a lump is not lost on me.

Jesse gives me a slow, disbelieving once-over—the kind that says, Really? This is the hill you’re dying on? “Okay, when’s the last time you did something just for fun?”

I have to think about it for a beat too long. “I went for drinks at Topaz last week.”

His expression is painfully unimpressed. “What’s Topaz?”

I sit up primly, offended on Topaz’s behalf. “A new bar near Gramercy Park.”

He lets out a single, low whistle of mock awe. “Wow. Thrilling. Did you get your shirt wrinkled?”

A crease forms between my brows. “Why would my shirt get wrinkled?” He releases a slow, dramatic sigh—the kind meant to be theatrical, but there’s something softer underneath it, something that feels a little too observant. “That’s just it, principessa. I bet you can’t even remember the last time you did something fun enough to wrinkle your shirt.”

That lands harder than I want it to. My eyes narrow, partly at him, partly at the tiny spark of truth I refuse to admit. “First of all, I thought we agreed you were done calling me that.”

He grins, maddeningly sure of himself. “I’ll stop for good if you go sledding with me,” he says in a singsong voice that dares me not to smile.

And damn it, a tiny part of me wants to. Wants to forget the responsible version of myself for five minutes. Wants to do something reckless and cold and ridiculous with the man who somehow sees more than he should.

“Well, that’s tempting,” I mutter, because it is. And because I know he won’t quit until I give in. “Fine,” I huff. “But you also have to promise to stop commenting on my shirt, or any of my clothes for that matter.”

His grin deepens. “Deal. Meet me in back of the inn at sunrise.”

I raise a hand like I’m halting traffic. “Whoa, whoa—sunrise? What time even is that?”

But Jesse is already off the ladder and carrying it toward the door. He tosses his apple core in the trash as he goes . . . and honestly? Points for being tidy. As if I needed another reason to find him irritatingly attractive. Great. Add “responsible trash disposer” to the list.

It takes me a full thirty seconds after he’s gone for it to hit me, though—I just agreed to go sledding with Jesse Butler. And the worst part?

Based on the fluttery feeling in my middle, I think I’m actually looking forward to it.

Chapter 15

December 28

I am taking way too long picking out clothes for this little adventure. Which should be my first clue that I am in deep. Why do I care so much? It’s not like I’m dressing for a date. It’s sledding. With Jesse.

And yet, here I am, digging through the closet like I’m trying to unlock a secret compartment where I magically own the perfect sledding outfit. Nothing I brought is designed for actual snow. Hell, nothing I own is designed for actual snow. My wardrobe is made up of clothes that weren’t meant to survive anything harsher than an air-conditioned office, let alone soaked in melted frost.

Jesse’s definitely going to make fun of me. He’s probably already bracing himself for peak city-girl disaster. If he’s going to expect ridiculous, I’m going to give him ridiculous. I throw on waterproof boots (functional, but make it fashion), high-end yoga pants that were never meant to see real weather, a fitted T-shirt (cute, obviously), and a puffy jacket with a faux fur-lined hood that screams “ski lodge,” not “sledding hill.” If I’m going to be out of my element, I might as well commit.

I still can’t believe I agreed to this.

But the thing that really throws me off this morning isn’t the snow or the early hour, it’s realizing I miss my cat.

Okay. Not my cat anymore, Jesse’s cat. But Christmas used to watch me get dressed. She used to judge my outfit choices with those little knowing, blinky eyes. She’s gone, and so is her tiny water bowl. I hadn’t realized how much I liked having someone to talk to in the morning.

I’m going to visit her if Jesse ever decides to reveal his mysterious address. I’m asking him again today while we’re sledding. Persistence is a virtue.

I go down the stairs and out the back door. In the faint, early-morning light, I spot Jesse right away. He’s several yards away, parked on a snowmobile like he’s auditioning for “Arctic Bachelor.” His arms are crossed and he’s watching me like he’s been taking bets with himself about whether I’d actually show.

For the record, I was up before my alarm. I had to google what time the sun rises here. It’s right about seven a.m. Not awful, but—I’d rather still be in bed.

It has stopped snowing but a lot of good that’s going to do me. El and her inn need me so I’m not going anywhere until she’s back. I promised her last night when I texted to see how she was feeling.

Still not great, was her answer. Then she thanked me profusely for cleaning the rooms. Apparently, Charlotte told her all about it.

Don’t mention it, I replied. I’ll probably be dumped again someday and will need you to clean my bathroom.