Page 48 of Snowed Inn

Though, after I got back to my room yesterday, I did text Luca.

ME: i almost kissed someone in a snowbank today. is that a symptom of hypothermia?

LUCA: depends. was he shirtless?

ME: no. but he was holding me. in the snow. there was almost a kiss. and then I got scared.

LUCA: 👀 another almost kiss? mr. flannel?

Me: yeah.

LUCA: good god. do it already.

ME: i want to. but i don’t know what I’m doing.

LUCA: u r being a human. we agostinis try it sometimes. u will be okay.

ME: what if next time there’s no shirt? 💯 six pack 🥵

LUCA: ooh, plot twist. keep me posted.

After that edifying exchange, I went downstairs and spent the afternoon helping Charlotte with inn stuff again. Luckily there weren’t any checkouts yesterday, and Mila was able to handle tidying all the rooms with her signature speedy efficiency. Meanwhile I was able to distract the snowed-in kids with stories of goat tackles and cookie-sheet sledding. There were lots of requests to borrow cookie sheets. I’m pretty sure Charlotte’s gonna hear from some unhappy parents at checkout. And possibly the insurance company.

This morning, I sit up slowly, wishing Christmas was on the pillow beside me. Jesse never told me where he lives and honestly, after working all afternoon, I forgot about it . . . again. But today I’m committed to visiting my kitten friend.

And there’s something else I’m committed to . . .

Before I can talk myself out of it, I reach for my phone.

I scroll past Monica’s senseless messages. Past the emails and alerts and reminders.

I go to Settings and tap Do Not Disturb.

Then I flick the little moon icon on.

Silence.

I take a deep breath.

It feels like rebellion . . . like swimming during a thunderstorm, or hitting reply all in a group text thread.

A tiny smile touches my lips.

I put the phone in the drawer and I go downstairs.

It still isn’t snowing, but I’m committed to sticking around and helping out until Ellie gets back. I ask Charlotte what she needs, and she doesn’t even blink. “The guests in these rooms?” She points at her clipboard. “Still not out. I could use your help to clean them once they are. Should be by noon.”

“Great,” I reply. “And in the meantime, what else can I help with?”

“Why don’t you go enjoy yourself?” she says with a bright smile. “This is supposed to be your vacation, after all.”

I cock my head to the side. Enjoy myself?

Fifteen minutes later, I’ve already fluffed all the throw pillows in the lobby, reorganized the brochures by color family, and stress-eaten three cinnamon rolls that were meant for the continental breakfast crowd. I’m not great at sitting still. Or, apparently, vacationing.

I need a distraction.

So when Jesse walks in, kicking snow off his boots, and casually announces he’s heading into town, I latch on to the opportunity like I’ve just seen a sale sign at Sephora.