Page 55 of Snowed Inn

He shrugs, lips quirking. “Why mess with perfection?”

And damn it, the way he says it—calm, confident, unapologetic—makes something in my stomach flip. Since when is grilled cheese sexy?

I order a Cobb salad, and when we’re left to stare at each other, I decide it’s high time to get some answers out of Jesse. I know the exact question to start with. “So, you have a sister?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, drumming his fingers along the tabletop. “Carrie. She’s two years younger than me.”

“Are you close?”

He blows air into his cheeks and then out. “Not so much. Not anymore.”

Not anymore? I want to know more about that.

“What about you?” he asks. “You said you have a brother and two sisters?”

“Yep, and four nieces.”

“Oh, right. Wow. Big family.”

“My dad is one of eight,” I explain. I point to myself. “Catholic.”

Jesse nods. “Yeah? I kinda guessed that when you mentioned St. Agnes.”

“I don’t go to church or anything like that anymore . . . but don’t tell my nonna.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” he replies, smiling.

Our food arrives, and after we assure Layla we don’t need an order of tater tots on the house, I decide to press ahead. He’s a captive audience eating lunch with me, and I will get my questions answered or die trying.

“So, you mentioned wanting to open another bar sometime,” I point out.

“I did?” He glances around like he’s just been accused of a crime he vaguely remembers committing.

I tip my head and squint at him. “Come on, you know you did.”

He clears his throat and contemplates me for several moments, as if trying to decide whether he should admit it. “Okay, yeah. I’ve thought about opening another place,” he finally admits. “Here in town.”

“You mean like another cider brewery?” I say.

He smiles and it does something funny to my insides. “No,” he says. “Something different. A nonalcoholic place, actually.”

I tilt my head, trying to process. “Like serving mocktails?”

“Yeah, and I want to start my own line of nonalcoholic beers and ciders too.”

“That sounds terrific,” I tell him. And I mean it. “The sober curious movement is gaining a lot of traction these days.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. The economy is kinda shaky. And—”

“Do you have a name picked out for the place?” I grin from ear to ear.

He bites his lip in that way that makes me glance away and shake the dirty thoughts from my mind. “Yes,” he says.

I lean forward. “Tell me.”

“The Mockingbird.”

I immediately smile again. “That’s absolutely perfect.”