Page 60 of Snowed Inn

Christmas is sitting on the couch next to an open book. I step over to her and pick up the book. “The Poetry of Emily Dickinson?”

Jesse shrugs. “I’ve been reading it to her at night. She likes it.”

Oh, my heart. He was talking to the kitten when I walked up. How cute is that?

I say hello to Christmas and take a seat. She hops into my lap and meows at me. “Do you like Emily Dickinson?” I ask her.

She meows again in what I’m convinced is the affirmative.

“I liked talking to Christmas too,” I say. “It made my room feel less lonely.” I hold the book aloft. “This is far more erudite than the conversations I had with her,” I continue. “We mostly talked about clothes and the weather.”

“I’m sure she enjoyed that too.” His mouth is a thin line.

I glance at the book again. “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul—and sings the tunes without the words—and never stops at all,” I read. “I didn’t know you like poetry.”

“I didn’t know you knew where I live,” he shoots back.

Ouch. I bite my lip. “I asked Charlotte. I hope you don’t mind.”

His only response is to move a stack of books off the stove and onto a table next to the couch. He obviously minds.

I bend my head to look at his profile. “Are you angry that I came out here?”

He turns to look at me. His face is blank. “I don’t invite much company here.”

“Why?”

He splays his hands toward the couch. “It’s not exactly luxury living.”

“It’s cute,” I say.

“You don’t have to lie, Maria.” His voice is low.

My head snaps up. I frown. “I don’t lie.”

He sighs. “It’s just . . . I’m not particularly proud of living in an old RV,” he says. “But money’s tight right now. I’ve been saving every dime in case I decide to go ahead with the new bar.”

“I get it.” I stand up and turn around, contemplating the space. “Would you believe that my place in the city isn’t much bigger than this?”

His head jerks up. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. It’s tiny and very expensive.”

“That part I believe,” he says. “When I lived in the city, I had five roommates.” He scrubs the back of his neck again, which is something I’ve noticed he does when he’s anxious. Next, he splays his hand open in a wide arc, motioning to the whole interior, like he’s bracing for judgment on his shoebox-size life. “Well, now you know a secret about me, I suppose. We’re even.”

Oh, wait. He thinks this is comparable to my OnlyFans confession? Not even close.

“This place is not embarrassing, and therefore we are most definitely not even,” I quickly inform him. “I actually think it’s smart to save money on housing.”

His eyes immediately narrow as if the word smart took him by surprise. “I guess that’s one way to put it,” he says with a shrug. “Would you like something to drink?”

I perk up like he just offered me table service at a rooftop lounge. “Got a full bar out here?”

“Nope. It’s mostly just water. I think I might have some ginger ale.”

“No, thanks.” The last thing I want to do is give him another dish to wash. He gets a glass of water for himself, though, while I slide back onto the couch with Christmas. She hops on my lap again and curls into a ball and starts purring. I pet her tiny back. “I’ve missed this little girl,” I murmur.

“Yeah, well, I’m already in love with her so you can’t have her back,” Jesse informs me. “But I guess you can come visit her, whenever you want.”