Page 64 of Snowed Inn

Yes, I do want to know. I judged him hard that day because I was sick and tired of giving guys the benefit of the doubt for being assholes. “Go ahead, tell me.” I cross my arms over my chest, already convinced that there is nothing he could possibly say that will convince me he was within his right to be such an ass that day.

“When I came out of the back that morning,” he says, “I had just gotten a text from my mom that Carrie left rehab again.”

“Rehab?” I say the word as if I don’t know what it means.

“Yeah. She’s been in and out for years. That was at least her fourth try.”

The air has left my lungs like deflated balloons. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“No, Maria. I didn’t tell you that to get your sympathy. I’m still the one who should be sorry for being rude. I shouldn’t have let my personal life get to me so much. Especially not at work. I mean it’s not like I hadn’t been through it before.” He sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Every time, I hope she makes it, you know?”

“Of course,” I murmur. “Of course you do.”

“So, I’m sorry about my attitude the day we met. I was inexcusably rude. I apologize sincerely. I’d like it if we could declare a permanent truce.”

I’m staring at the rug wondering if I’ve ever heard such a heartfelt, sincere apology, or if I’ve ever known a guy to go from being on my shit list to making my heart do a backflip so fast. We all have bad days. When have I misjudged others or been misjudged due to a really awful day? It’s refreshing to meet a man who is so willing to own his shit and apologize. Not to mention a man who clearly loves his sister so much. It reminds me of Luca.

I press my hand to Jesse’s atop his thigh. “It’s okay. You’re entitled to a bad day. I’m sorry I just made it all worse.”

“So? Am I forgiven finally?” he asks, his eyes lighting up.

“Yes.” I nod, expelling my breath. “You are.” I smile too.

“Friends?” He holds out a hand to shake and I want to sob because honestly, I was hoping he was about to kiss me. Friends don’t kiss. Not the way I was very specifically imagining.

“Friends,” I repeat, still wanting to sob.

We shake. But the truth is, I don’t want a handshake. I want to grab his face and plant one on him.

Instead, I swallow the ache and smile. “Friends,” I echo.

For now.

Chapter 23

Jesse walks me back to the inn, like the hot, kind, decent man he apparently is. Honestly, at this point I’m starting to wonder if he’s even real or just a walking romance novel in flannel.

The minute I get upstairs, I jump on my bed and FaceTime Luca.

He picks up on the third ring, chewing something. “This better be good. I’m in the middle of an aggressive antipasto platter.”

“Define good,” I mutter. “I just got back from hanging out with Mr. Flannel. In his Airstream. Alone.”

A pause. “Airstream, eh?”

“Yeah, he lives in it.”

“Hey, at least it’s not a Winnebago. Did you kiss him?”

“No.”

Another pause. “But you still want to, right?”

“Not the point.”

“Oh, it’s the whole point. Spill.”

I sigh and roll onto my side, staring at the white Christmas lights twinkling outside the window. “I’m pretty sure I overshared. Then I leaned in for a kiss. He said something about us being friends. Nothing happened.”