Page 79 of Snowed Inn

My breath catches.

Before I can even think of a witty retort, he takes another step forward—so close now that the air between us feels charged, like a live wire snapping between our bodies.

“Like I said,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous, “you didn’t force me to do anything. And if we kiss again, it’ll be because we both want to.”

Damn.

I am fighting every instinct not to lean in. My fingers curl into fists inside my mittens. He’s right.

I do want it. I want him.

But I can’t. I won’t.

I shake my head, needing distance, needing something to break the tension before I do something I’ll regret. “What I’m trying to say is—”

“What you’re trying to say is, you wish you hadn’t enjoyed it so much.” His gaze drops to my lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up to meet mine.

My breath stalls.

He shrugs. “I tried to warn you.”

I open my mouth, ready to argue, but he’s not done.

“You’re also trying to tell yourself that we have an inn to run and a party to throw tonight, and we should focus on that.” His voice is calm, confident, and sexy as hell. “Yeah, you’re right. But let’s get one thing straight.” He leans in, his breath warm against my chilled skin. “If I get another opportunity to kiss you when you’re sober? I just might take it.”

I am going up in flames.

Jesse finally takes a step back, giving me just enough space to breathe again. He hoists the bag of cookies over his shoulder. “I need to drop these off with Charlotte.”

I nod, barely hearing him. My brain is still short-circuiting from his words, from his proximity, from all of it.

But then—

“I’m gonna check out a potential bar space downtown after,” he adds casually, like we didn’t just have this intense, life-altering moment. He tilts his head, eyes meeting mine with something mischievous.

“You wanna come with me?”

Chapter 29

Thirty minutes after Jesse issued his very serious “if we kiss again, it’ll be because we both want to” declaration, I am sitting in the super old truck, staring out the window, wondering what the hell I am doing.

I am not thinking about kissing Jesse. I am definitely not thinking about the way his hands felt when they framed my face. Or the way his lips molded against mine. Or the way his tongue—

Nope. Not helping.

Instead, I am focusing on the bar space we’re heading toward because that is what matters right now. I was a little surprised to hear he was checking out a space so quickly, but in a totally good way. This is his dream. I am only tagging along to help him brainstorm ideas, not to lose myself in his stupid blue eyes or his stupidly strong jawline or his stupidly good idea for a bar.

“If I decide to take the space, my friends say they’ll come out next month to start work,” Jesse says as he turns onto the highway toward town.

“That soon?” I blink, impressed.

“Yeah. My army buddies are great guys, and dreams don’t make themselves come true.”

I let out a low whistle. “Emily Dickinson?”

He chuckles. “Not that I know of.”

I smile at him but let my gaze drift out the window again. The town is as charming as ever—snow still lining the sidewalks, twinkly lights strung between lampposts. But this time, instead of stopping in front of Layla’s Diner like before, Jesse pulls into a spot at the farthest end of the block.