Page 98 of Snowed Inn

I put my face in my hands. “El,” I moan.

“I need details.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Oh, but I do.”

I groan and drop onto the couch, rubbing my temples. “It was so good.” Lying is pointless at this stage.

Ellie gasps, dramatically grabbing a throw pillow like she needs emotional support. “I knew it!”

I glare. “Can you not sound so smug about it?”

“Oh, no. I earned this,” she says, hugging the pillow like it’s a trophy. “So, what’s the problem? Why are you freaking out?”

I groan again, dropping my head back. “Because he stayed.”

Ellie frowns. “You didn’t want him to stay?”

“We cuddled!” I nearly sob.

“And?” Ellie’s staring at me like I make no sense. And I’m pretty sure she’s right.

“And I don’t do that,” I say, sitting back up. “I don’t do the whole morning-after, let’s-snuggle-and-talk thing. But Jesse stayed. And we talked. And then we had sex again. And now my brain is spiraling because I never freak out about sex—but I am freaking out about sex with Jesse.”

She’s smiling so wide, I half expect her to pull out popcorn and demand a play-by-play.

“You like him,” she singsongs.

“I do not,” I snap. “I mean—I do, but that’s not the point.”

She tilts her head. “So what is the point?”

“The point is, this was supposed to be casual,” I say, waving my hands in the air. “I said so . . . last night. But then, we spooned. Spooning isn’t casual. And here I am, hiding at the front desk because I don’t know how to face him.”

Ellie gives me a sharp-eyed, knowing look. “Maria.”

I sigh and return her look. “Eleanor.”

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches me. And for once, she isn’t teasing. “Did you ever think maybe it wasn’t supposed to be casual?”

The words land hard, like the quiet settling of truth I’ve been trying not to hear.

This time I grab a couch cushion for emotional support.

“I hate that you said that,” I murmur.

“But you heard me.”

“I think I care more than I wanted to,” I whisper. “And now I don’t know what to do with that.”

Ellie shifts closer. “You don’t have to know yet. You just have to stop pretending it didn’t mean something.”

I swallow hard. The words stick.

We sit together for several moments. The silence stretches between us—not uncomfortable, just full. Maybe that’s what I’ve been avoiding. Not the feelings themselves, but the space they take up when I let them in.

I draw in a slow breath. Let it out.