Taking a look at the number, I match the door and crack it open. My mind is already running through a checklist of things to look out for, but Ellie’s quick to notice the main issue from the start.
Her cheeks flush a delightful, devastating pink as she abandons her luggage and stares at the single bed. It’s large, but it is undeniably, unequivocally one bed.One bed.
She doesn’t have to voice her concern; it’s written in the slight part of her lips, the wide-eyed glance she throws my way. My own heart gives a traitorous, painful thump against my ribs. The air in the room is suddenly too thick, too warm.
What should I do? I’m a problem solver, but this isn’t a problem I want to solve.
“I can say something.” The offer is automatic, the lie of a gentleman. My feet are rooted to the floor, my entire being screaming in protest at the idea of giving this up. We mustlook like a couple. The thought is enjoyable enough to make me forgive the mix-up.
“No, no. This is fine. I feel lucky that he had rooms at all. I don’t want to risk losing what we already have.” She falls back onto the mattress with a soft groan, a sigh that seems to travel straight through me.
Play it cool, Charles. Act like the thirty-one-year-old you are.
“You’re sure you’re alright? I’m sure this town has a clinic or a hospital—” The worry is real, a constant, humming undercurrent beneath the riot of other emotions.
She lets out a surprised laugh that feels like sunshine. “I’m fine. I’m more worried about you. The gala, Charles. What are we going to do?”
Stepping toward her, I don’t sink down next to her like I want to. I cling to the last shreds of my control, standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her without taking that one last step.
“Don’t worry about the gala.” I rub the back of my neck, my eyes drifting to the window where the snow continues its silent, relentless fall, trapping us here in this perfect, terrible, wonderful intimacy. “Why don’t we take advantage of the situation?”
Her mouth purses, her doubtful eyes meeting mine. “Take advantage, how?”
The plan forms instantly, a way to keep her with me, to build a new memory over the old ones. “Well, we’ve secured a place to stay. That’s the most important bit. Why don’t we go and see what this town has to offer?”
Pulling out my phone, I swipe away Francine’s suffering responses, pleading with me to change my mind so they can leave her alone. I will make it up to her. I will pay for her next vacation. Whatever she wants to keep her from giving her notice.
Right now, my only mission is to find something that will make Ellie smile that genuine smile again. I spot a few shops I know she’ll love. “Come on. I want to look around.”
I leave no room for discussion. A sigh leaves her lips, but then it comes—the curve that always makes me dizzy. It steals the air from my lungs, making my chest feel too tight and too full at the same time.
I’ll handle the fallout later. I’ll increase Francine’s bonus until she sings carols. The gala no longer matters. Instead of a boring event, something much more exciting will replace it.
I’m going to be spending my Christmas winning over this woman.
I may not know how to charm a woman yet, but Ellie will help me learn what it takes to win her heart.
6
Ellie
The world outside the Snowcapp Inn is a silent, spinning dream.
I pause on the top step, my breath catching in my throat. The flurry has gentled into a steady, soft fall. Fat, lazy flakes drift down from a sky the color of a soft gray, settling on every rooftop, fencepost, and bare branch.
The entire street is blanketed in a thick, pristine white, and the only sounds are the distant jingle of a bell and the soft crunch of our boots on the freshly fallen snow. It’s like we’ve stepped inside one of those snow globes I collected as a kid. Perfect. Untouched.
And the guilt for loving it, for reveling in this beautiful disaster, is like a tiny, sharp pebble in my boot.
A part of me whispers that I’m a terrible person. Charles is missing a significant event, and we literally crashed our way into this situation. This is a crisis for him. A nightmare.
My guilt might feel more powerful if he showed even a little regret for everything that’s going down. Instead, he looks completely unaffected, somewhat smiling as we deal with this situation.
But as I watch him step out beside me, his broad shoulders dusted with snow almost immediately, the pebble of guilt is buried under an avalanche of pure, unadulterated wonder. Because this isn’t just a misfortune. This is my secret, snow-dusted fantasy come to life. Stuck in a quaint town on Christmas Eve. With a man who is someone, giving all of his attention to a nobody like me.
He turns, his gaze scanning the street before settling on me, his breath pluming in the cold air.
“The ice is our greatest enemy today,” he says, his voice a low rumble that competes with the quiet of the snow. He offers his elbow, a gesture that is old-fashioned and so utterly Charles that it makes my heart ache. “Hold on to me. I don’t want you to slip.”
