Page 2 of Unholy Night

As I wrestled my suitcase off the baggage carousel, I swear I heard her yell skol a few more times.

And this is how I dealt with breakup number three—in the back of an Uber with a flask of whiskey I bought at the gift shop as I headed to a cute bed and breakfast by myself on Christmas Eve. I think I’ve reached a new low.

“You’re lucky you made your flight, miss. This storm is about to sweep away half the eastern hemisphere. I bet your family is gonna be really happy to see ya.”

Oh, a chatty driver. Great.

“What’s our ETA?” Family? What are we besties?

He narrowed his eyes at me in the mirror and cleared his throat. “Right. Well, there’s a lot of ice on the road so I gotta drive slowly. Should have you at the Briar Patch in about an hour.”

I sighed and leaned my head back against the leather seats. All I wanted was a hot shower, more whiskey, and a good night’s sleep. The cute old lady, whose picture was on the website, assured me I would have all of those things for the weekend.

The sleep part would be the challenge. Ever since Jake left me, I hadn’t been able to close my eyes for more than a few hours. It wasn’t that I was particularly heartbroken. He chewed with his mouth open and was rude to restaurant servers.

No. He wasn’t the one. I knew that. It was the rejection. The tale as old as time of Easton Radleigh getting less action than the characters in her books. The sad fact that I could write beautiful love stories while my own love life was a fucking disaster.

I took another swig from my flask as the Uber driver eyed me. “It’s juice.”

“It’s noon,” he muttered under his breath.

Fuck. Just let me have my juice. It’s not like I’m driving for fuck’s sake. “I know what time it is, thank you.”

We drove in silence the rest of the way. I pressed my face to the window, the cool glass felt amazing on my cheeks, I was kind of drunk, and gazed out at the abomination of nature. It’s not that I hated the outdoors. The outdoors hated me. It was beautiful though. Still and peaceful and untainted by society. That’s why I chose this place. It was just far enough in the middle of nowhere that I wouldn’t be tempted to do anything stupid. Like crawl into bed with some wall street executive with martini breath and a pinky ring.

The snow fell harder as we pulled into what looked like a town. There were a few streetlights flickering, rusty tin signs flapping in the wind, and a few buildings that looked like they were abandoned in the ice age.

The car slowed to a stop in front of the only building with a light still on. Oh, did I say light? Let me rephrase. LIGHTS. Like a million of them. All red and green and strung around every inch of the place like it was being suffocated by Saint Nick himself.

Fuck me four times.

“Um, where the hell are we?”

The driver rolled his eyes. I saw his fucking eyes roll at me in the mirror. “Your destination. The Briar Patch Inn.”

The pictures online showed it to be more of a Gothic baroque style Victorian with charm and pizazz. A place I pictured sipping mimosas at on their French patio. No. This was the makings of a rest home for crazy cat ladies. Fuck. Now that I thought about it. That little old lady in the picture did have a cat on her lap.

The driver sprinted up to the front entrance with my luggage before I was even on the sidewalk. He must be a plant. Fuck him.

“Merry Christmas,” he muttered.

“Yup. Thanks.” Ugh. Whatever. I was not a monster. Not totally. I clicked on the app and left him an extra tip. The least I could do for making him deal with my bullshit. I couldn’t help it. I had zero filter.

I traipsed up the steps and almost fell twice, cursing at myself for wearing heels and not proper winter shoes. I still believed that people should dress up when they got on an airplane. Besides, I had no idea what proper winter shoes were. I mean Southern California gets its windstorms but we’re hardly walking around in snowshoes.

I pushed open the door to the inn and nearly fainted. My stomach clenched as I took in the sight. Well, as much as I could before I was almost blinded by all the twinkling lights. It was like someone had stuffed Christmas into a pinata and then broke it open violently.

I’m going to be sick.

“You lost, beautiful?” His voice was raspy like cigars and whiskey.

I turned toward the front desk to see a man. No. Like a fucking man. With the body of a god, if gods wore tight black T-shirts and jeans, had dark brown hair in an actual man bun, and green eyes that were somehow more piercing than the fucking Christmas lights that were making my stigmatism flare up.

He was behind the desk. Like he worked here. No, no, no. “Unfortunately not. I’m checking in.”

The man smoothed his hands over his abs, which appeared to not have a single ounce of body fat on them, and smirked. “Sure. Come on over.”

I stalked over to the desk and slammed my purse down. “Where’s the cute old lady from the photo? Where are the cats? I mean, you don’t even have a name tag.”

---