Page 120 of Snowed In

Aaand there’s the Ronny I know. I was trying to be civil, and this is what I get—another veiled dig about my dating method choices.

“No, I meant, what do you do for the holidays?”

“Christmas at my mom and dad’s. All my brothers, nieces, and nephews. Total chaos.”

That sounds like Ronny’s MO—a room full of shenanigans and sarcasm. It’s a healthy reminder that last night’s brief displays of tenderness that drove me into fantasyland were onlySnowholmSyndrome. He said he’s ‘happy to be back.’ Why the hell does that bother me? It’s not like our cabin caper meant something.

Silence stretches between us, constricting my throat as the night’s events flash through my mind. I am not apologizing for my actions. If I apologize, I’m acknowledging what happened, which will surely lead to him giving me shit about it for the rest of my career at Sal’s.

Nodding an awkward goodbye, I slip into my car, willing away the odd sensation in my belly. Is it just me or has his smile changed? It’s not the smirky smile he always gives me. It looks…forlorn. I must be imagining things. When his broad back rounds the front of my car to get into his truck, a sense of longing deep in my chest compounds the further away he gets.

Get a grip. It’s Ronny.NotLumberjack.

Stupid holidays, making people feel lonely. Even worse, I’m going to be the talk of Christmas as soon as Mom spills the beans about my ordeal. I’ll no doubt have to hear some tale about how Trentclimbed Mount Everest or something with only a Swiss Army knife and a granola bar.

Backing out, I head home, determined to believe the last twenty-four hours didn’t happen. That proves difficult with Ronny’s truck in my rearview for half the ride. At least, I’m no longer cold. Not cold at all. Just the opposite… to the point of discomfort each time I glance at the rearview. I’m going to have a serious talk with my dick when I get home.

Chapter Six

Iknow I should head inside and get ready for Christmas dinner, but the serenity of my wood shop is making it difficult to face my future. The wood doesn’t judge me.

Tracing my finger over the design I carved, I feel a proud smile on my face. This coffee table is shaping up nicely. I can’t fit many large items in my craft stall at a time, but each one I put up for sale there has sold, so I’m trying to be better prepared for next year by having replacements ready to go. With a last wistful look at my tools, I turn my radio off and breathe in the calming scent of lumber, hoping it will get me through the next few hours.

I lock up and trek back to the house. Pulling out my phone, I bring up theHolidateapp and let out a soft laugh. To think I was glued to this thing a few weeks ago. Now, I’m only checking it as an afterthought to see if mynewdate canceled. I haven’t looked at it since I noticed a notification two days ago that I had a request. I’d meant to deactivate my profile, or at the very least, change my status to ‘Unavailable’ after Henry ditched me.

I can’t say I feel as dire a need to impress my cousin with a fake boyfriend as I did when I first downloaded the app—cabin epiphanieswill do that to a man, I guess—but when I saw the notice that ‘Vincent’ was available to accommodate my request at the last minute, I found no reason to decline. What can it hurt?

With a renewed sense of confidence, I step into my bathroom. Look at me, taking someone to my relatives’ house without having a pre-date first. Ronny would be speechless.

My hand stills on the shower faucet handle. Why does that man keep popping into my head? He’s been my constant companion since our night at the cabin. When I got in my car yesterday to go to the store, I thought about the way his smile looked after the plow driver dropped me off. When I picked up my saw off my wood bench, I thought about the crease he gets in his brow when he’s concentrating at work. I couldn’t watch TV without wondering whathewatches. And I don’t even want to admit what I’ve thought about him while lying in bed at night. Lumberjack is missing, and his stand-in really needs to move on.

I’ve gone from fantasizing to daydreaming. This can’t be healthy.

So, he’s attractive and… wasn’t awful for a few hours. I’m sure it’ll pass. I have all winter for it to pass. People don’t daydream about their annoying co-workers. And with any luck, Vincent will be more attractive than Ronny.

Stepping under the hot water, I ignore the voice in my head. The one that whispers, ‘Doubtful.Highlydoubtful.’

An hour later, I’m clean-shaven and as prepared as I can be for the Green family Christmas. I straightened my cowlick to the best of my ability. My navy plaid button-up is a defiant attempt at not appearing too festive. You don’t want to outshine anyone who shows up in matching monogrammed sweaters, after all.

I have approximately fifteen minutes before Vincent arrives. Pausing, I stare at myself in the hallway mirror. I know this is just a helpful arrangement between two strangers, but a flicker ofspontaneity has me turning back for my breath mints. What if we hit it off? Stranger things have happened.

A knock at the door has me nearly jumping out of my skin. He’s early.

Promptness. I like him already.

Opening the door, I prepare a welcoming smile. It shatters like an icicle crashing to the pavement at the sight on my doorstep.

“You,” I blurt, not caring that it sounds like an accusation.

It is. Why is the lumberjack killer on my porch? And, my God, he cleans up well in that snug green sweater.

Ronny’s cheerful smile falters on a gust of breathless laughter. The sleeves of his thick black puffer coat make a swishing sound as he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Um, hello to you, too.”

Is he lost? Crap. How will this look when Vincent shows up?

“No, I mean, you can’t be here. I have a date coming.”

My face burns against the cool air flooding in. I’ve just confessed about yet anotherholidateto this man. “Wait. How do you know where I live, anyway?”

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