Page 130 of Snowed In

“Yeah,” I chuckle. “‘Cause that works out so well for me.”

He looks confused. Right. I’m not a comedian, and no matter that I’ve boarded the Ronny train, we still rarely see eye to eye.

Clearing my throat, I give him a parting smile and head for the front hallway. Time to grab my unsuitable coat and get out of here before I embarrass myself further.

“Do you have plans for the new year?” he asks, stopping near me in the entryway.

“No,” I mumble absently, spotting my coat on a wall hook. That’s not what has my attention, though. It’s the mirror next to the coat rack. A mirror frame I carved almost two years ago. I remember it because it was the first one I sold. The sales record from the craft mall said it was purchased alone… not with the coasters, or the coffee table, or Ronny’s front door. He’s been there more than once.

“Is this… from the craft mall?”

“Uh…yeah. I like to go in there.”

“It’s mine,” I blurt before I can stop myself. “I mean, it’s not minenow, obviously. It’s yours, but, well, I made it.”

Shit. Why did I admit that? Now, he probably won’t shop at my stall anymore.

“I know.”

He knows?

I stare. He stares back. Why does he look guilty? Why does he willingly shop at my stall?

“And… my coasters,” I mumble. “You have my coasters and a coffee table, and… your door…”

As I ramble, my face floods with heat. I have no right to accuse him of being a patron. I’m grateful for the business. I just can’t believe he knowingly supported me… for two years. You don’t support the business of someone you can’t stand.

Gaze darting to the floor, he scratches at his jaw. “I’m a fan. I love your work.”

“You…do?”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but then the corner of his mouth ticks up shyly. “I’m a fan ofyou.”

A fan of…me? As in Marshall Green? What does that mean?

“But… you hate me.”

He looks almost offended. Slowly, his head shakes. “No.”

“But… any time you’ve talked to me, it’s to give me shit.”

His jaw drops open, but nothing comes out. I won’t lie. I’d like him to deny it, but facts are facts. Has he had a change of heart?

“I… I never know what to say to you,” he lets out painfully, scrubbing a hand down his face. My God, is he nervous… because of me? “I just wanted to get your attention and make you laugh, but I always end up saying the wrong thing.”

“Fortwoyears?”

His handsome features bloom a deeper shade of red. I think I just stopped breathing. How is it possible that I’ve made a lumberjack god speechless?

“I know,” he blusters. “When it comes to you, I’m terrible with words, apparently,” he laughs breathlessly. “You just… make me so nervous, since the first day I saw you.”

Oh.

My.

God.

“You… you…”

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