Page 50 of Pining for Christmas

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

We can’t linger here. The diner closes in a few hours, and then we’d be screwed.

Noelle squeezes my arm, not bothered by the gathering storm. I suppose she trusts me to keep her safe—an idea that is equal parts satisfying and alarming. “Why do you hate Christmas so much, anyway?”

“None of your business,” I rasp. And I’m being rude, being awful like always, but my fingers are clumsy from the cold and I’m fumbling for the car keys, marching us closer to our vehicle. Snow has already gathered around the tires, and there’s a lump of dread in my belly.

This does not bode well.

Need to get her inside. Need Noellesafe.

I wrench the passenger door open with my heart in my throat. “Get in. And don’t spill coffee in my car.”

Noelle

Idon’t watch many disaster movies. I’m too much of a wimp, and I cringe when anyone gets injured on screen. So I don’t have much to compare this sudden storm to, but in my mind, it’s like some B-movie blizzard thriller—one where the lead actors get trapped in a car at the side of the highway, and have to rely on their wits to survive.

Not good. I don’t have any wits! Not the kind you need to survive a blizzard, anyway. Because it wasn’t so bad as we left Aspen Ridge, just a few snowflakes and cold wind, but after forty minutes of creeping along a whited-out highway, I’mreallywishing we holed up in that diner until this storm blew over.

“Are we going to die?”

Reid is hunkered over the wheel, stiff with tension. “No.”

But it’s crazy out there, thick snow buffeting the car so hard it rocks, the twin lights of other vehicles nothing but dim, hazy orbs as they creep past in the other direction.

We’re inching forward, headlights on, wipers in a frenzy. My teeth chatter, either from nerves or the cold or both.

“We should have stayed in Aspen Ridge.”

Reid looks pained. “I can’t turn back now.”

“Can we stop somewhere?”

We’ll have to, right? We can’t inch our way back to the city throughthis.

Reid’s mouth flattens in a line, but he nods. “I’m going to take the next exit. There must be some farmhouse we can shelterin until the storm passes. With any luck, we’ll still be home tonight.”

“It’s like the universe is conspiring against us,” I say as our car drifts off the highway, creeping down the snow-battered exit. And I’m just rambling from nerves, fidgeting in my seat, but Reid gusts out a sigh.

“Hardly.”

“No, I’m serious.” Okay I’m not, but teasing Reid always makes me feel better, and I’ll take any distraction from this life-or-death storm. “Maybe the gods don’t want you to escape the Christmas cheer, Reid Merryweather.”

“The gods can eat shit,” he mutters, turning the wheel and guiding us gently around a bend.

Despite our current peril, I bite back a smile.

Out here in the wasteland between small towns, we could drive for ages before finding shelter. Fumbling my phone out of my pocket, I check for signal. Zero bars.

Better hope we don’t have an emergency, huh?

I burst out laughing.

“Calm down.” Reid squints through the swirling mass of snow. It’s getting dark out. “I’m going to fix this. Noelle? Stop laughing. You sound insane.”

Ifeelinsane. Giddy and jittery and scared. And when a building looms out of nowhere through the gloom, studded with festive lights and lit from below, I don’t feel any saner. This is like seeing an oasis in a dessert, right?

“The Mulberry Inn.” I read the sign out loud as Reid curses, wrenching on the wheel and turning us off the road toward the building, tires crunching through snow. We trundle up the winding driveway, both craning forward to stare at the miraculous inn.

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