Page 4 of My Accidental Valentine

We trudge through the snow and climb into the car without a word. The tension between us hangs heavy in the air, as visible as the white puffs of breath escaping into the cold. I fumble with the seatbelt, pulling my jacket tighter around me, shivering from a mix of awkwardness and the biting chill. Adam starts the car, and while it warms up, we just sit there in silence.

God, I wish Sean were here. He has a car too, and then I wouldn’t be stuck with Adam freaking Payne, who clearly hates me and is probably plotting to ditch my lifeless body on the side of the road on our way back.

I really need to say something before he actually does kill me—maybe try to clear the air and finally ask him what happened.

I rub my hands together and glance at Adam. He’s staring straight ahead, his face blank, and the anxiety bubbling in my stomach is almost unbearable. I have to make the first move—if I don’t, I’ll spend the whole weekend feeling like I’m walking on pins and needles.

“Listen,” I start.

But at that exact moment, Adam turns to me and says, “I can turn on the heated seat if you’re cold.”

We both fall silent, just staring at each other.

“What?” he asks.

“What?” I echo, then quickly add, “That would be great, thanks.”

Adam presses a button on the dashboard, and almost immediately, the seat beneath me starts to warm up. He watches me—not with hostility, but as if he wants me to say whatever it was I was about to say.

“Thanks,” I mumble again, my pulse quickening. My face is hot, and my tongue feels heavy, like it’s not even mine, just something foreign weighing down my mouth. I pull out my phone, pretending to scroll through it, anything to avoid meeting his gaze, which I can still feel lingering on me.

Soon, the car rumbles to life, and we pull out of the driveway and onto the snowy street. Thank God for that, because I was definitely on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.

We sit in silence for a while, and since staring at my phone for five straight minutes feels painfully awkward, I switch to pretending I’m captivated by the snowy scenery outside. Houses roll past, their roofs blanketed in snow, looking likesomething out of a holiday card. I feel my breathing finally start to steady.

But then Adam’s gaze is on me again, and panic sets back in. To keep myself from completely unraveling, I start adding up random, complicated numbers in my head—I heard it makes you look smarter, like you’re lost in thought. Anything to distract him from noticing just how anxious and flustered I really am.

Thankfully, not long after, we pull into the town center, and I spot a small bakery with pink walls and a big sign out front that readsThe Cinnamon Cat. Adam parks right in front and quickly unbuckles his seatbelt.

I scramble to do the same, but when I press the button on the lock, it just sinks in without releasing the belt. I tug at it, attempting to free myself, but it’s completely stuck.

Before I manage to say anything, Adam is already out of the car, shutting his door behind him while I’m still wrestling with the seatbelt. I need to start going to the gym—being defeated by a seatbelt buckle is not a great look, especially when I’m stuck in the car of a guy who probably wouldn’t mind if I died a slow, painful death.

“Shit,” I mutter, yanking at the seatbelt again. Frustrated, I glance up, expecting Adam to already be heading into the bakery. Except, he’s not. I see him through the window, watching my struggle, and a moment later, he’s walking around the car and opening my door.

“Ugh,” I say, my cheeks flushing as I let out an awkward laugh. “I think I’m stuck.”

“Here, let me,” Adam says, and before I can protest, his right hand is reaching across my body to the seatbelt buckle.

God, he’s so close, practically leaning over me as he tugs at the belt. The scent of him—clean, masculine, intoxicating—fills the small space, and I instinctively press myself back into the seat, giving him as much room as possible so he doesn’t accidentally touch me.

My heart is pounding like a war drum—I’m sure he can hear it, it’s so loud. But then, finally, I hear the click, and Adam pulls the seatbelt free, releasing me.

“It gets stuck sometimes,” he says, leaning back slightly, and I swear there’s a hint of humor in his voice, like he finds my panic amusing.

“Thanks,” I manage, exhaling a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. As he steps back to give me space, I quickly jump out of the car.

The moment my boots hit the ground, I realize—too late—it’s pure ice. My legs slip out from under me, and I’m already falling backward, instinctively grabbing the only thing within reach—Adam Payne’s T-shirt, peeking out from under his unzipped winter jacket.

I hear the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing as I grab at it, trying to steady myself. Adam reaches for my elbow, but I’m already going down, my back grazing the edge of the car seat behind me just before I hit the ground.

Pain jolts up my spine as my ass hits the icy pavement.

“Fuck…me,” I groan, wincing as I fumble for something to grab onto and get back up.

This time, Adam gets a firm grip on my elbow and, with one smooth motion, hauls me upright—because, of course, he’s just that strong.

I already want to implode from embarrassment, but as I straighten, my stomach drops.

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