Page 34 of A Cozy Kind of Christmas
That was the heart of every story.
That’s what she had to find this weekend.
Of course, the cozy holiday angle was a much harder ask.
Lucinda wasn’t wrong.
Meg did have her work cut out for her, and maybe that was a good thing. Leaning into her assignment would be a distraction from daydreaming about what could have been with Matt.
TWENTY-ONE
JILL
Back at their cabin after a brief catch-up, Jill changed into clothes for the bonfire. She tugged on a pair of fleece leggings and layered with a ski skirt, turtleneck, sweater, puffy coat, and snow boots. Then she checked her appearance in the bathroom mirror, placing a hand on her stomach and inhaling a deep yoga breath.
Come on, Jill—you have to tell him.
It’s time.
Jill closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.
There was no time like the present.
She couldn’t put it off any longer.
“You ready?” Owen called from the living room.
She opened her eyes and pinched her cheeks, willing color into her face and praying internally for courage.
“You look like you’re ready to trek through the Arctic,” Owen teased, kissing the top of her head when she emerged from the bedroom. “I promised you I would keep you warm, darling. Plus, it sounds like Lucinda is bringing the booze.”
“I don’t know if I can keep up,” Jill said, pulling away from him and digging through her bag for a hat and gloves. She knew she was stalling.
“Keep up with a boozy lass drinking on her daddy’s money? Impossible. It’s a job for an Irishman.” He thumped his chest and pretended to down a pint. “Speaking of Lucinda, she seems pretty great, yeah? And no fights. You worried for nothing. Everyone behaved beautifully. Very mature. It’s almost like we’re all in our thirties and adulting.”
Jill choked back her response, pretending to cough. Was he serious?
The self-proclaimed student of life—the globe-trotting free spirit—thought he wasadulting?
“What?” Owen asked, frowning as he leaned against the wall and nearly knocked a holiday print off its hook.
“Nothing.” Jill shook her head as she found her gloves. “It’s just funny coming from you.”
“Coming from me?” Owen’s forehead crinkled, those wise, honest eyes scanning her face like something was lost in translation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Owen, come on. We’re barely adulting. We live in a van.”
“I thought you loved the van?” His voice wasn’t defensive. More like quietly hurt.
“I do… I did…” She trailed off. Was this it? Was this her chance to tell him the truth? He had handed her the opportunity on a silver platter.
Her palms went clammy. Her breathing grew shallow.
Say it.
Tell him.
Every cell in her body screamed at her to do anything—do it!
