Page 3 of Snowed in with the Grump

The small space feels electrically charged with him so close. I can’t think straight this near to his muscular frame and earthy scent. I stare intently at the bedspread, fixating on its red and green stitches.

I lean against the dresser in what I hope is a casual pose. “Do you mind if I look around when I finish unpacking? For nostalgia’s sake.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Don't go wandering too far. Mind the plastic sheeting and watch your footing—not everything is secure or stable right now.”

“Got it,” I reply, pulse quickening as I brush past him.

“I’ll let you get settled then,” Carter says after a too-long pause. He gives me a fleeting look I can’t quite decipher before closing the door with a soft click.

I let out a shaky breath.

The secret letters I wrote Carter when he was deployed are hidden in these walls. If Carter uncovers them during his renovation, it will humiliate me and destroy my friendship with Sarah. I have to find them first.

I wait until Carter's footsteps fade, glancing down the hall to check if the coast is clear. My heart pounds against my ribs as I creep to the old part of the cabin and enter the room.

The layout is different, and I don’t remember where I hid the letters. I run my hands frantically along the walls, searching for any cracks or crevices, but find nothing.

Finally, I see the outline of a hidden nook, barely visible behind the heavy antique dresser.

Of course, the dresser blocks it because why would it be easy?

I press my shoulder against the solid oak and push with all my strength, but it refuses to budge even an inch. I look around wildly for anything to pry it loose.

Grabbing a nearby chair, I climb up to peer behind and underneath for possible handholds. No dice. The back is sealed tight.

With my pulse throbbing in my ears, I yank open drawers to lighten the load and try again.

“Come on,” I whisper through gritted teeth, but the dresser holds fast.

All I’ve achieved is to bang my head and elbows against the unyielding wood repeatedly. Nearly breathless and drenched in sweat, I sink against the wall, close to tears. There must be a way to access those letters without ending up in the ER.

With a sudden burst of inspiration, I drag over a length of discarded pipe and try to lever the dresser away from the wall. If I can't get those letters, I'll lose everything.

The pipe groans under the strain as I put my full body weight into it and try again, muscles screaming. A gap opens that’s wide enough to reach a hand inside.

I've almost touched the hidden nook when the door creaks open.

CHAPTER2

CARTER

Seeing Ava again hits me square in the chest–stirring up a bittersweet ache. I've known her since she was a tagalong kid, but she’s grown into a beautiful woman who walks with a bounce in her step and wisps of chestnut hair curling against the column of her neck.

I watched her pink lips move as she chattered away, asking question after question while I carried her bags. Memories of her lips wrapped around an ice cream cone, tongue flicking teasingly, brought back feelings I'd bottled up for years.

She’s oblivious to the effect she has on me. This is dangerous territory. She was so sweetly eager to reconnect, but all I could do was bark gruff replies, terrified of revealing too much.

How many bags did she haul in here? It's like she packed up half a department store's worth. The space under the tree is overflowing with her colorfully wrapped gifts.

She always loved playing Santa. She's the same generous, warm-hearted girl I grew up with, only now, I’m dreaming of being on the receiving end of her affection.

Her presence stirs something deep inside, the irresistible pull like a siren’s song. I should keep my distance and shake off this impossible longing—she’s my little sister’s best friend.

I clench my jaw, irritated at this unwelcome rush of sensation. I came here to find peace, not get caught up in holiday fantasies.

Get a hold of yourself.

The clink of my tool belt grabs my attention. My mind should be on the job, not on Ava. I force myself to focus on the repairs Sarah asked me to complete before her holiday guests arrive. I’m running behind schedule. The ceiling support beam needs lifting.

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