Total pages in book: 12
Estimated words: 11120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 56(@200wpm)___ 44(@250wpm)___ 37(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 56(@200wpm)___ 44(@250wpm)___ 37(@300wpm)
I shift on the couch, and a paperback flops from the quilt’s folds to the floor. The cover’s torn off, but I recognize the font.
I slide off the couch to my knees to rescue the book, a familiar friend. “Secrets of a Summer Night.” I pick it up and smooth the pages. “I love Lisa Kleypas. Were you reading this?”
From my position kneeling on the floor, Joel looms even taller. His blue eyes burn and his nostrils flare.
“Get up.” He motions me back to the couch.
I catch my apology before it escapes and obey, but he’s already moved away to another part of the cabin. This place is one open room. He can’t escape me, not unless he goes back out to chop wood. And he’s already used that excuse.
He stands in the kitchen area of the cabin, as far away from me as he can get without heading into the cold. I’ve made him upset. How? Why?
I clutch the book to my heart. Books are easy. Books, I understand. “I love this book. I reread it all the time.”
“I know,” he says, his back still to me. “I’ve seen you read it. You gave me that copy, remember?”
“Oh…” I do remember. I keep a stack of paperbacks by the register to read and reread. Sometimes I give them to customers. Why didn’t I remember I gave this to Joel?
I’m so flustered, I open the book and read a few lines. I don’t look up until Joel’s shadow falls over me.
His voice echoes in my ears and I realize he’s been calling my name.
“Sorry—”
“No apologizing,” he corrects me gently, and plucks the paperback from my hands. I would protest and clutch it to my chest like a safety blanket, but he replaces it with my second favorite thing in the world: a mug of tea.
So that’s what he was doing in the kitchen corner of the cabin. Making me tea. Loose-leaf Earl Grey, from the smell of it, in a carefully knotted teabag. I bury my face in the fragrant steam.
Joel remains standing, cradling the book in his palms. His fingers are long and elegant, even rough with scars and tattoos. A craftsman's hands. “And yes. To answer your question. I was reading this.”
“Really? I mean…” I stammer. “I didn’t mean to imply I didn’t think you’d read it.”
“It’s okay. I didn't used to read like I do now. Picked it up in prison.” He glances at me then, checking for a reaction. Does he expect me to shy away from the reminder he did time?
“If you like that book, you’d like the whole series. I have a whole list of favorites.”
“A whole list?” There’s a hint of a smile under his beard. He’s teasing me.
“She’s good,” I defend. “Everyone loves A Devil in Winter. But my favorite is Marrying Winterborne.”
“I’ll check it out. Drink your tea.”
I sip the hot liquid. It occurs to me that he keeps issuing orders and I obey without thinking. “This tea is really good.” The kitchen takes up one corner of the cabin, to the right of the door. The fireplace and couch are opposite. In the middle of the room is a wooden table with a single chair. Beyond that, in the far right corner, is a big bed.
I snap my gaze back to the fire and meet Joel’s ice-blue eyes. My cheeks burn, knowing he watched me snoop.
Awkward girl is awkward. Why did I think tonight would be any different? It would take a lot of Christmas magic to fix my dorkiness.
“I've never been here before,” I mumble to my tea.
“No one has.” Joel sets the paperback on the mantle. “Kinda the point of living alone on a mountain. The privacy.”
I set my mug on the floor, feeling ill. “You’re angry with me. I shouldn’t have come.”
“No, Lainey.” He crouches in front of me and closes his hands around mine. “I’m an asshole.”
3
Joel
Lainey looks so miserable, I’m ready to banish myself from my own home. Instead, I warm her fingers between mine. She’s not as frozen, and a lot of my tension eases out of me knowing she’s warming up.
“You scared me,” I admit.
“What?”
“It’s dangerous for you to be out on the road, in the snow. You could’ve died. Why aren’t you with your family?”
“My parents are in Arizona.”
“Right.” I knew that. It’s wrong, how much I eavesdrop on Gemma and Lainey’s conversations. How much I keep tabs on Lainey. “They own a place there now.”
“Yes.”
Acid fills my mouth but I make myself ask the next question, “Why aren't you with your boyfriend?”
“With Landon?”
Landon. A frat boy with no chin who thinks he’s hot shit because his dad owns some strip malls a few towns over and dips his toes into politics. When Landon visits Lainey at the store, he parks his red Mercedes in the Reserved for the Disabled spot.