Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

The thing about Blowing Rock was that the weather could be just as unpredictable as my love life. Meaning, a total disaster. One day it was crisp and cool, and the next, a surprise snowstorm rolled in, covering everything in a light dusting of white. Naturally, I’d planned on heading back to my mom’s that evening, but the weather had other ideas. By the time the snow really started coming down, the roads were looking like a slip ’n slide for cars.

"Well," Ethan said, peering out the window with that perpetually furrowed brow of his, "looks like you’re stuck here for the night."

“Here?” I repeated, glancing around the inn’s cozy, but in my opinion, still unfinished lobby. “You’re telling me I’m trapped with Mr. Grumpy-pants and his cocoa-loving sidekick?”

Ethan shot me a look, one eyebrow raised. “I thought you liked Mae.”

“I do. It’s you I’m worried about,” I teased, dropping onto the couch and pulling one of the throw blankets over me. “You seem like the type to ration marshmallows in a crisis.”

Mae gasped dramatically from the other side of the room, where she was busy arranging her collection of stuffed animals into a Christmas party. “Daddy, you can’t do that! Holly needs a lot of marshmallows for her hot cocoa! And you didn’t even make us any today!”

Ethan let out a long, exasperated sigh, one that I was growing pretty fond of. “Alright, alright. I’ll make more cocoa. But don’t get used to this, Holly.”

“Aw, come on, I’m growing on you. Admit it.” I grinned as he turned and headed toward the kitchen, but I could swear I saw a faint smile playing on his lips.

Mae, completely oblivious to our banter, looked up from her plush reindeer and beamed at me. "Holly, can we tell stories tonight? Like a sleepover?"

I glanced at Ethan’s retreating figure, then back at Mae, lowering my voice to match her excited whisper. "I think that’s agreatidea. I’ll even tell you the story of how I almost made your daddy smile."

Her eyes went wide. “You did?”

"Almost," I whispered conspiratorially, leaning in like it was top-secret. "It’s a work in progress."