Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Jess
The rumble of Clark’s truck fades down the street, leaving me alone with frozen toes and seriously confused hormones.
I press my fingers to my lips—just to make sure they’re still attached. Because wow. That kiss? That was more than a kiss.
Snow flurries swirl in the air, and I tilt my head back, staring at the soft glow of the Christmas lights above the inn’s door. Somewhere, a romantic-comedy heroine is handling this with poise and grace. Me? I’m standing in the parking lot like a lovestruck Hallmark extra, talking to myself.
“Okay, Jess,” I mutter. “He didn’t run away because you’re a terrible kisser. It was an emergency.”
Or maybe I’m just a fool, reading too much into one perfect, mistletoe moment.
I blow out a breath, square my shoulders, and walk back into the inn like I’m not already picturing our life together. Golden Retriever or Labrador? I could see Clark with either. Or maybe even a Calico cat.
Back inside, cheeks pink from the cold—and, fine, maybe from the making-out-under-the-mistletoe thing—the inn lobby smells of cinnamon and pine. Cozy enough to make anyone feel warm. Except it only reminds me that Clark isn’t here.
I climb the stairs to my room, slip into my candy-cane-striped pajamas, and crawl into bed, bracing for a cold night alone with only the memory of Clark’s lips for company.
The sheets are soft and luxurious, the pillows softer than clouds.
I sink into them, visions of bearded Christmas tree farmers dancing in my head.
Then my phone dings. My entire body goes on alert. First thought: Clark. Then I remember—he doesn’t have my number.
The screen lights up with notifications: three missed calls and a flurry of texts from an unknown number.
I swipe to voicemail.
“Jess?” a breathless voice says. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but this is Tabitha from The Chinoiserie Squirrel. I know you don’t owe me anything, but I really need your help. Please. My job depends on it.”
The texts all say the same thing:
Please call me.
I need your help.
Call me ASAP.
I sit up, clutching the phone. I have no idea how I could possibly save Tabitha’s job—but curiosity is already winning.
“Jess,” Tabitha gushes when I call back. “OMG! Thank you for returning my call. Please say you’ll do it.”
My pulse skips. I’d do almost anything to get my designs in the Squirrel. “What do you need?”
“We’re sponsoring a runway show,” she says, voice high and nervous. “Unfortunately, the designer pulled out at the last minute. I need you to dress ten models. All over five-foot-ten.”
I throw off the covers and swing my legs to the floor, excitement bubbling. “Perfect.”
“The show is Saturday.”
I pull up my calendar, out of habit. Not really necessary. “I’m in.”
“Saturday as in tomorrow,” she clarifies.
My knees wobble. “Tomorrow?”
“I know it’s short notice, but we’ll make it worth your while. Of course, your designs will be featured in the store.” A nervous laugh. “And I’ll throw in a whole case of your favorite wine for saving my butt.”
Reality hits like a gust of cold wind. “Can I call you back in a few minutes?”
“Of course,” she says. “But don’t take too long. I have other names I can call.”
I scroll to Gran’s name and press call, heart hammering double time.
Gran picks up on the second ring. “Hi, sweetheart. How’s it going up there?”
“Gran,” I gasp. “You won’t believe this. I have a chance for an event tomorrow night. This could be huge for me.”
“Oh, Jess.” I can hear her smile. “That sounds wonderful.”
“But I can’t just leave. Who will run your candle booth?”
A pause. Then she sighs. “I have a confession.”
I narrow my eyes, even though she can’t see me. “Gran. What did you do?”
“I might’ve… exaggerated the wrist thing,” she admits. “I just thought if you spent time in Starlight Bay, you might bump into that kiss guy.”
My jaw drops. “You lied about an injury to play matchmaker?”
“Well, technically, I didn’t lie,” she says, all innocence. “I just didn’t correct you when you assumed. Besides, it worked, didn’t it? You drank the magic cider.”
“Gran!” I groan, pacing to the window. “That’s not the point.”
“Oh, honey, it is the point. Fate needed a little nudge. I guess it didn’t work, though.”
“Well… actually, I did meet Clark.”
“That’s wonderful!” Gran shouts, almost as excited as I am. “My job is done.”
I push aside the curtain, looking out at the snow-covered streets. My heart is light… and heavy.
“But what about the market?” I whisper.
“I’m leaving,” she says, like it’s effortless. “I’ll be there within the hour. You get your ass home.”
I grip the phone tighter, my heart tugging in two directions. “Gran, I can’t just—Clark doesn’t even know yet. I can’t leave without saying goodbye.”
“Then don’t,” she says gently. “But don’t stay because of him, either. If it’s meant to be, sweetheart, it’ll be.”
I press my forehead against the cool glass. Excitement. Guilt. Hope. Longing. My dream is dangling right in front of me, so close I can almost touch it.
But so is Clark. I don’t have his number. No way to say goodbye.
I end the call, pulse hammering. This is everything I’ve ever wanted. So why does it feel like choosing one dream means leaving another behind?