Chapter 21
Jake spotted her before she spotted him—though really, “spotted” made it sound casual, like he wasn’t already scanning every corner of the town square as if she might materialize out of the winter air. Which, apparently, she had.
Because there she was, standing by the coffee cart, wrapped in a red and white oversized plaid scarf that looked like it had been wrestled from a picnic blanket, while pretending she wasn’t shivering.
Following their morning-after moment, which was lovingly chaperoned by Grandma Joy, he’d scoured the house looking for Georgia. Only to discover that she’d vanished like a snowflake in mid-July.
He wanted to talk. They needed to talk. In order to do that, he had to find her.
His first clue had been the tire tracks left by the ride-share Jake had spotted zipping away from the cabin. And since the only ride-share driver in town was Clive, he’d phoned him up. But Clive didn’t talk for free.
He wanted four premiere tickets to the Austin race, three autographed Nova ball caps, two rounds for him and his friends at the Watering Hole, and a partridge in a pear tree.
And that was just for information regarding the pickup and drop off location.
Not the time she’d requested for the trip home.
At least he was able to confirm that her return trip was to the cabin and not Austin. Small wins.
How hard could it be to find a single woman in a town of under five thousand people?
Not as easy as one might think. Especially since the population of Pine Village doubled around the holidays and it was just three days until Christmas. But an hour and a half, and three cups of hot cocoa later, he’d found her. And he wasn’t letting her out of his sight—not until they talked.
Except the second her eyes flicked his way she bolted.
Spun on her heel, muttered something to the poor barista, and bee-lined toward the side street like a shoplifter making a getaway.
Jake huffed a laugh, even though the sharp edge of it caught in his chest. She was avoiding him. Because of last night. Because she thought sleeping with him had been some kind of catastrophic lapse in judgment instead of the best damn thing that had happened to him in a long, long while.
He wasn’t about to let her sprint out of his life before they even had a conversation.
“Georgia!” he called, already striding after her. She walked faster. He lengthened his stride, falling into step beside her just as she stopped dead in front of a shop window displaying—of all things—ceramic armadillos in Santa hats.
“You know,” he said, leaning against the brick like he had all the time in the world. “For someone who claims to be good at hiding, you’re terrible at it.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m not hiding.”
“You’re definitely hiding.”
“I’m busy is all.”
“Uh-huh. Busy admiring festive armadillos?”
“I love armadillos.”
“You once told me that they carry hepatitis C and have the claws of demons.”
For a second, something like laughter threatened to break across her face, but she swallowed it down. Her cheeks were flushed a furious pink that the December air couldn’t take all the credit for. She shoved her hands deeper into her coat pockets.
“Jake, about last night—”
He held up a hand, gentle but firm. “Stop. Don’t do the whole regret speech. I can see it coming a mile away.”
“Because it was a mistake—” she started, but he shook his head.
He caught a flyaway hair between his thumb and forefinger and twirled it.
“I’m not asking you to figure everything out right this second.
Or tomorrow. Or even next week. We’ll take it slow.
Hell, we can take it at a snail’s pace if that makes you feel better.
Just don’t shut me out before I even get the chance, Georgie. ”
The use of her nickname cracked something in her expression—fear, longing, a sadness he wanted to scoop up in his bare hands and crush until it dissolved. She stared at him, lips parting like she wanted to argue but didn’t have the words ready.
And then a snowball slammed into his shoulder.
“What the fuck?” Jake twisted around. A pair of kids stood at the edge of the park, grinning like little demons, already packing more snow.
When he turned back, Georgia launched a big ball of snow his way, catching him in the chin.
“Oh, you think that’s funny?”
“I think it’s karma,” she said primly, though her eyes danced.
Jake bent, scooped a pile of snow into his gloved hands, and lobbed it gently at her chest. It burst across her scarf in a puff of white.
Her mouth dropped open. “Did you just—”
“Truce?” he asked, though his grin betrayed him.
“Never.” She crouched, packed her own snowball, and nailed him square in the chest.
Within seconds, they were dodging between lampposts and benches like overgrown children, flinging snow until they were both breathless and red-cheeked, laughing so hard Jake thought his ribs might split.
A snowball exploded against his back as he tried to circle behind her, and he caught the sound of her laughter—real, unguarded, bright enough to light up the whole square.
By the time the truce was called—Georgia waving a mitten like a white flag and Jake panting like he’d just run drills—the snow around them looked like a battlefield. Half-melted ammo littered the benches and lampposts, and his coat was soaked through like he’d been dunked in a lake.
Georgia bent over, hands braced on her knees, trying to catch her breath. Her scarf had slipped, exposing the flushed curve of her neck, and Jake felt something sharp and dizzying spike through him at the sight.
She caught him staring. “Don’t,” she warned between gasps.
“Don’t what?” he said, feigning innocence.
“That look. The one that says you’re about to turn this into a metaphor about battles or surrender or whatever nonsense you think sounds charming.”
He smirked. “You wound me. I wasn’t going to say a word.”
Her laugh puffed out in a white cloud, and for a moment, everything in him tugged toward her—the way she always did, like a magnet. But he didn’t move. Not yet.
Slow, he reminded himself. Don’t scare her off.
Instead, he gestured toward the square, where the glow of the coffee cart lights was haloed in falling snow. “Come on. Let me buy you a cocoa. It’s the least I can do after pelting you with frozen water.”
Her eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Hot chocolate isn’t going to fix this.”
“Maybe not,” he admitted. “But it’s a start. And it’ll warm your hands before they freeze into claws.”
She hesitated, the fight draining out of her shoulders. For a second, he thought she’d walk away again. Then she sighed—long-suffering, like she was doing him the biggest favor in the world. “Fine. But only because I can’t feel my fingers.”
Jake grinned and fell into step beside her. They ordered cocoa—hers with extra whipped cream, because of course—and carried the steaming cups to a bench under the twinkling string lights.
They sat in silence at first, their breaths mingling with the steam from their cups. Jake let the quiet stretch, resisting the urge to fill it with nervous chatter. Georgia was the one who finally spoke, her voice small but clear.
“Last night scared me,” she admitted, eyes fixed on the swirl of cream dissolving into her drink. “Not because it was bad. Because it wasn’t.”
Jake’s chest ached. He wanted to reach for her hand, but he kept both of his wrapped tight around his cup.
“I know,” he said. “Me too.”
Her head snapped up, surprised.
“Scared the hell out of me, actually,” he continued. “But here’s the thing, I’m not asking you to figure out forever. I’m just asking you to finish your cocoa with me.”