Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Carlos hadn’t imagined seeing Carletta Noel quite like this.
The object of his Christmas wish for the last five years was standing in the doorway of his cabin, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes sharp enough to cut glass, and dressed like the cover of a winter catalog shoot for women who didn’t care if you liked them.
She looked incredible.
Even furious.
Especially furious.
She wore a white coat lined with soft fur, the same downy trim brushing the tops of her snow-white boots.
Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders like a shadow trying to escape all that light.
She looked like some kind of dark Christmas angel—fierce, elegant, untouchable. All she was missing were the wings.
Instead, she wore the frown of a grinch. And somehow made that look regal, too.
Her eyes were a startling shade of blue.
Not icy, exactly. Just clear. Clear in a way that unnerved people because it meant she saw things.
Carlos imagined they were the same eyes she used to corner corrupt CEOs and catch politicians in half-truths.
Those eyes didn’t miss a thing. And right now, they were aimed at him like he was the headline in her next exposé.
Still, a very dumb part of him wanted to preen. Wanted to puff out his chest and pose like a fool beneath that gaze. He wanted her to find him enthralling, the way he found her. Wanted her to look at him like he wasn’t just some walking jingle bell wrapped in flannel.
But she didn’t. She never had. Not since the sale.
From the moment his parents signed the deal to purchase Noel Magazine—a legacy publication with holiday roots so deep it practically bled holly—Carletta had hated him.
Hated them. Even though she’d never wanted the magazine herself, never worked there, barely tolerated its existence.
It didn’t matter. To her, he was a walking betrayal with a press badge and a smile.
Carlos knew the story, or at least thought he did. Her parents had taken the money, moved to Florida, and never looked back. Carletta was left behind, and he was a reminder of everything she resented.
The irony, of course, was that his parents would never dream of Florida. They saw Vermont in their very near retirement plans. Deeper winters. Longer snowfalls. They wanted to hand him the reins so they could go full snowbird in reverse.
And Carlos… he was trying. He was doing everything he could to prove he could handle the legacy they were preparing to hand over to him. That he deserved it. That he could tell stories that mattered, that brought joy, that made people believe again.
He didn’t need Carletta to like him. But standing there, towel around his waist, hair dripping, heart hammering? He kind of wanted her to.
“You’re in my room.”
Carlos opened his mouth, then closed it again. And then the puzzle pieces slid into place.
Noel. Not Nowell.
He let out a quiet, breathy laugh, running a hand through his damp hair as realization settled over him like snow on a pine branch. “Ohhh, C. Noel. Of course.”
She looked at him like he’d just confessed to stealing Christmas. Which was kinda funny because Lettie Noel was the prettiest grinch Carlos had ever encountered.
“I checked in under C. Nowell—spelled correctly, I might add—and they handed me the key. I didn’t even think twice.”
“Of course not. Just stealing something else that belongs to my family.”
Okay. That one stung. But he didn’t let it show. Instead, he wrapped the towel a little tighter around his waist and glanced toward the window. Snow was falling harder now—fat flakes drifting down like Mother Nature had a flair for the dramatic. The roads would already be slick. Maybe worse.
“There aren’t any other rooms,” he said. “And it’s late. I can’t drive back to town like this.”
Lettie's gaze wasn't on the window or the snow outside. It was on his towel. “That’s not my problem.”
Carlos nodded slowly. Right. Of course it wasn’t. But still.
“I’m not trying to make things awkward,” he said. “We’ll split the space. You can have the bed.”
“I'm not sleeping with you.”
“I wasn't expecting an invitation.”
Her eyes flew to his face for the first time. Was that a blush? Had he just made Lettie Noel embarrassed? Or was that anger? They looked the same on her. He found both looks breathtakingly beautiful. It was unfair that a woman as grumpy as her could shine no matter her mood.
Carlos looked around. The room was charming, cozy, and utterly unequipped for this kind of negotiation. There was no couch. No cot. Just a king-sized bed, a rickety office chair in the corner, and… well.
His eyes landed on the thick faux-fur bear rug in front of the fireplace.
“The bear and I will get acquainted. I’ll be gone first thing in the morning.”
“You’re not sleeping on the floor.”
“You said you're not inviting me into your bed.”
That was definitely a flush of embarrassment and not anger.
“You can't sleep on the floor or the bed.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s weird. All of this is weird.”
Carlos tilted his head. “I think it’s only weird if we make it weird. We’re both adults. Professionals. We can be… civil.”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Just stood there like a statue carved out of equal parts suspicion and snowmelt. She wouldn’t look at him either—not directly.
Interesting.
Carlos wasn’t wearing much, sure, but if she hated him as much as she claimed, his half-nakedness shouldn’t matter. Shouldn’t even register.
Unless it did.
Was Carletta Noel—icy, unimpressed, world-class truth sniper—attracted to him?
It was ridiculous. And a little thrilling.
He watched her jaw clench. She still hadn’t told him to stay, but she also hadn’t told him to go. Only where he could not sleep. Carlos stepped toward the fireplace. The bear's stitched eyes stared up at him like it knew this was a terrible idea.
“Well,” he said lightly, “unless you’re planning to wrestle me out the door, I think I’m staying here tonight.”
Still no answer. But she didn’t leave either. She did glance up at him, and Carlos knew that if there was even the smallest chance that Carletta Noel was looking at him differently—seeing him, maybe for the first time—he wasn’t going anywhere.