She jabs a needle in my direction.
“You know Mrs. Hendricks asked if you were secretly a monk?”
I groan. “Loretta.”
“I told her no. Monks shave their heads. You're just too grumpy for anyone to put up with. But Willa? She’s got that spark. Looks like she could handle you just fine.”
Her grin goes wide.
“Besides, she’s beautiful, Bash. Someone like that won’t stay single for long. If you don’t make a move, someone else will.”
My hand tightens on the back of the chair.
A low thrum starts in my chest. Heavy.
Still.
“Loretta.”
She cackles. “Just making sure you’re still breathing, Bash. Don’t worry, I’m not going to meddle. I don’t need to. You’re already looking at that bakehouse like it holds the answer to something you didn’t know you were asking.”
She’s not wrong. I can’t remember the last time a woman held my attention past five minutes, much less from across a snowy street.
But this isn’t a movie. I’m not some kid getting a crush.
I’m a man with responsibilities and a to-do list that never gets shorter. A father recovering from a heart attack. A mother who spends her days making sure he doesn’t overdo it. An inn that’sbarely breaking even because tourism’s down, the furnace needs replacing, and I refuse to lay off staff who’ve been here longer than I’ve had a driver’s license.
Still.
A man can look.
And last night? I lay in bed longer than I should have, trying to push her out of my head.
Didn’t work.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she fit against me.
The softness of her in my arms. The way her fingers curled in my shirt like she didn’t want to let go.
That vanilla-warm scent that lingered even after I stepped away.
I should’ve shaken it off.
Instead, I lay there wide awake while the rest of the inn slept, jaw tight, blood running too hot for how cold the night was.
“If she needs anything,” I say, mostly to myself, “I’ll help.”
Loretta’s voice softens. “Of course you will. You’re a good man, Sebastian. That’s why I’m still here. Now go eat. Your mama sent over a casserole that’s probably still hot. And if you happen to pass by the bakehouse on your way to the kitchen? I won’t say a word.”
Chapter 3
Willa
Morningdawnsbrightandblue, the storm having settled sometime in the night. I didn’t sleep much. Not because the bed upstairs was uncomfortable — it was perfect — but because my mind wouldn’t stop spinning with lists.
What needs to be cleaned.
What needs to be replaced.
