I turned, the sight of her frown bringing another smile to my lips. “Yes?”
“I need help with my suitcase.”
seven
KIT
Blue Ridge Mountains - Fleet Foxes
“Would you like a coffee?” Jonah shouted, his voice echoing down the short hallway.
I didn’t answer at first, my attention fixed on the guest bedroom in front of me.
His rental was drastically different from mine. My cottage was decorated with quilted blankets and cross-stitch decorations, while the lodge next door was smart and modern. A carpeted downstairs hallway proudly displayed two bedrooms, both with neatly made-up double beds. Upstairs, I was yet to explore.
I stood at the end of the guest bedroom, staring at two towels folded at the end of the bed. It unsettled me. Too neat. Too prepared. Like he’d been expecting company but nobody had actually visited.
How long had he been alone?
“Is it warm enough here? You can turn the heating up if you need to.” He appeared in the doorway behind me, his cheeks still tinged pink from the cold, a shirt collar peeking out from the top of a festive jumper. On the front was a cross-stitched polar bear carrying a set of skis.
It weirdly made me like him more.
I should have looked away. Instead, my gaze caught on the flex of his fingers where they gripped the doorframe, like he wasn’t sure if he was stepping in or staying put.
I’d never been one for a knight in shining armour. But a knight in a close-knit jumper saving my arse? I’d take that.
“It’s great, thanks,” I said, moving my suitcase to the bottom of the bed. When I’d agreed to stay with him, I’d barely packed in the rush – just shoved everything back in, practically sitting on the damn thing to get it closed.
I forced a polite smile, trying to bury my disappointment. This trip was supposed to be a break from all the drama in London. Instead, it had followed me here.
“So…that coffee?” he asked again.
“Can I have a cuppa instead?” I managed, needing a moment alone. “Black, no sugar.”
“No problem,” he said, but his gaze lingered on me for a second longer than necessary before he disappeared down the hall. I waited until I heard his footsteps on the stairs before collapsing backward onto the bed.
Maybe I should still find a way back home.A train. A bus. I’d wait on the roof for Santa’s sleigh at this point. I’d had at least ten men – and one member of royalty – brag to me about immediate access to a private jet. Maybe it was time to call them up.
One glance out the window, at the snow falling softly onto bright green pine trees, told me how unlikely that scenario was. And that was without it being Christmas Eve. All thosemillionaires were probably tucked up somewhere warm and toasty, clearly smarter than I was. It was then that I resigned myself to sticking it out here, at least until the snow cleared or I found someone willing to drive me to the nearest train station. With a sigh, I pushed up and made my way upstairs.
I nearly held my breath as I took in the living room and the view beyond it. The room was a vast, open-planned space, lined with pine furnishings. Two plush sofas framed the lounge area, while the kitchen tucked around the corner was separated by a breakfast bar. The real showstopper was the view: a massive window stretching the length of the living room, framing a panorama of snow-draped mountains that cupped the land like a bowl. A vast forest of frost-tipped trees spilled across the slopes, and, nestled in the valley below, the village sat quiet and postcard-perfect. It was breathtaking.
And then there were the Christmas decorations.
A real fir tree sat in the corner, wrapped with colourful tinsel and glittering baubles, bringing that slightly sweet, woody scent indoors. Fairy lights curled around the balcony railing, complete with a glowing LED outline of a snowman, a slightly creepy smile across his face.
“Did you decorate all this willingly?” I asked, rounding the corner to find Jonah at the kitchen counter, his back turned. “Or did the Ghost of Christmas Past hold you at gunpoint?”
His eyes flickered over me for a second before he smirked. “It makes me happy.”
I slid onto one of the chairs at the breakfast bar, taking a moment to appreciate theotherview: broad back, strong arms, easy movements. Even through his ridiculous jumper I could make out the fine lines of his back, the way his arms moved with precision.
Curse those tennis arms.
“And when it gets dark at, like, three in the afternoon here,” he continued, “I needed a little festive joy.”
I made a noise of agreement, understanding his point. It was barely mid-afternoon and the sun was already heading towards the horizon. I watched as he opened a container marked ‘Tea’ and dropped a bag into a mug. Then, to my horror, he went to the tap, pouring water into the mug.
