I type out a quick reply to Joshua.
Me:
About to head out the door. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.
I toss my phone into my purse and finish lining my eyes.
In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have come home, considering I didn’t leave Holley Ridge until thirty minutes before our dinner reservation, which isatHolley Ridge.
But I couldn’t show up looking like I’d just crawled out of a tinsel explosion. I needed a shower. Time rinse off the day and breathe.
When I pull into the staff lot behind Holley Ridge fifteen minutes later, the inn glows like a Christmas card come to life. Twinkling lights strung across every eave and arch. Evergreen garlands draped with ribbons and snow-dusted pinecones. Wreaths hung from every window.
As I make my way toward the main entrance, a couple walks past, smiling and laughing, their cheeks flushed, breath visible in the chilly air. Another couple takes a selfie in front of the life-size nutcracker. I’m about to remind them to tag Holley Ridge in any social media posts, but stop myself. I’m already running late.
I hurry through the front doors, waving at Heidi as I pass the check-in desk and follow the garland-lined hallway toward the restaurant overlooking the lake. The thousands of lights throughout the property dance across the water, their glow making the snow shimmer.
“Hey, Claire,” Moira says from behind the hostess stand when she sees me. “Joshua’s already here.” She leans closer, lowering her voice. “And now I see where he gets those good looks from. His dad isfine. Like, silver fox in a Tom Ford ad fine.”
“That’s nice, I guess.” I give her a tight smile, unsure how I’m supposed to respond.
“They’re by the windows,” she says cheerily.
“Thanks,” I murmur, then weave through the restaurant, smiling at various members of the waitstaff as I go, my heels clicking against the polished wood floor.
Joshua’s eyes find mine the second I turn the corner, his expression lighting up as he stands to greet me.
“Thanks for being here.” He brushes a soft kiss to my cheek, wrapping me in a quick hug.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“It’s okay. You have a lot going on right now. I appreciate you taking the time.”
He helps me out of my coat, then rests his hand on the small of my back, steering me toward the table where a well-dressed man in a suit faces the windows.
“Claire,” Joshua begins, “I’d like you to meet my father.”
The man stands and turns toward me.
First, I take in the outline of his jaw. Sharp. Square. Shadowed with the perfect amount of stubble.
Then the slope of his nose. The curve of his mouth.
When his eyes meet mine, I inhale a sharp breath, feeling like the world is about to give out beneath me.
I know those eyes. Blue. Bright. Unmistakable.
I've seen them up close, glazed with heat, dark with hunger.
I’ve felt the weight of that gaze on my skin. Dreamt of it, then forced myself to forget.
Convinced myself it was for the best. That we lived in two different worlds. That our paths would never cross again.
He goes completely still, his expression flatlining in a single frozen beat of recognition that mirrors my own.
We stare at each other, the room around us falling into silence like someone’s hit mute on the world.
No ambient music. No clinking glass. No polite conversation.
