Penn squares his shoulders. “And this festival gig you got here is your redemption arc?”
“It’s my Hail Mary. If I don’t pull this off, I’m done. Not just in PR. In, like…life.”
“Banished from the real world,” he murmurs quietly. The words sting, but not because they’re cruel. Because they’re true. For both of us. I nod, slowly.
“So yeah, and I guess #Turkey Gate or #GobbleGate or whatever you want to call it probably was my biggest mistake.”
That… and believing my ex and I were going to take on the world together. He had his sights set on law school, mayor and then governor. I had mine on a PR degree and plans to run his campaign, craft the image, shape the story. We were going to be a power couple—glossy and invincible.
Until I—and every local news crew in Snowberry Falls—caught him with his tongue down the mayor’s daughter’s throat behind the gingerbread float during the tree lighting ceremony.
God, I was such a fool.
When I don’t answer right away, still lost in the murky tide of what-ifs and used-to-bes, his hand brushes mine. Light, almost hesitant.
“I’m sorry, Jaylynn,” he says softly.
I swallow the lump rising in my throat. “If I can pull off the Christmas festival without a hitch, maybe a real firm will look at me again. Maybe the world will stop seeing me as the girl who crashed a parade and lost everything in front of a news van.”
He nods, quiet for a beat. Then, “So… you’re seriously okay sharing a bed with a guy who’s practically a stranger?”
I arch a brow. “Not really. But I trust you’re smart enough not to try anything stupid.”
He lifts a hand in mock surrender. “I’m just trying to survive the cat-ocalypse. I don’t have the energy to seduce anyone tonight.”
I almost laugh. “Cat-ocalypse, huh? That’s child’s play compared to the room I’m about to show you.”
He grabs his bag with mild suspicion. “Should I be afraid?”
“Yes,” I say, and I mean it. “Deeply.”
We make our way down the hall, passing garland-draped banisters and twinkling lights. I wave to Belinda at the front desk, who gives me a long, curious look.
“Why are you staying at the inn anyway?” he asks. “Isn’t your house just down the hill?”
I sigh. “It’s overrun with relatives. Kids. And…” I lower my voice. “God forbid… cats.”
As if summoned by the word itself, Penn sneezes violently. I stifle a laugh as he casts a suspicious glance behind him, like he half-expects to see Muffin creeping out of a shadow in flannel pajamas.
“I’m kidding. There are no cats. But the biggest reason is I’m in charge of the festival and I want to be close to the action, so I can, you know, make sure nothing explodes.” That earns me a tiny grin.
Finally, we reach the end of the hallway. From my back pocket, I pull out the oversized peppermint-striped key and slide it into the lock. “You ready?” I ask.
“It can’t be worse than the cat sanctuary,” he mutters.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” I push the door open and step aside, watching his reaction as he walks into the full force of peppermint madness.
His eyes go wide. He actually stumbles back a step. “Ho…ho…holy… shit.”
“Exactly,” I say, lips twitching.
We both take in the scene—candy-cane-striped wallpaper, red and white heart-shaped pillows, a sleigh bed draped in peppermint swirl sheets, a heart-shaped hot tub, with marshmallow bath bombs, and peppermint floaties. And yes, in the corner, an elf doll with eyes that seem to follow you. I shiver.
“This,” Penn says slowly, “This…this is peppermint-ageddon.”
I bite my lip. “Nightmare Before Christmas has nothing on us.”
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