“I was coming from the dining room and saw it,” Sloane says, her nose wrinkling like she wants to block out the memory. “And I’ve had this awful feeling ever since…well, since I arrived.” Her voice wavers, but instead of pressing into that feeling, she pivots. “Do you think he?—”
“No,” I cut in firmly. “I don’t think it meant anything.”
The lie tastes bitter, but what good would the truth do? She loves him. I can see it in her eyes, the way they go glassy, the way she’s clinging to hope like it’s all she’s got. So, I swallow my own anger, my own distrust, and let her keep the scraps she needs.
“They simply got caught under the mistletoe,” I add. “And you know the saying—when in Rome.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Her gaze drops to her drink. “He went into Rutledge earlier. We had plans, but out of nowhere he said he had to check on something at the office.” She checks her phone, thumb flicking across the screen. “He’s been gone a long time.”
My gut coils tight. A bad feeling gnaws at me. “He ran into Jaylynn. She had a flat tire. He stayed with her until the tow truck came.” Why the hell didn’t he call or text to let her know. I drain half my toddy in one go, the burn scalding down my throat. “He’ll be back soon.”
“He’s with Jaylynn?” she asks, her voice catching on the name.
“Yeah.” I force calm I don’t feel. “They just happened to run into each other.”
The words scrape out of me, and don’t at all sound convincing. Because even as I sit here, trying to assure Sloane nothing is happening, alarms blare in the back of my brain—insistent, ugly whispers that maybe, just maybe, I’m wrong.
I glance toward the inn’s door, willing it to open. Willing Jaylynn, not Dylan, to step through. But when it finally swings wide, it’s only another couple. The mistletoe alarm chirps again as they kiss, and something in me snaps. First chance I get, that damn thing’s coming down.
Sloane and I linger, trading small talk. I ask about California, about her family. And for a moment, the heaviness lifts. A smile finally curves her mouth, genuine, brightening her face. We laugh softly, sip the last of our drinks, and the exhaustion creeps in, tugging at the edges of us both.
She picks up her phone again, checks it, and her face falls when the screen stays blank. No messages. No Dylan.
“I think I should call it a night,” she murmurs, the fight draining out of her.
I check my phone again. Nothing. I’d asked Jaylynn to keep me posted, but she hasn’t sent a single message. A knot tightens in my stomach. Maybe I should call, make sure the tow truck actually showed. My thumb hovers over her name when the front door creaks open, and there she is.
Jaylynn.
Relief barrels through me. But it lasts only a second, because right behind her, too close, is Dylan. I’m on my feet before I know it, crossing the room in three strides. I slide an arm around Jaylynn’s waist, pulling her close, and press my mouth to hers. The kiss is deliberate, claiming. Possessive. When I pull back, her eyes are wide, her smile unsure.
“You okay?” My voice is softer than I feel.
“Yes.” She glances over her shoulder at Dylan, who is peeling off his jacket like he owns the place. “I ended up getting a ride home with Dylan. The tow truck was full. Tools everywhere, another guy in the cab, so it made sense to come with him. Guess it was lucky I ran into him.” She gives a quick laugh, but it’s shaky, nervous. My gut twists. Something’s off.
“Debatable,” I mutter, eyes narrowing on Dylan. “So. Two tires slashed, huh?” My tone is sharp, laced with suspicion I don’t bother hiding. “What’s going on in Rutledge these days?”
He shrugs, all casual indifference. “Kids.”
“Kids, huh?” I step closer, my stare locked on him.
“Yeah.” His voice drops lower, his shoulders squaring. It’s the stance of a man ready to go toe-to-toe.
Fine by me.
Before the room can combust, Jaylynn slips her hand into mine, her tone bright, almost too bright. “We should get to bed. Big day tomorrow.” She gives Sloane a warm smile. “Goodnight, Sloane. I hope you’re feeling better.”
We turn down the hall. The mistletoe alarm goes off—again. My teeth grind. I bend and give Jaylynn a quick kiss, all while one thought hammers in my skull—is she going to tell me she kissed Dylan earlier?
In our room, she doesn’t. She just grabs her pajamas and disappears into the bathroom. Water runs as I strip the pillows from the bed, tension buzzing in my muscles. When she finally emerges, she’s soft and warm in her flannel PJs, her hair damp, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. She slips under the covers without a word.
I take my turn in the bathroom, then slide in beside her. I curl my arms around her, pulling her close. I’m about to pull her underneath me, make love to her but stop when she speaks.
“Night,” she whispers, already drifting. Her breathing evens out, but mine won’t. My mind is still lit up like a storm, replaying every glance, every pause, every lie of omission. Dylan’s shadow lurks even here, in the dark.
I sleep restlessly, and while I trust her, she was acting strange last night. I know there’s something she’s not telling me. I hate that she feels she can’t be completely honest. When dawn finally bleeds through the curtains, I’m wide awake, watching her.
And in that quiet, Sloane’s words come racing back.