Page 36

For a moment, Christopher didn’t move. He just looked at her, and she thought she saw something like disappointment flicker across his face. But then he nodded and pushed himself up.

Snow clung to her coat, her jeans, her hair. She was wet and cold and her heart was racing, and she needed to get away from him before she did something she couldn’t take back.

“Yeah,” Christopher said, his voice carefully neutral. “Good idea.”

Layla turned and headed for the diner door. She didn’t look back, just pulled the door open and stepped inside. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart and push down the tangle of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. She was fine. Everything was fine. She just needed a moment to collect herself, to remember who she was and what she was doing here.

She was leaving. As soon as the storm cleared and the roads were passable, she was leaving. That was the plan. That had always been the plan.

“Layla!”

She looked up to see Nicole waving at her from across the diner, her ponytail bouncing as she navigated through the crowd. Layla felt a smile tug at her lips despite everything. Of course she was seeing familiar faces—it was a small town, after all, even if she hadn’t been here long. But there was something comforting about it, that eased the tightness in her chest.

Nicole reached her, slightly out of breath, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright. “I was hoping I’d see you! Isn’t this crazy?” She gestured around at the organized chaos of the diner. “Jackson’s amazing for doing this.”

“It’s pretty incredible,” Layla agreed. She pulled off her wet coat, hanging it on one of the hooks by the door. “How are you faring? Did you lose power?”

Nicole nodded, her expression sobering slightly. “Yeah, we did. But Henry made sure we were okay. I mean, there wasn’t much he could do in the moment, even being the town electrician. The damage is pretty extensive. But he made sure I was warm and safe and taken care of.” She smiled, her expression that of someone very much in love. “He stayed with me last night. Just to make sure I was okay.”

Layla smiled, genuinely touched. “That’s important to have. Someone who looks out for you like that.”

“It really is.” Nicole’s eyes grew misty, and she blinked rapidly, laughing a little at herself. “I’m such a sap. But honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s such an amazing man. I feel so lucky that things turned out the way they did, you know?”

Layla thought that maybe she did know. Or at least, she was beginning to understand. She thought of Christopher’s stories about his neighbors, the way he’d talked about this town and its people with such obvious love and pride. When she’d first arrived, it had all seemed a little cheesy, a little too Norman Rockwell to be real—remote and quaint and not quite connected to the real world she knew.

But now, standing here in the warmth of the Snowdrift Diner, watching people work together to help their neighbors, talking to bubbly and cheerful Nicole about the man she loved—it didn’t seem cheesy at all. It felt real and solid. Like a home.

The thought sent a jolt through her.

“You and Christopher seem to have become pretty fond of each other,” Nicole said, her tone casual. There was a small, knowing smirk on her face as she looked at Layla with a teasing expression in her eyes.

Layla felt heat rise to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the temperature of the diner. “Oh, I—we’re just—” She fumbled for words, trying to brush it off. “I mean, he’s been very kind. But I’ll be leaving once everything clears up. Back to the city. Back to my real life.”

As she said it, though, it felt wrong. Hollow. Like she didn’t quite believe it as much as she had before.

Nicole still had that expression on her face, and Layla wondered if everyone could see the regard that she and Christopher had for each other so easily. Could everyone see that she was falling for him, for a life she’d never imagined wanting?

Before Layla could say anything else, Jackson called out from the kitchen, asking for volunteers to help pack the next round of meals. Nicole squeezed Layla’s arm, gave her one more knowing look, and then headed toward the kitchen.

Layla stood there for a moment, rooted to the spot, her mind spinning. Through the window, she could see Christopher outside, back to shoveling. She thought about her small, efficient apartment in the city, her job with its long hours and the effort she’d put into moving up the ladder there. She thought about her carefully planned life, the trajectory she’d set for herself, the goals she’d been working toward for years.

And then she thought about snowball fights in front of the diner and eating homemade soup by candlelight during a winter storm.

What was she going to do? She didn’t know if she could really upend her entire life for a man she’d known less than a week, for a town she’d stumbled into by accident. It was crazy. Impulsive. Completely unlike her.

She’d never been impulsive in her life. And she didn’t know if she could bring herself to finally start.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Vanessa thought, as she stood in the kitchen of the Snowdrift Diner, that it smelled like comfort. The air was filled with the combined scents of simmering vegetables, herbs, and chicken stock, heating the entire room. Steam rose from the enormous stockpot on the industrial stove, fogging the windows that looked out onto Main Street, where the snow continued to fall.

She was at the prep counter, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, methodically chopping carrots. The rhythmic thunk of her knife against the cutting board had become almost meditative over the past hour. Beside her, a mountain of celery waited its turn, and beyond that, onions that had already made her eyes water twice. She’d found a good rhythm since she’d arrived hours ago, and she thought they were making progress.

“You’re getting good at that,” Mabel observed from her station at the adjacent counter, where she was shredding chicken that had been roasted earlier, pulling the tender meat apart into perfect, bite-sized pieces. “Remember when you first moved here and couldn’t dice an onion to save your life?”

Vanessa laughed. “Jackson was very despairing of my cooking skills for a while there. But I learned.”

“Well, city living doesn’t exactly require advanced culinary skills when you have a restaurant on every corner,” Mabel said with a warm smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “But look at you now. My granddaughter, soup-maker extraordinaire.”