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“It’s really not that bad, Mom.” She opened her eyes, focusing on the cardinal again. It had been joined by another, the two of them hopping along the railing. “The B&B where I’m staying is lovely. The owner is wonderful. And the town itself is actually quite charming. Very picturesque, especially with all the snow.”

“Charming.” Mary repeated the word with a hint of distaste. “Layla, you’re a city person. You’ve always been a city person. I can’t imagine you’re comfortable in some tiny rural town with nothing to do and nowhere to go.”

Layla bit back her first response, which would have been defensive and probably counterproductive. Instead, she took another breath, in and out, slowly.

“I’m actually really comfortable,” she said firmly. “The people here have been incredibly welcoming. And there’s more to do than you might think. Yesterday I helped at the community center, and⁠—”

“The community center?” Mary interrupted, her tone shifting again into bewilderment. “Layla, you’re there for work, not to play small-town volunteer. You need to maintain professional boundaries. You can’t get too involved with these people—you’ll lose your objectivity.”

“I’m a journalist, Mom, not a robot.” The words came out sharper than Layla had intended, and she immediately regretted the edge in her voice. “And I was helping because the storm knocked out power to parts of the town. People needed assistance. It was the right thing to do.”

Another pause, this one longer. Layla could practically hear her mother recalibrating.

“Of course it was kind of you to help,” Mary said finally, her voice taking on the reasonable tone that always made Layla feel like she was being managed. “I’m just concerned about you, sweetheart. You’re all alone in an unfamiliar place, cut off from everything you know, trapped by the weather with no idea when you’ll be able to leave. It must be so stressful for you.”

Layla opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. Because the thing was, it wasn’t stressful. A few days ago, she would have been agreeing with her mother, she realized. She was behaving completely differently than she would have before, and all because the town had charmed her as much as it had everyone else who came here.

But she knew her mother wouldn’t understand that.

“I’m managing just fine,” she said instead, keeping her voice neutral. “The B&B has everything I need, and the owner—Christopher—has been incredibly hospitable. I’m safe, I’m warm, I’m fed. There’s really nothing to worry about.”

“But when will you be able to leave?” Mary pressed. “Surely they must have some idea of when the roads will be clear?”

“I really don’t know,” Layla repeated. “It depends on when the plows make progress and how much more snow we get, if any. I’ll keep you posted as I know more.”

“This is just terrible timing.” Mary’s sigh was audible, heavy with disappointment. “Christmas is less than two weeks away, and you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere. You must be absolutely miserable.”

“I’m really not miserable, Mom.” Layla heard the weariness in her own voice and tried to soften it. “I know it’s not what we planned, but I’m making the best of it. And honestly, there are worse places to be snowed in. At least it’s festive.”

“Festive.” Mary made a small, derisive sound. “Well, I suppose that’s one way to look at it. Although I can’t imagine their idea of festive compares to what you’re used to. Do they even have proper decorations? Or is it all homemade crafts and paper snowflakes?”

Layla felt her jaw tighten. Mary had already made up her mind about what a small town Christmas must be like, and no amount of description would change that preconception. But then again, she reminded herself, this was exactly how she had felt when she’d gotten there.

“The decorations are lovely,” she said simply. “Very traditional.”

“Mmm.” Mary’s noncommittal sound spoke volumes. “Well, I suppose you’ll have stories to tell when you finally make it home. A real adventure, being stranded in a snowstorm. Very dramatic.”

“I should probably let you go,” Layla said, suddenly desperate to end the conversation. “I know you and Dad have plans today, and I don’t want to keep you.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m sure, Mom. I promise. I’ll call again when I have more information about the roads.”

“Please do. And Layla? Try to stay positive. I know it must be difficult, being stuck there with nothing familiar around you.”

Layla rubbed her temples again. “Thanks, Mom. Give Dad my love.”

“I will. And sweetheart? We’ll see you soon. This will all be over before you know it, and you’ll be back where you belong.”

They said their goodbyes, and Layla set the phone back on the arm of the chair and let her head fall back against the cushion. She stared up at the ceiling with its exposed beams and the small chandelier.

If she was being honest with herself, she was actually a little happy that she had an excuse to stay longer. Instead of feeling trapped or frustrated or desperate to escape, she felt… relieved. Grateful, even.

She liked this place more than she’d expected, even with the horribly inconvenient snowstorm and the over-the-top Christmas spirit. She liked the cozy B&B and the way everyone seemed to care about each other. She liked the food.

She liked Christopher.

It was ridiculous, really. She barely knew him. She was here for work, not romance. She had a life waiting for her in Portland, with responsibilities and a career. Getting involved with someone in a town she was only visiting would be complicated at best.