Page 25 of Love Under Snowfall

Was whatever he needed to talk to me about last night outside the Tackle Boxx really that important?

Is it about my exam?

Isn’t it against the university’s policy to talk to me about my exam before it’s graded?

How did he get my freaking number?

She nearly dropped her phone again as her fifteen-minute warning alarm chimed aggressively. She had to get ahold of herself, and the only way to do that was to silence her phone and ignorethe persistent professor until after the party. Stuffing it in her purse, she blew out a breath, feeling grateful that a full bar awaited her. She shrugged into her cream wool coat and left her hotel room. Whatever Professor Prick needed was going to have to wait.

Chapter fourteen

Benjamin

Benjamin was running late and it grated his nerves. He scrambled around the hotel room to collect his wallet, key card, and navy blue peacoat. Phone in hand, he scowled down at the silent device and cursed a certain someone for ignoring his attempts at contact. He’d wanted to give her the heads-up. Informing Miss Miller of his presence ahead of time, instead of sauntering into the Bella Notte banquet room unannounced, seemed like the merciful thing to do. He desperately wanted to avoid drama; he owed Johnny that much.

Despite his friend’s marriage being doomed from the get-go, he could at least play along and do his part to ensure a happy wedding week.

But a certain stubborn little sister refused to respond, which threw a rather imposing wrench into his plan. Francesca was the wild card in this whole affair, and while he doubted she’d do anything to intentionally disrupt the nuptials, he wasn’t so confident in her ability to play nice. He scolded himself for his behavior in class. Had he behaved like . . . well . . . an impartial adult, he wouldn’t have found himself in the current state.

It was too late for all of that, and while he could playshoulda, coulda, wouldauntil the end of time, the useless musings would fix nothing. All that remained was damage control.

If only Miss Miller would answer the blasted phone.

Benjamin reached up to run a hand through his hair butremembered it was pomaded into place, and he didn’t feel like arriving looking disheveled. It was bad enough that he hadn’t shaved. Snoqualmie Pass was more congested than he’d planned and ate up an extra half hour of his time on the trip over. Fortunately, he doubted his friend would mind the stubble; Benjamin just preferred a certain level of grooming, and going into a potentially tenuous situation less than immaculate left him feeling half-cocked.

Agitation pricked over his already tense shoulders. He needed to calm down, and fast. The cold air would mellow him out—maybe a scotch as well.

He pulled the door shut behind him and adjusted the tan cashmere scarf looped around his neck. The chill swirled around, managing to locate every square centimeter of exposed skin and tunnel into his bloodstream. Gritting his teeth to distract from the sting of winter, he glanced down at his phone.

Still no response, not that he expected one.

In a final attempt, before catching her off guard at the restaurant, he tapped out another message. He took a few assured strides from his door and propelled squarely into some barrier he hadn’t noticed.

“Oof.” He grunted.

His hard chest plowed into a petite form. She made a breathy gasp, and he flung his arms around her, letting his phone fly from his hands. The scent of lavender and eucalyptus struck him first, followed quickly by the sensation of warm, soft curves pressing against his tense body. Wisps of silky hair stuck to his stubble as he inhaled the heady fragrance before a tickle of recognition stopped him cold.

“What the fucking fuck?” came the sputtering words from the woman in his stabilizing embrace.

No. Oh no, oh no. It can’t be.

He looked down into amber eyes, rimmed by impossibly thick lashes, wide with shock.

It was.

“Jesus, Clark!” Miss Miller spat. She reached up and braced her hands against his chest, pushing him away like he’d tried to grope her against her will.

He supposed he accidentally, sort of did. His cheeks flushed—from the cold, certainly not embarrassment.

“Miss Miller,” he said, straightening his black-rimmed glasses and clearing his throat with what he hoped passed for a friendly chuckle. “It appears we are doomed to repeat history.”

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Her shock morphed into fury. “Are you following me? Did you come all the way to Leavenworth to torment me?”

Her outrage was almost cute. Scratch that, no. Not cute. Benjamin tried to open his mouth and speak, but the whirlwind of her ire stopped him cold.

“What? Did I fail the final and you decided it would be a super fun Christmas present to see the look on my face when you told me in person?” She took a tentative step back. He couldn’t blame her; from her vantage point, he had followed her home for the holidays without her ever divulging where she lived. In the hotel room directly adjacent to hers, no less.

“I can explain,” Benjamin began, holding up both hands.

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