Page 77 of Love Under Snowfall

Jonathan squeezed tighter at the wobble in her voice. He sighed heavily. “It’s been an emotional day.”

“That it has.” Frankie nodded.

“So emotional, in fact—”

“No, Jon,” she warned uselessly.

“—that even the cake is in tiers.”

“You’re the worst.”

“And you love me anyway.” He squeezed her again.

“You got me there.”

One song bled into another, and Jonathan winced.

“That’s about enough of that, I think. Night, sis.”

Frankie watched her brother’s long, purposeful strides as he made his way onto the dance floor, weaving fluidly between a handful of electric sliders in various states of intoxication. Lucy shrieked gleefully as he scooped her up in his arms like a proper bride, and then she snuggled against his chest.

“Bye, everyone. Thanks for coming,” the newest Miller called hastily as the couple left the venue.

Frankie gathered her handbag and turned toward the door. Her warm bed was calling and she wasn’t willing to deny it a moment longer.

Until a deep voice stopped her in her tracks. “Care for an escort?”

Chapter forty-two

Benjamin

Benjamin leaned against the bar, sipping on his second drink of the night and watching the venue staff stack chairs and roll away tables. He wasn't typically a heavy drinker; he’d been favoring water the whole night, allowing himself a single finger of a perfectly aged scotch during the round of toasts immediately following dinner.

But when he caught sight of a certain blonde wrapped in blue velvet leaving the reception, wrapped just as tightly around the bulging bicep of the largest man in the room fifteen minutes prior, he’d decided a second drink wasn’t outside of propriety. He could use a little relaxation. Unfortunately, the fiery liquid had the opposite effect: souring his stomach almost as much as the thought of hearing Francesca’s moans of pleasure from the next room.

Moans he wouldn’t be causing this time.

He abandoned the barely touched tumbler on the bar with a hundred-dollar bill tucked beneath and strolled out of the tent.

“Night,” the bartender called.

The very December crispness in the air provided more relief than the drink. A stroll around town as the bars closed down would help. The holidays were in full swing along Main Street. He took in the glow of the Christmas lights, twinkling between the silent flakes of snow drifting from the clouds. A giant tree in the middle of town reached higher than the rest, proudly displayingtwists of ribbons and lights. The scene was beautiful but left him with a bitterness he couldn’t shake.

He’d messed up.

Spectacularly.

And there was no going back from the error he made. He’d slept with a student. One ofhisstudents and jeopardized his career and potentially her scholarship in the process. Not only that, but he took advantage of his best friend’s little sister like an opportunistic villain. He risked his most cherished friendship, and if he had the opportunity to go back . . . If he had the chance to undo every choice he made, every touch and taste . . .

Who was he kidding? He would do it all over again.

That’s why when he spotted the good sheriff clomping to his truck just outside of the Wilhelm Haus Inn, he breathed a sigh of relief. Before he could second-guess anything, he found himself at the door of the room just beside his and knocked.

The creak of the hinges reverberated in his ears, and the sight of Francesca still dressed, hair neatly in place, lipstick unsmudged, left him breathless.

“Oh, thank god,” she gasped the instant she registered his presence.

Benjamin needed no further invitation, stepping across the threshold and into her seeking arms. His lips met hers in contact rife with so many unspoken thoughts.

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