Page 9 of A Pen Pal for Christmas

I broke eye contact, suddenly self-conscious. "So, um, what made you wanna come back to Snow Hill this Christmas?"

He paused, considering. "The timing wasn’t my choice. I’m visiting family before I start a new job nearby.”

“Yeah, hence my earlier comment. You don’t strike me as the type to come here simply for the Christmas cheer.”

“No? What gave me away?”

I chuckled, shrugging. “I’m not sure, but I’m pretty good at reading people.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Sure, it was all fun and games to predict someone’s drink order, but the stuff that mattered? Maybe I’d never really had that ability.

My chest tightened at the memory of Dane’s promises—the words I’d wanted to believe, the ones I’d clung to for far too long. I shuddered, cutting the thought short.

But refocusing on having an interest in a man in this town wasn’t much better. Snow Hill might have its Christmas magic, but it hadn’t been enough to save me from misjudging someone when I’d visited last year, either. Maybe that’s why the flicker of interest in this guy’s gaze made my stomach twist with both excitement and unease.

Sure, everything about him made my heart flutter, but it wasn’t on my holiday bucket list to fall for another handsome and mysterious man, only for him to turn out to be much different than he seemed.

I swallowed hard. "Anyway, enjoy your drink," I managed, willing my voice to remain steady. "Let me know if you need anything else."

He nodded, allowing a ghost of a smile. "Will do." He took a sip of his drink, his gaze steady on me. “What about you?”

Chuckling, I tilted my head. “Whataboutme?”

“How’d you wind up in Snow Hill?”

I blinked at him, caught off guard. It wasn’t his question—I wasn’t a stranger to questions like that. It was the fact that I rarely considered answering them. My job was to serve drinks with a smile, listen if someone needed an ear, and keep things surface-level for the good of the bar. And yet, no part of me wanted to be coy or vague with the man in front of me.

I reached for a towel to busy my hands. “My story?”

“Sure. Where are you from? Why Snow Hill?”

I’d asked Derrick that same question, and my eyes flicked to where he lingered at the other end of the bar, scrolling on his phone. I hadn’t really cared about his answer, and if he’d asked the same of me, I wouldn’t have said anything too deep. And yet…

“My brother lives here, and after I quit my old job in Philly after my ex ruined it for me, I felt like running away to a magical Christmas town was the most mature and reasonable thing I could do,” I admitted wryly, so surprised by my unfiltered honesty that I wondered if he could hear it in my voice.

His brow furrowed slightly. “What happened?”

My fingers absently tracing the edge of the bar. “It was just a lot of drama. Either way, I decided I’d had enough, so here I am.”

Hudson’s expression didn’t change, but his jaw tightened just slightly, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes—protectiveness, maybe?

It threw me off, but not in a bad way.

“Good for you,” he said. “For getting out of a bad situation. That takes guts.”

I tried to downplay it with a shrug. “Guess so.”

“You guess?” His lips quirked, and I smiled at the challenge in his tone. “Trust me. It does.”

Something about the way he said it—firm, confident, like he spoke from experience—made me believe him. And maybe that was the scariest part. Because for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t just being polite with someone across the bar. I was connecting.

CHAPTER 4

Hudson

Sunday night,I ran my thumb over the envelope, hesitating before tearing it open. The handwriting on the front was neat and deliberate. It was steady, confident, no-nonsense—exactly the opposite of how I felt holding the letter in my hands. It must have been Joan who wrote it since it didn’t look like the swirls I was used to seeing from my aunt.

Ida's enthusiasm for this whole pen pal idea had been obvious, but I wasn't in the business of baring my soul on paper—not after what happened the last time I’d trusted someone with my thoughts.

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