Page 38 of No Business Like Snow Business

But I lived in a picture-perfect postcard of a town, where rich boys with flawless cheekbones dropped from the sky, so I was allowed to imagine the sort of neat and tidy love story that ought to fit a place like this.

Sterling leaned in and whispered, “Your Christmas facts are a lot better than his.”

I laughed softly. “Well, to be fair, Matty has to keep his facts tourist-friendly. Not sure what the TripAdvisor reviews would be like if he got into the Yule Lads of Iceland, or the Pooping Log of Catalonia.”

“The…what?”

“Later,” I whispered, digging my elbow lightly into his side and then using that as an excuse to snuggle closer.

His lips were right at my ear, his voice suddenly lower and more gravelly than I’d ever heard it. “Later, we might be too busy with other things to discuss the Pooping Log.”

Hearing the words “Pooping Log” from Sterling Van Ruyven’s mouth was so unexpected and bizarre that I couldn’t even respond right away. My body, however, responded immediately to the idea of sharing a bed with him again—my skin prickling, my blood suddenly hot enough it felt sharp in my veins. “Too busy having dinner with my Grandma, you mean?”

I enjoyed the alarm in his voice when he said, “That’s nottonight?”

“No, I figure Grandma and I need time to prepare. We’re going to pull out all the stops, you know. But maybe tomorrow?” Because it felt good to plan another tomorrow with him.

“Will that give you enough time to pull outallthe stops?”

“I’d say at least three-quarters of the stops.”

“I was promised all.”

“Three-quarters would still be more than you could handle, trust me.”

“You don’t know what I could handle.” For a second, he sounded so relaxed, so playful, so completely himself that my heart nearly burst. And then I had to shift uncomfortably, because no, Ididn’tknow what he could handle, but I sure as hell wanted to find out tonight at The Pear Tree Inn. His thoughts seemed to be going the same direction, because he gave an embarrassed snort and squeezed my hand again. I squeezed back.

I was leaning so hard against him that I felt his phone vibrate through the pocket of his coat. He immediately stiffened but made no move to retrieve it.

It kept buzzing.

“Do you need to get that?” I asked.

He hesitated, which meant he absolutely thought he did. But then he shook his head. “No. Whatever it is, it can wait.”

Ten minutes later, when we were getting off the boat, his phone had gone through two more rounds of buzzing. And even though he hadn’t checked it yet, Sterling’s jaw was set.

“Excuse me, Matthew,” I said, dragging Sterling over to him. “Great tour. I’m Harvey, from the museum. I’m doing a research project, and I was hoping if you could tell me if this is you.”

Matthew looked at me expectantly, his gaze switching to Sterling when Sterling pulled the photograph out of his pocket. Matthew took it, squinting at it. “Nah, that’s not me, sorry.”

“Do either of them look familiar?” I asked.

He hummed. “That’s a Blitzen’s cap. Bob Hanks might know.”

I tried not to let my disappointment show. “We already checked with him. Thanks.”

“This guy,” Matthew said. “The blond. He looks a bit familiar. What was he called? Gabe. Gabe Brown?”

“Gabe Baum,” I said, my disappointment growing. I forced a smile. “No, it’s not him. Thank you, though.”

Sterling’s phone buzzed again as we walked toward the parking lot, and, with a sigh, he let go of my hand to reach into his pocket.

My heart sank as he looked at the screen and his expression darkened.

Sterling stuck the phone back in his pocket and looked up, jaw tight. “I may have to take a rain check on dinner with you and your grandmother,” he said brusquely.

And just like that, I knew I wasn’t going to get my picture-perfect ending.

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