Page 18 of A Cozy Holiday
“That’s it?”
“I mean, some days I get in earlier.” I stare at the dashboard, which is covered in cartoon stickers.
“I was joking. You do more in a couple of hours than I do all day.”
“You have kids and a literal farm. I think your week counts for a lot.”
“I’m just volunteering at the girls’ school today.”
“Exactly. Most parents would love to do that.” At least I think so. I know I would eventually.
His expression softens. “Maybe. You focus on the pregnancy. We’ll talk reindeer stomachs tomorrow.”
“If I’m working for you—”
“With me.”
“—then you should know I’m a full-service provider.” I lift my chin. “I don’t do half-measures.”
“Can I ask you something?”
My stomach tightens. “Sure.”
“Is it normal for city clinics to shut down this long? Over the holidays?”
The half-truth forms before I can stop it. “Renovations.” I press my thumbnail into my palm. “The whole building. Real mess.”
“Lucky me, then.” He drums his fingers on the wheel. “Getting an overqualified city vet for my middle-of-nowhere operation.”
“Lucky you,” I echo flatly.
There is a beat of silence. My gaze drifts to the back seat. Two booster seats, pink and purple. A hairbrush wedged between the cushions. Barrettes shaped like butterflies scattered across the floor mats. A wicker basket tipped sideways, spilling Goldfish crackers and juice boxes with bendy straws.
The evidence of his whole life, casual and easy.
I face forward again and study my phone screen—three bars of service, no new messages—then lock it. Unlock it. Lock it again.
We turn onto Main Street, a single road lined with old Victorian-style buildings in every color imaginable: ruby red, electric blue, and that sickly green that looks like antifreeze. The gingerbread-style trim on every house is buried under fat ropes of Christmas lights, and roofs are blanketed in last night’s snow. Snowbanks rise along the sidewalks, four feet high where the plows shoved the drifts, still pristine white but littered with stray twigs and branches. We pass a bakery, its windows fogged up, and a general store, both marked by fresh footprints leading up to their doors.
It’s aggressively quaint. I hate how much I don’t hate it.
“Gotta pick up the girls around three,” Jamie says, pulling me from my Hallmark-movie spiral. “I’ll introduce you to Winnie—that’s my sister—then swing back for you later.”
“You got a whole posse of siblings around here, or just the one?”
“Just Winn.” He glances over, and there’s something annoyingly perceptive in those green eyes. “What about you? Family? I’m guessing if you’re here for the whole holiday season, maybe…”
I furrow my eyebrows. “Are you saying I’m undesirable?”
“What? No—”
“Incapable of having plans?”
“I didn’t—” He actually looks flustered.Good. “I can see this is a touchy subject.”
“The people I’m close with are traveling.”
“Gotcha.” His voice softens. “Not attached, then?”
