AT THE BREAKFAST table the following morning, I text my parents and send a message in my group chat with Zoe and Grace. I forgot to let them know that I made it to Stowe safe last night. I decide to save details about what “safe” means for later (for one of those group chats, at least).
Went home with a hot, romantic pilot with major potential and we made a pact to reunite on Christmas Eve.
I also write a thank-you note to Sky’s parents on stationery I had in my suitcase mentioning how wonderful (downright terrible) it was to meet them and how much I’m looking forward to (completely dreading) seeing them again on Christmas Eve.
I have time to do all this because Sky and I are the only ones up this early, and he’s busy working on his computer. He was working when I woke up this morning too. I’m admittedly a little bummed that this is how he’s choosing to spend our last bit of time together. But I get that he has a job and obligations he might have put off last night on account of me staying over.
My own job should be where my mind is this morning, anyway. I glance down at my phone to check the time, noting that I’ll be an official employee of Hudson Lane in exactly thirty minutes.
Sky’s aware of the time too, even though he’s still typing. “One minute and then we’ll leave,” he tells me without looking up. “You feeling ready?”
I nod, though I’m more nervous than ready. I barely touched the bagel Sky toasted me. This is a big day in many ways. New job. New responsibilities. The real beginning of my Vermont Bucket List. Not to mention I have to say goodbye to Sky, which I couldn’t have imagined would be an item on my agenda when I left Atlanta yesterday morning.
Yesterday morning!
I can’t believe it’s only been one full day since I left. It seems so much longer than that. So much has happened.
Okay, one thing—a whirlwind romance—but still.
“Finished.” Sky finally closes his laptop.
About time. I can’t help the thought from popping into my head, but I know I’d be totally out of line to verbalize it.
—
Fortunately, on the car drive to the inn, Sky is much more talkative and present. The energy between us feels just as strong as it did yesterday, which fills me with relief because a part of me was starting to worry that maybe last night was a fluke.
Now I see that couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s holding my hand over the center console, asking me questions, and cracking jokes. When we pass by a park filled with trees flaunting their yellow and red leaves, he even shares a childhood memory, telling me about when the park once hosted a meet and greet with Santa and his reindeer. Apparently, Sky saw Santa leave and didn’t realize he was only headed to the bathroom. Thinking the reindeer had been left behind, he unhooked them from the sleigh and each other and told them to go find Santa.
“I was so proud of myself,” he says, “because I thought I was doing the right thing. But when they inevitably took off and disappeared, I felt like the whole town hated me for being the kid who lost Santa’s reindeer.” He laughs with a shake of his head, and I laugh too, even though it’s kind of sad imagining little Sky being shunned for trying to do something so sweet.
The only problem with the way this is going is that the drive is not long enough.
We pull up to Hudson Lane before I feel ready to (a) meet my new bosses, Mr. and Mrs. Hudson, and (b) part ways with Sky.
He turns to me then. “Why an inn?”
“Sorry?”
“Why did you decide to work at an inn?”
Ah. I wondered when I’d get this question.
“A product of watching too many rom-coms following my failed engagement,” I grin. “As you mentioned when we first met, many of those movies feature a character who inherits or is gifted an inn after hitting rock bottom. I don’t have many deceased relatives, fortunately, nor rich relatives, unfortunately. But it got me thinking that if I wasn’t going to magically inherit a bed-and-breakfast, maybe I could get a job working at one while I figured out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I didn’t want the romance”—I glance at Sky a little apologetically—“but I wanted the quiet to figure myself out.”
I wonder if Sky is about to judge me for my choices or my logic.
But he says, “I think it’s great.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. You’ve got an exciting adventure ahead of you,” he says, waving a hand at the inn in front of us. I briefly take in the brick facade, white-painted cedar siding and black clapboard shutters, noting that it’s even more charming in person than in the pictures, before unbuckling my seat belt and returning my attention to him.
“I do,” I say. “But I’m also enjoying the adventure of meeting you.”
Sky responds to my comment with a kiss. I can tell he meant for that one kiss to be it because he pulls right back after delivering it. But seconds later he comes in for a second, and I hear his seat belt unclick. I feel that sound in my stomach, the anticipation building. He scoots in even closer, placing his hands on my face as his lips find mine again and again—and again. I’m swept up in the sensation of his lips on mine and of his hands sliding into my hair but force myself to pull away and push Sky back, sticking out a hand to ensure we keep our distance. Messy hair and flushed cheeks won’t be a good look for my first day.
“I can’t get fired before I even start.”
“You’re right.” Sky leans his head back against his headrest, trying to catch his breath. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to control myself when I’m around you.”
I flush. I happen to feel the exact same way.
“I promise, hands off for good now.” He holds them up with his palms out. I appreciate him listening to me, but now all I can think about is how much I want his hands touching me again. “At least until Christmas Eve.”
“So you’ll be here then?” I’m fishing for confirmation that we still stand where we did last night, because we haven’t talked about our pact at all this morning.
“Oh, I’ll definitely be here,” he says. “And if you want to read about just how excited for it I am, check your email when you can.”
“My email?”
“Yeah, for your first letter. I wrote it this morning, and it should have hit your inbox just before I closed my laptop. I found your email address on your LinkedIn page.”
“That’s what you were doing on your computer all morning?”
He nods.
He wasn’t spending his time working. He was writing me.
“How many days is it until Christmas Eve, exactly?”
He laughs. “Ninety-seven.” That was too fast for him to have just done the math. And I know he didn’t make the number up because I too already counted this morning.
I smile a big, goofy grin. I can’t help it. Who knew when I applied for this inn gig after watching too many romantic comedies that I’d end up living a rom-com of my very own?
It’s about time, I think.
For the past six months, I’ve been a casualty to someone else’s plot.
Now I’m finally in my own damn plot. And I like it much better.
“So I’ll see you in ninety-seven days?”
“See you in ninety-seven days.” Sky’s hands are gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white. It’s cute how hard he’s trying to honor my wishes.
Really cute.
“Oh, kiss me one more time, already,” I cave.
His hands are off the steering wheel in a millisecond. “I was sure hoping you’d say that.”