“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize someone was sitting here.”

Dark eyes looked up at him. There was a flare of annoyance, and then her gaze narrowed.

“You,” she said accusingly. “Do you always ski like some flash idiot?”

The thick Scottish accent slayed him as pieces started to drop into place—it was the woman from last night.

“Do you always hire a driver that drives like an idiot?”

Her mouth fell open.

He smiled at her spark and sass. He leaned over and held out his hand. “Stefan.”

She eyed his hand before shaking it firmly. “Paige.”

“Where are you from in Scotland, Paige?”

“Oh no. You don’t get to sit down all smug after, (a),” she counted on her fingers, “you tried to blame us for a car accident last night, (b) you tried to drown me in snow with your flashy and unsafe stop earlier and (c) you just bulldozed past me and spilled my coffee.” She pointed to the table in front of her. “If you’d knocked my toast, it would have been game over.”

He laughed. “Is there anything you don’t want to blame me for?”

She looked at her half-filled coffee cup. “Nope, I think everything is absolutely your fault.”