Snowed In (Fitzpatrick Christmas, #2)

by Catherine Walsh

Zoe presses her lips together. “Maybe you should try dating a librarian. Or a Taurus.”

“I will.” “Don’t faint again.” “I won’t,” I promise, and Christian turns back as we hang up. “My grandmother.”

I don’t think we should explore the ocean. Do you mean as a couple or… I think we should just leave it alone. We don’t need to go down there. Ever. We should just stay where we are. No more exploring. What about space? Oh, I don’t think about space. None of my business. Noted.

Megan O’Sullivan has freckles. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. I’ve never seen them before because I’ve never seen her without makeup, but whatever she was wearing washed off in the lake, and now she’s here with her face tinged pink and dotted all over and her gray eyes so bright you’d swear they were lit from within.

“They’re not doing anything.” “Yes, they are. They know it, and you know it, and if someone says something and I’m not there, you call me. If someone side-eyes you, you call me. You call me, and no matter where you are or what time it is, I’ll pick up and I’ll come running. That’s the whole point of this.”

She steps in front of me when I try and go past, blocking my path. “It’s the twenty-fourth of December,” she says, and I pause, taking her in properly for the first time. Taking in everything. The snow outside. Megan in her pajamas. The way my body still feels like I ran a marathon. “Of what year?”

“You guys make me happy,” I say gruffly. “Being back in Ireland makes me happy. My job some days. Running. Reading.” I pause, and the tightness turns into an ache. “Megan.”