Snowed In (Fitzpatrick Christmas, #2)

by Catherine Walsh

When it does, I check my messages to see David’s still left me on read. Maybe he died.

“That’s one good thing about bad days,” I say, as her face falls. “They always end.”

“It’s a great coat.”

“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.”

“I’m aware. You’re my type breaker.”