Jonas would be at the cabin. In a few days. For Christmas. Memories of my first kiss, my best kiss, infiltrated my mind, and for a moment I didn’t see the sign to the rental agencies, the impatient travelers stepping around me, or the arrival and departure displays. I saw Jonas Brooks, under the gentle glow of Christmas tree lights, as he leaned in to kiss me. An ache flared in my chest as I remembered, too, the reason for that kiss. Not desire, not love. Pity.
