“I don’t need . . . I’m not here for—”

“Sure you are,” she says, nodding to me and my jacket covered in snow. “You just don’t realize it yet.”

“I’m looking for Saint?” I say as if I’m not quite sure that’s what I mean. “For a room. The road’s closed. I need a place to stay. I was told—”

“You’ve come to the right place, although I’m not sure we have rooms available.” She raises a finger to someone who calls out Vix to her. “Why don’t you take a seat,” she says, pointing to the only open spot at the corner of the bar, “and I’ll send Saint your way when he has a free minute.”

“Ok. Thanks.”

“I’m Vixen.” She smiles. “Give me a holler when you decide what you want to drink.”

Vixen? Please tell me she wasn’t named after a reindeer.

With that thought still milling around in my head, I make my way through the crowded bar and sling my purse over the back on the stool before taking a seat. The bar has a charm to it. It’s the best way to describe it as I look around. The walls are paneled in wood, and the tables and chairs are a faded red. The kind of fade that says someone paid way too much for something to look aged, although it’s most likely brand new. There are old black and white photos framed on the walls, and I’m certain if I could get closer to study them, they would tell the history of this town and its abundance of holiday cheer.

There is a rack on the wall loaded with coat after coat, some still with snow on them, and nine red collars with bells are placed on the opposing one. For Santa’s reindeer? That would be my ridiculous but educated guess. Christmas carols are piped through the speakers as patrons sip drinks and act like there isn’t a blizzard raging outside.

It’s only when my eyes skim their way back to the bar top where I’m seated that I catch sight of him.

And when I mean him, I mean the kind of rugged Adonis that romance authors like me try desperately to describe with words but always fall short. He’s tall with dark hair that’s a little long over his collar. His shoulders are broad, and his biceps fill out the cuffs of his black V-neck T-shirt in that “I work out, but I’m not obsessed with it” kind of way.

But it’s his smile—wide and genuine—that crinkles the corners of his eyes but also lights them up that has me startling and turning my head for a second look, thinking, Oh my.