Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances Read Free Page B

weather. There was something in his eyes, though, that really struck a chord—he looked troubled, like he was having a hard time keeping them open. He had just gotten himself a cup of coffee, which he was clutching kind of intently.
    “Sure,” I said.
    He kept his head down when he sat, but I noticed him glancing at all the food I had in the box. Something told me that he was a lot hungrier than me.
    “Have some,” I said. “I was just getting stuff before they sold out. I’m not even that hungry. I haven’t touched this pizza at all.”
    There was a moment of resistance, but I pushed it forward.
    “I realize it looks like a pizza coaster,” I added. “It was all they had. Really. Take it.”
    He smiled a little. “I’m Jeb,” he said.
    “I’m Julie,” I answered. I wasn’t in the mood to go through the “Jubilee? Your name is Jubilee ? Tell me, what do you use for your routine—baby oil or some kind of nut oil? And does someone wipe down the pole after each use?” conversation. Everything I explained to you in the beginning. Most people call me Julie. Noah called me Lee.
    “Where are you headed?” he asked.
    I had no cover story for my parents or why I was here. The full truth was a little too much to throw at a stranger.
    “Going to see my grandparents,” I said. “Kind of last-minute change of plan.”
    “Where do they live?” he asked, looking at the swirling snow that was beating at the window of the train. It was impossible to tell where the sky ended and the ground began. The snow cloud had crash-landed on top of us.
    “Florida,” I said.
    “Long way. I’m just going to Gracetown, next stop.”
    I nodded. I’d heard of Gracetown but had no idea where it was. Somewhere on this long, snowy path between me and nowhere. I offered the box of food to him again, but he shook his head.
    “That’s okay,” he said. “But thanks for the pizza. I was kind of starving. We picked a bad day to travel. Guess there’s not a lot of choice, though. Sometimes you just have to do stuff you aren’t sure about. . . . ”
    “Who are you going to see?” I asked.
    He turned his gaze back down and folded up the plate the pizza disc had come on.
    “I’m going to see my girlfriend. Well, kind of girlfriend. I’ve been trying to call her, but I can’t get a signal.”
    “I have one,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Use mine. I’m not even close to using my minutes this month.”
    Jeb took the phone with a wide smile. As he got up, I noticed just how tall and broad-shouldered he was. If I wasn’t so completely devoted to Noah, I would have been deeply smitten. He crossed the few feet, just to a spot by the other side. I watched him try the number, but he clicked the phone shut without ever speaking.
    “I couldn’t get her,” he said, sitting back down and returning my phone.
    “So,” I said, smiling. “This is, kind of your girlfriend? You still aren’t sure if you’re dating yet?”
    I remembered those times well, when Noah and I first got together, and I wasn’t sure if I was his girlfriend. I was so deliciously nervous all the time.
    “She cheated on me,” he said plainly.
    Oh, I’d misread that. Badly. I felt the pang for him, right in the middle of my chest. I really did.
    “It’s not her fault,” he said after a moment. “Not all of it. I . . . ”
    I never got to hear what had happened, because the door of the car flew open, and there was a screech, kind of like the sound that Beaker—the horrible, oily cockatoo we had as a fourth-grade pet—used to make. Beaker was the bird Jeremy Rich taught to scream the word ass . Beaker loved to screech and scream the word ass , and he did it really well. You could hear him all the way down the hall in the girls’ room. Beaker eventually got moved to the teachers’ lounge, where I guess you’re allowed to spread your greasy feathers and scream “ass” all you like.
    It wasn’t ass-screaming Beaker, though. It was fourteen