Page 22 of A Cozy Kind of Christmas

NINETEEN

JILL

Jill noticed Owen checking his phone, his face immediately clouding over like the skies outside and turning dark.

She knew that look. It had to be something with his family.

“I’ll grab some snacks at the bar. Does anyone want anything?

” she asked their group brightly, tugging on his sleeve. “Owen, can you give me a hand?”

He looked up from the screen and stuffed his phone into his pocket. “Sure, yeah.”

“What is it?” Jill asked under her breath as they headed for the bar. A group of skiers and snowboarders had congregated at the far end of the long, ornately carved wooden bar. They were decked out in neon ski bibs and puffy jackets.

“Be sure to charge it to my tab,” Lucinda called after them. “Remember this weekend is on the company!”

Jill smiled at her but could tell something was wrong. “What is it?” she asked Owen again, squeezing past the roaring fireplace. Owen’s face looked as hot as the flames.

“My family.” He yanked out the phone to show her the text.

“My nephew got caught again. This time, it looks like he was dealing. That means another stint in jail.” He sounded dejected as his eyes crinkled with concern, making his freckles look even more pronounced.

“We’re cursed, my family, I tell you. Nothing good ever comes with this lot.

” He paused as they reached the bar. He met her eyes, setting his jaw firm, as he grabbed a menu and rolled it up in a tight tube.

“I’m glad you and I are on the same page, Jill.

I hate this. There’s nothing I can do, but I still feel responsible somehow. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not your fault.” Jill reached for his arm, trying to soothe him as his words sank in—on the same page. But they weren’t on the same page.

“It could be me, you know? If I hadn’t gotten my act together, I might be in jail now, too. It’s no wonder your family thinks I’m a screwup.” He tapped the tip of the menu on the bar.

“They don’t,” Jill protested, but Owen was already spiraling, closing himself off, and slipping into avoidance.

She’d seen this before. She knew it was a coping strategy.

Although his natural inclination was easygoing and carefree, whenever issues with his family came up, he reverted to an older version of himself.

She could almost see the struggling little boy—the one who was worried about scarcity and was forced to parent himself—in the way his cheeks sagged and his eyes grew glossy.

“What do you want?” he asked, taking in a steady breath, smoothing out the menu, and handing it to her as if to put an end to any thoughts about his family back in Ireland. “You said snacks, so snacks it is.”

“I’m always up for snacks,” she said with a smile, hoping to break some of the tension.

His phone buzzed with one text, then another, and another. He didn’t bother to read them.

“Are you just going to ignore the messages?” she asked, carefully.

“Yeah.” He firmed his lips and nodded like he was trying to convince himself that was the best—or maybe only—option. “It’s terrible for my mom, the rest of the family, but what am I going to do from Bend? It is what it is. Better to let it go.”

Jill wished she could let go of what she had to tell him. She couldn’t. Not forever. But maybe for just a little while longer.