Smitten with Candy Canes by Ellen Jacobson

Author:Ellen Jacobson [Ellen Jacobson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ellen Jacobson
Published: 2021-11-27T00:00:00+00:00

5

The Danger of Propane Space Heaters

Turns out the hotel was actually melting. One of the other guests worried she was going to freeze to death, so she smuggled in a propane space heater. Here’s the problem with space heaters—they make ice melt. Apparently, this lady didn’t quite grasp that concept.

Had my dream been some sort of premonition? Possibly. The hotel did melt, after all. I just hope that the part about being dressed up as a candy cane never comes true. That would be way too weird.

Although the manager assures us that the space heater only melted a small portion of the ice hotel, they’ve still decided that it would be safer to send us back to our regular hotel for the remainder of the night.

While we wait for the shuttle bus to pick us up, Max pulls out a soft leather-bound book from his backpack and opens it to a blank page.

“Is that your diary?” I ask.

Max uncaps a fountain pen and says firmly, “It’s a journal, not a diary.”

“Same thing. When I had a diary, I wrote down what happened each day. What do you write about in your diary?”

“Again, it’s a journal,” he says. “I make notations about my observations, incidents, and phenomena in it.”

“That’s basically a fancy way of saying you write down what happened each day. You know what else I used to record in my diary? What boys I had a crush on and if any of them tried to kiss me. Do you write stuff like that in your diary too?”

“For the last time, it’s a journal—”

I hold my hand up. “Fine, we can call it a journal if you want.”

“Thank you.” Max shifts his body away from me and bends over his journal . . . er, diary.

“Are you writing about what happened tonight?” I ask, trying to peer over his shoulder.

He laughs and covers the page with his arm. “You mean about that woman and her space heater?”

“Well, that was interesting,” I say. “But I was thinking more along the lines about how you almost kissed me.”

Max twists his body and looks at me. “Me? You were the one who almost kissed me. Again.”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

“Weren’t you telling me what a good memory you had earlier this evening?” He grins and taps the side of my head. “You don’t have to take notes because you remember everything.”

I inhale sharply as he runs his fingers from the side of my head down to my mouth. As he lightly traces my bottom lip, he whispers, “It’s a shame we were interrupted and you couldn’t kiss me like you wanted to.”

“You mean you couldn’t kiss me like you wanted to.” I lean in closer, smelling his peppermint cologne, daring him to press his lips to mine.

“The bus is here,” the manager calls out, startling both of us. Max’s journal goes flying across the floor.

“I’ll get it,” I say. When I bend to pick it up, I notice several sheets of loose paper scattered nearby and gather them up.

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