Snowed In For Christmas: A Fun Feel-Good Holiday Romance Novel - Kimberly Krey Page 0,2

Year, they’d welcome a new group of struggling young adults into their winter survival program. Hence, Easton’s four day getaway to secure and prepare the yurts.

“All right then,” he said, zipping up the duffel bag and hiking it onto his shoulder. “I’m heading there now. It’s supposed to storm, so I figure we can just…go inside the main office and do the interview in the commons area of the lodge. Or maybe at my desk.”

“What?” Chantelle screeched. “No. You can’t do it inside. The setting is supposed to represent you in some way. You’re an outdoor survival specialist, not some dork at a desk.”

“I work at a desk,” Tim, Chantelle’s husband, hollered in the background.

“You know what I mean,” Chantelle hissed. “If you’re going to attract the right woman, you need to present the real you.”

He wasn’t planning to attract any woman. “You know they don’t have a big camera crew,” Easton said. “It’s just one woman doing the interview and the recording both. Probably from her phone.”

“If you can’t do it outside the yurt, do the interview from inside the structure, okay?”

Easton nodded. “Yeah. I guess that would work.”

“It will totally work.” She squealed then. “Ah! I’m so excited to see how it goes.”

He channeled his best monotone voice. “Yippee. Me too.”

“You just wait,” Chantelle said, her voice full of fluctuation and joy. “One day, you’re really going to thank me for this.”

“Doubt it.”

“No, you will. Wow, I can’t believe you’re actually going to be on that show.”

Easton was halfway through the kitchen when her words stopped him cold. His boots gave out a squeak against the tile floor as he froze in place.

“You said this was an interview to see if I move on to the end. There are still fifty guys, right?” The blood had definitely drained from his head. His hands went numb. It felt like the moment he’d come face to face with the black bear beside the creek last year. The one time he’d left his bear horn in the tent.

“Yes, of course,” Chantelle said. “But there’s no way they’re going to let a bachelor like you slip between their fingers.”

Easton regained feeling in his hands. He sighed, relief tricking clear down to his toes. “Well, believe it or not, sister dear, they might not find me as charming as you do.”

“You just don’t know what a catch you are.” She followed the comment with a loud yawn.

“Yes, I’ve got you riveted even in conversation,” he mumbled.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s the baby, not you. I swear I get more tired by the day. Just ten more weeks to go, right?” Another yawn sounded.

Easton grinned, noting the same conflicting emotions that surfaced each time he thought about being an uncle. Some aspects he liked and looked forward to; others, not so much. It felt like a big responsibility, especially since the little guy would be named after him.

“Well, you go take your nap,” Easton said. “I’m headed out to the grounds to see what condition the yurts are in. I’ll make a list of anything we need and, as you suggest, hold the interview in one as well.”

“Perfect. How long are you staying again? You’ll be here for Christmas, right?”

“Right,” he said with a nod. “Of course. I’ll head out on Christmas Eve.”

“What about the storm? If it’s as bad as they think, you better leave right after your interview. You don’t want to be stuck there over Christmas Day.”

The truth was, the idea didn’t sound so bad. Chantelle and Tim were gracious hosts, but did they really need a third wheel butting into all of their holidays? Especially now that they had a baby on the way.

“Easton?”

“Sure,” he said. “But I doubt we’ll see the kind of blizzard they’re warning about.” Though the very image of such a blizzard gave him a rush. How awesome would it be to weather that kind of storm from a fire-warmed hut like the yurt?

“Well, if it is, you better head out with the gal from the station. She’ll be anxious to get back to her family too. Can’t believe they’re interviewing people the day before Christmas Eve. They’re cutting it close.”

“Networks like that don’t care about Christmas. Unless it puts money in their pockets, that is.”

“Always the skeptic,” she accused. “Well, at any rate, thank you, for holding up your end of the deal. I can think good things about you again.”

His face scrunched up. “Jeez, you’re making me picture you hovered over a voodoo doll with