The minute he headed out the door, Ellie clicked through to Google and checked out Dash’s search results. They got a lot of wannabe writers through town, always working on their non-existent novels, but it turned out he was the real deal. She’d seen the movie he directed last year, the one with Blake Callahan in the lead, and had to admit that for all his attitude and lack of holiday spirit, the man had talent—as well as charm, good looks, and a sexy accent.

Not that she’d noticed.

Ellie scrolled through photos of him looking dashing on the red carpet at premieres, and hanging out with all his movie star friends. He had a new gorgeous starlet on his arm in every other shot, and the gossip blogs were drooling over how he was a “hot new voice” and one to watch. She paused, curious. Guys like him spent the holidays partying in Aspen, or on a yacht somewhere warm and tropical. So what was he doing out there in the middle of nowhere, loitering at reception at the Sweetbriar Inn like he had nothing better to do?

Ellie’s sister would say he was an early Christmas gift for her, but she tried to ignore the memory of his playful smirk and those teasing blue eyes and focus on the task in front of her. She’d learned the hard way that tourists on the Cape were just passing through: there for a brief vacation from their regular lives. They may have liked to pretend that the real world didn’t exist—that they could be someone different there—but when the end of summer came, they always brushed off the sand, packed up their beach towels, and left.

Ellie had forgotten that once, and it had ended in a world of heartache. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. Even if Dash looked hotter than buttered rum in that navy peacoat. And his accent…

She shook it off and got back to work, sorting through the receipts and entering them into the accounting software. Ellie had taught herself bookkeeping, and now half the businesses in town hired her to do their books. She loved creating order from chaos, and there was nothing more chaotic than a small gallery with eight months of purchase orders to account for. Half of Mackenzie’s invoices were scribbled on the back of envelopes or pages torn from Ceramics Monthly magazine, so the afternoon flew past. The sun was sinking over the trees when the phone rang, snapping Ellie out of her math-fueled trance.

“Sweetbriar Inn, wishing you a—”

“Ellie?” A British accent cut her off. “Is that you?”

“Dash.” She smiled despite herself. “How’s the hike? Inspired yet?”

“Uh, well, here’s the thing,” he said, sounding sheepish. “I’m lost.”

“Lost?”

“Completely. I took a wrong turn somewhere, and with the snow, every track looks the same. I’ve been wandering in circles for hours, and now my phone’s nearly out of power…”

“OK, hold on.” Ellie grabbed a copy of the map she’d given him. “Where are you?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be lost.”

Since he couldn’t see her, Ellie rolled her eyes. “I mean, can you tell me what you see? Are you near the ocean, or a hill? Are there any buildings around?”

“I’m in the woods,” he said, his voice getting fainter. “It’s pretty dense. I think there’s a lake, or a pond nearby, and a broken-down shed.”

That narrowed it down.

“Wait, I think I see a house nearby…” The noise of movement came, and then Dash spoke again, excited. “It’s all shuttered, but there’s blue paint, and some writing on the mailbox. ‘Jenkinson,’ it says—” His voice faded out.

Ellie startled with recognition at the name. “I know where that is.” She grabbed her keys. “Stay there, I’ll come get you.”

Silence. “Dash?”

There was nothing but dial tone.

She pulled her jacket on and checked the map. If he was by the Jenkinson house, he’d wandered way off-course: their property was two miles away, on a prime piece of land down by the shore.

Ellie left a note by the desk, quickly set out a plate of cookies and jug of eggnog for happy hour, and headed out in their battered ancient Jeep. It was getting dark, and as she took the winding back roads through the woods, she gave a shiver. Getting lost in winter was no picnic. He was lucky his cellphone battery lasted long enough to make the call, otherwise, he could have frozen out there overnight.

As the light faded, she turned on her headlights, but even in the pitch black of night, she would have known the way. She hadn’t driven this road in years, and even though she wished she could forget the route completely, she still knew it by heart.

Ethan Jenkinson arrived in Sweetbriar the summer Ellie turned eighteen: tall, strapping, and with a smile that could melt fresh strawberry ice cream. She’d fallen hard, and thought he did the same. For one whirlwind summer, they snuck away every chance they got, parked out in the woods for hours, and spent long hot days lazing on the sand. She thought it was love, thought it was the beginning of something real for them. After all, he was in his junior year at college just two hours away, an easy drive. They even made plans: how they would visit every other weekend, phone and text. The last time she saw him, he kissed her tenderly and said he’d see her in just a couple of weeks.

Then he stopped returning her calls.

Ellie felt a flush even remembering it now, how stupid she’d been. She was just a summer fling to him, a fun way to pass the time while he was there vacationing with his family. He’d never meant to stay in touch, or make long-distance work. As soon as his car crossed the Sagamore Bridge back to the mainland, she had faded from his memory the way tan lines fade after just a couple of weeks out of the sun. She spent months crying over him, sending confused letters and leaving heartbroken voicemails, until at last, she had realized, it was only ever going to end that way.

Guys like him always left, and local girls like her got left behind.

Ellie saw a figure waving in her headlights up ahead, snapping her out of her memories. It was Dash, waiting by the house. He looked cold—and glad to see her.

“A million times, thank you,” he said, after he yanked open the door and clambered into the Jeep. He rubbed his hands together, shivering. “I had visions of freezing to death out here, and nobody around to write a decent obituary.”

Ellie laughed, glad at least he still had a sense of humor. “I’m sorry I told you to go hiking,” she apologized, turning the heater up all the way. “I should have warned you about the trails. They get confusing in the snow.”

“No, please, it’s my fault.” Dash shook his head. “I was the only Boy Scout never to pass the orienteering badge. I led my whole troupe ten miles out of the way. They had to send a search party after us.”

“You were a Boy Scout?” Ellie asked, turning back onto the road.

“Yes, ma’am.” He tried an American accent—and failed miserably. “My mother was trying to get me away from the TV. I spent my whole childhood inside watching movies,” he explained, “so she thought the great outdoors would be good for me.”

“And was it?”

He chuckled. “Well, I did manage to recruit my troupe into making a horror movie on my old handheld camera. We made fake blood from berries and got our uniforms completely ruined. After that, my mom left me to watch in peace.”

“How did the movie turn out?” she asked, amused.

“Wonderful. It won second prize in the Ardingly College Year Eight Summer Project contest,” he announced proudly.

“Only second?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I was narrowly beaten by Susie Booth’s essay about her dead Labrador, Bertie, but I still say it was a fix. I saw that dog in the best of health on parents’ day, so she made the whole thing up. Little suck-up.”

Ellie laughed. “Not that you hold a grudge.”

“Me? Never.” Dash smiled over at her, his handsome face even more striking in the dim, shadowed light. “I’m biding my time until our twenty-year reunion, then I’ll waltz in there with an Oscar and show little Susie who’s boss.”

“Well, as long as you’re in the industry for the right reasons…”

Dash grinned. “I’ll let you in on a little secret: ninety percent of Hollywood is trying to get back at everyone who wronged them in school. You’ve never seen a town so full of insecure people acting like they’re God’s gift. Actors are the worst,” he added.

“Not writers?” she asked innocently.

He snorted. “Touché.”

Ellie was approaching the turn back to the inn, but Dash still looked pretty cold. After trampling around outside for hours, it seemed almost cruel to send him back to that freezing, bleak cabin. So she was almost relieved when he piped up, “Say, is there somewhere around here to get a drink? A hot drink,” he added.

“The pub does a great Irish coffee. I can drop you there,” she offered. “It’s not far. And their fish and chips is pretty good too. Although, it may not be up to your English standards.”

“I’m willing to take one for the team,” he said as she continued down the road towards town. He looked around at the houses bedecked in holiday lights, sparkling brightly in the dark. “Wow, you really weren’t kidding about the festive spirit around here.”

“I told you, Sweetbriar takes the Starbright Festival very seriously.” Ellie turned past a house with a six-foot Santa on the roof, complete with reindeer and a flashing Rudolph nose. “There’s a contest for the best house light display, I’ve seen people come to blows over the prize.”

“You’re joking.” Dash laughed.

“Well, Aunt June still claims Larry slipped on ice and she never pushed him, but he still had to go to the ER with a broken ankle.”

Dash shook his head. “If I put this in a script, the studio would tell me to tone it down.”

“‘Toned down’ doesn’t really fly here,” she agreed. “We like our tones bright red and green, with some mistletoe and a Christmas angel on top.”

In town, the stores were all lit up and the sidewalks were busy with festival-goers wrapped in coats and scarves, admiring the gift shops and cafes. The gazebo and church were trimmed in little twinkling lights, and a massive Christmas tree presided over the town square. Ellie pulled up in front of the old pub and put the Jeep in park. “Here we are. Ask Riley to call you a cab when you’re ready to come back,” she advised him. “No more walks.”

“I’ve learned my lesson.” Dash grinned. He opened the door and climbed out, then paused, leaning back in. “I don’t suppose you want to join me? My treat,” he added. “It’s the least I can do after you came to my rescue.”

His invitation was tempting, but still, she hesitated. “I should get back to the inn. The guests—”

“Are all right here for…what’s that?” He looked across the square.

“Carol-singing and mulled wine,” she answered.

“So, you have plenty of time. Besides,” he added, looking bashful. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I may have been somewhat…prickly when I arrived.”

“Somewhat?” she echoed, arching her eyebrow.

“Fine. Very.” Dash’s smile was infectious: boyish and tempting all at the same time. “Let me make it up to you. One drink. I promise, I won’t bite.”

Ellie’s heart caught. Biting wasn’t what she was worried about. No, those lips of his were far more dangerous…

She opened her mouth to politely turn him down, but instead, to her surprise, a totally different answer emerged.

“OK. One drink.”

Where was the harm in that?