Page 120 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“They do.”

“Then I think we are friends.”

I smile, then look at the clock on the wall behind him. “It tookussix minutes to become friends. It usually takes me a lot longer.”

He glances down. “Me too.”

“There’s nothing wrong with taking your time when it comes to making friends,” I say as I go through the motions with the game. No match. “But every now and then, you meet someone, and you just know you’ll be friends.”

Aidan’s hand drops from his zipper, and he gives me a shy smile. “Like me and you.”

I smile. “Just like you and me. Those are thebestkinds of friends.”

He turns over two cards, revealing two images of the same man in a suit. “I have a match.”

“That’s awesome,” I say, and he gets another before it’s my turn again.

We spend the next forty-five minutes playing two rounds of the matching game and a couple of rounds of the sorting game I brought. I’ve learned that Aidan is an only child, he recently learned that Santa is a lie, he sees a lot of his grandparents, even though they still live in Charlotte, and his father has been away for averylong business trip. “This is the longest one he’s ever been on,” Aidan says. “By eleven months and three days.”

I cringe a little at that. Because it’s no business trip the man’s on, and I question his mother’s choice to tell a lie that will have to be set right at some point. But it’s none of my business.

“Mom says they’re not going to be married anymore, but he’s still my father. I haven’t talked to him since January, though, and you’re supposed to talk to your father. At least that’s what Mikey says.”

“Who’s Mikey?”

“He sits next to me in school,” Aidan says, pulling his zipper up and down, up and down.

Mikey sounds like kind of a dick. Sure, he’s only six, but some people start early. Still, I doubt Ms. Duckworth would appreciate it if I said so.

So I change the subject by sharing about my own family, telling him that I have one sister and a nephew, but I refrain from telling him that my parents are dead. I’m not sure how much he understands about death, and I don’t want to open that can of worms. I also talk about my job remodeling houses. Before I know it, Susan is waving at me to get my attention.

“I think you two have had a splendid afternoon,” she says, beaming, “but Aidan’s mother is here. Would you like to meet her?”

“Yeah.” She needs to feel comfortable with the man spending time with her son, so I ask Aidan to pick up the game. I get to my feet, then turn to face her, but I stop in my tracks.

I wasn’t sure what I expected. A beaten-down woman struggling to make ends meet after her husband abandoned his family? Maybe she’s both of those things, but that’s not how she looks. She’s wearing a white blouse under a gray jacket, paired with a gray pencil skirt that clings to the curves of her hips and stops several inches above her knees. Her three-inch black pumps make her about six inches shorter than me. The only concession to disorder is her auburn hair—chin length but wavy.

Mary O’Shea is sexy as hell in her power suit, but what draws me in most is the vulnerability in her bright hazel eyes. I of all people know that a tough exterior doesn’t mean she’s okay on the inside. This woman is worried about her son, and God help me, I want to make everything okay for her.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I mentally shake my head.Get your shit together, man.

Extending my hand, I twist my mouth into a friendly smile, and say, “Hi. Jace Hagan. Nice to meet you.”

CHAPTER THREE

MARY

I was so nervous at work that I started tapping my keyboard without realizing it. Worse, it was to the tune of “Jingle Bells.” My boss, Hilde, actually came over—not to tell me to stop, mind you, but to compliment the rhythm.

What if Aidan is anxious?

What if this man is some kind of weirdo or pervert?

What if Aidan is kidnapped from the library, and I never see him again?

What if this is another mistake, and Aidan gives me the cold shoulder for a month?

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