Page 121 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

Because he’s already giving it to me—the cold shoulder, that is. He doesn’t get mad the way other kids do. He’d probably say he isn’t mad. He’d probably evenbelieveit. But I know differently. Everything I do right now is wrong, and it’s because his Santa dreams have been crushed.

We still haven’t decorated the horrible tree. It stands in the corner of our living room, its most naked bits turned to the wall, like someone changing into a bathing suit. Maisie and Molly haven’t seen it yet, thank God—my sisters are worried enough about me as it is—but a reckoning might be in store for me anyway. Molly said she has something urgent to talk about, soI’m going to drop Aidan at Maisie’s for dinner so my little sister and I can chat.

I’m hoping Molly’s just seeking my lawyerly advice about her book contract. Her first novel,Hearts in Flight, just sold to a small, independent press. But that voice in my head, the one that never turns off and has been particularly loud lately, suggests she’s going to confront me about being a hot mess. The tables have turned—usually I’m the one worrying about Molly and encouraging her to (a) get a better job or (b) find a boyfriend who lasts more than a week, but it’s abundantly clear she doesn’t need my advice anymore. She’s happy in a way she’s never been before, and I’m happy for her. Actually, it’s a weight off my shoulders because I always blamed myself for the way she floundered after our parents died. My mother had always impressed upon me the importance of security, something she’d felt was lacking in her relationship with our father, and I’d tried to do my big-sister duty and steer Maisie and Molly away from situations that offered none. In retrospect, I realize that I had it wrong. They’ve both built lives that make them happy and fulfilled, and me? I don’t really know what happiness looks like anymore. I only find it with Aidan and my sisters. Work is comforting, the rhythms of it predictable and calming, but I wouldn’t say I’mhappythere. Content, sure. Happy? No.

Because here’s the thing. Strip away all that security, all the manners I’ve cultivated to hide my nerves and awkwardness, all the trappings of my life…

I don’t know who I am.

Maybe it was like this all along, and I just didn’t realize it, but I’m the O’Shea sister who’s most lost.

How am I supposed to help Aidan when I can’t even help myself?

But as soon as I see him—Jace—that persistent voice in my head shuts up.

Thisis my son’s “buddy”?

Jace Hagan is sexy in the way real people aren’t supposed to be.

He looks like the bad boy in a movie, with his short beard, longer golden-brown hair, and a body that is frankly intimidating. And his eyes…they’re that strange teal of the ocean under sunlight—a color that shouldn’t exist in nature. I feel a weird stirring in my body.

Weird, because I honestly can’t remember the last time it occurred to me that my body is capable of more than delivering me from place to place, task to task, and item one to one hundred on my never-ending to-do list. Even before Glenn left, it had been a long time since we’d had any—ahem—intimacy—and even longer since I’d enjoyed it. It’s uncomfortable, this feeling, and it takes me several long, awkward moments to notice that he’s holding his hand out to me. Shoot, I’ve probably left him hanging for several seconds.

I dart my hand out and take his, feeling my cheeks flush. Darn this fair O’Shea skin.

His hand is big and rough, and the feel of it sends a cascade of tingles through me, awakening all the dusty and, frankly, abandoned bits of me. There’s something untamed about Jace. Wild. And even though I don’t want that—I’ve always wanted the very opposite of that—I can’t help but feel an answering purr inside of me.

And you worried that he’d be a perv?You’rethe perv.

I take my hand back abruptly, as if bitten.

“Mom,” Aidan says, “you tell me I’m always supposed to say my name when someone introduces themselves. You didn’t say your name.”

The blush I felt deepens. I ignore it. “Mary O’Shea,” I say.

The man, Jace, is watching my mouth in a way that has me wiping at it.

“Did I smear my lipstick? Sorry, I was in a rush to make it down here.”

He shakes his head slightly, an almost delicate gesture for a man so large. “No, nothing like that. It’s nice to meet you. My friend, Aidan, has been telling me all about you.”

“No, I didn’t really talk much about her,” Aidan says. “I just told you that she’s been lying to me about Santa for myentirelife. And that my dad’s on a long business trip.”

Great.

Jace is looking at me skeptically, as if to say he knows I’m a liar, and not just about jolly men in red suits. Good for him. He can judge me all he pleases. Still, I can’t ignore the fact that Aidan actually opened up to him. That’s what I’ll choose to focus on. Not his judgment. And certainly not his eyes.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Hagan,” I say. “I’m glad Aidan has a…” Oh, God, I can’t say it. This man is all man. He’s no one’s buddy. Finally, I choke it out. “Bud–dy.”

“Call me Jace,” he says. His gaze shifts to Aidan, who’s still sitting in his chair, in absolutely no hurry to leave. “You too.”

“Are you ready, Aidan?” I ask. “There’s just enough time for a puzzle or an episode ofDinosaur Trainbefore I bring you to Aunt Maisie’s house.”

“I’m not ready to go, Mom,” Aidan says. The zipper on his sweater goes up and down. “I’d rather keep playing with Jace.”

Embarrassment floods me. My son would prefer to hang out with this beefcake than go home with me, and now the beefcake knows it. Feeling someone’s gaze on me, I turn slightly—which is when I remember that Ms. Duckworth and the librarian are both still present. Jace’s presence is so large, so all-encompassing, that I’d completely forgotten. Excellent. My humiliation is complete.

“Honey,” I say slowly to Aidan before glancing back at Jace. “Jace has to go home to his own house. He can’t stay here forever.”

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