Page 183 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

Still living without Ben.

Still working in a job beneath his talent level, according to Cal.

There’s more to his story, and I want to know it because I want tohelphim. Not because he needs my help, and definitely not because I feel sorry for him. It’s simple really: I like him, and he’s done a lot to help me. I’d like to return the favor. There’s nothing friendlier than that, is there?

“Thanks again for finding Cleo,” Roger says, turning toward me. “That cat’s about all I have left.” He shoots a glance at Jace, who sat down across from me. He’s so tall, his legs are practically beneath my chair, and I give in to the urge to let our legs touch.

But Roger’s not done. “This boy’s a good friend to me, and I know spending time with your son means a lot to him. Excuse me for being blunt”—Jace grunts; Roger ignores him—“but I hope the fact that you’re here means you’re going to let him spend time with your boy. There’s no one I’d sooner trust with my children.”

“You don’t have any,” Jace says.

“He has Cleo.” I smile at them. Turning to Roger, I add, “I feel very lucky to have Jace in our lives. Everything has gotten better for us since we met him.”

And it’s true. In this moment, I’m feeling like more than just a friend.

Because his leg is pressed against me, the solid heat of him like a furnace.

Because there’s literally nothing I’d like more than to eat gingerbread cake with Jace and these two charming neighbors he’s made his family.

When I look up, Jace is staring at me again. Our eyes lock, and a feeling like electricity sizzles through me, from his eyes to mine, from the place where our legs touch to my newly cobweb-free core. “I can say the same,” he says, his voice deep and sure.

I don’t know what all this means, or if it evenshouldmean something, but I’m enjoying myself.

Mrs. Rosa’scake is as professional and delicious as one of the confections Cal’s father makes, and his father owns a bakery. Although I felt certain I couldn’t possibly eat the piece she cut for me, which was as big as Cleo’s head, I’ve finished every bite. I’ve laughed so hard that my belly hurts, or maybe the cake’s to blame.

I’m not used to this, to life feeling like a celebration.

Roger told me that he used to look a lot like Jace back when he worked construction, and Mrs. Rosa told him to hush because “you don’t want to scare the poor girl.” He pretended to be offended, but it’s obvious there’s a powerful affection between them, just like the bond they share with Jace.

Speaking of Jace. He’s been a little quiet, but not because he’s bored or checked out—he hasn’t once lifted his phone the way Glenn always did in situations like this one. No, he’s watchingand listening. Soaking in the moment like a plant starved for water.

Which emboldens me.

I get my opportunity when we take the dishes to the sink to wash them, nearly tripping on Cleo, who finally made her reappearance a few minutes ago. We had to insist on cleaning up at least five times before Mrs. Rosa let us, but she seems to have forgotten all about it now that she and Roger are heatedly discussing the relative merits ofA Christmas StoryversusMiracle on 34thStreet. I must say, he has very strong pro-A Christmas Storyopinions for someone who’s not very keen on the idea of Christmas.

I turn on the water, checking the temperature twice.

Jace smiles. “Let me guess, there’s a proper temperature for it to be?”

“Of course,” I say. “Sugar comes off best when the water’s hot.”

“I’ll have to remember that. In all honesty, Roger and I eat frozen dinners more than we should, but when we do cook, something inevitably gets stuck on the pan.” The confirmation that he is taking care of this man, that he has adopted him as a pseudo-father, sends a tingle of pleasure through me as surely as the touch of his strong, capable fingers when he passes me the first dishes.

We work together for a while, his hands caressing me under the warm water as he passes things to me, and that feeling inside me grows stronger, until, as we finish, I blurt out, “Can we talk in your apartment for a few minutes?”

Apparently, I said it too loud, because both Mrs. Rosa and Roger dart glances at us, clearly waiting for his answer.

Oops.

There’s hesitation on Jace’s part, and I remember his reluctance to let me into his apartment earlier. He’sembarrassed of his place, although he has no reason to be. It’s clean and tidy and well put together, and I frankly don’t care how much money he makes. Glenn made six figures, and he’s a garbage human being. Money doesn’t create worth, and neither does the kind of title that makes a man brag. Bottom line: I have the resources to take care of myself and Aidan, and I don’t need any man or friend with benefits (fuck buddy, Nicole whispers in my head) to step in and take care of me.

So, no, that doesn’t matter.

The only thing is…

He told me that there wasn’t much of me in my house, and I took it to heart. I bought a painting, and a duvet cover, and whatever else is in all those Amazon boxes. But there’s not much of him in his place either—just that picture of his sister and Ben—and it makes me think we’re more alike than we seem on the surface, Jace and me.

I want to talk about him.

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