Page 186 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

I’m not used to people looking too deeply at me. They see an ex-con, and that’s pretty much all they care to know. Hell, Amanda’s known me for thirty-five years, and she disowned me without asking any questions. But Mary gets me enough to recognize that I wouldn’t steal a car just for a joyride.

To be honest, that scares the shit out of me. I feel naked, like she can see all the ways I’m fucked up.

The walls in this building are practically made of cardboard, so I can hear Mary and Aidan’s muffled voices, and I know when the call ends. I open the door, and my stomach plummets when I see the devastated look on her face. “Is Aidan okay?”

“What?” She blinks and gives me an apologetic smile. “Yes. He’s fine. Ruth, Glenn’s mother, that is, always makes sure he checks in with me when he’s with them.” A pause. “Then he saw your photo.”

She points to a photo on the wall of me, Roger, and Mrs. Rosa. Mrs. Rosa insisted on taking it last year on my birthday, and her phone got batted over by Bingo the second after the timer went off, which is why the photo is slightly hazy aroundthe edges. She gave me the framed photo a few days later as a belated birthday gift.

“And he realized you were at my place,” I say, understanding why she’s upset. “I’m guessing he didn’t take it well.”

“That’s an understatement.” Her mouth twists to the side, and she moves to the kitchen table. “Can we sit and talk?”

I hesitate before joining her at the table. It doesn’t take a genius to know where this is going, and I suspect I’m not going to like where it ends.

She waits until I take a seat, then lowers into a chair on the opposite side of the table. Her posture is perfect, and I can tell she’s steeling herself by channeling her inner lawyer. After she folds her hands together, she says, “I think this has been a big mistake.”

Even though I was expecting her to say something of the kind, it’s still like a dagger to the heart. The last eighteen hours with Mary rank up there as some of the best of my life.

“Aidan…” She takes a deep breath. “He sees you ashisfriend. When he realized I was here—at your apartment—he was so hurt. I just can’t do that to him.”

“I know.” And I do. She’s his mother, and she’s a great mother. She will sacrifice her own happiness for his.

“I know I suggested we could be friends with benefits, but…” She swallows and looks up at me with tear-filled eyes. “I was naive to think that would work. I’m not sure I’m designed for that kind of relationship.” She shrugs meekly. “I mean, look at how I kept asking you things about your life. Friends with benefits don’t do that. It’s supposed to be impersonal, and this—what you and I have—doesn’t feel impersonal.”

“I understand.” Because I’m not designed for it either, at least not withher,but I would have agreed to just about anything for the chance to be close to this woman who is at onceso vulnerable and so strong. But then a new fear sets in. “What about Aidan?”

She throws out a hand. “Oh! I’m not taking you from him. I’m doing this forhim. He needs you.”

I look down, then nod.

“Are you…?” she starts, then stops. “Are you upset with me?”

My gaze jerks back to hers. “No, Mary. I understand.”

“You do?” she asks, her voice breaking.

I don’t like her decision. In fact, I’m fighting the urge to argue with her, but I always knew this would be short-lived. It just turned out to be shorter-lived than I’d hoped. “You’re his mother. He comes first.”

She pauses, then says, “Thank you for understanding.” But the look in her eyes suggests she doesn’t like it either. I take small comfort in that.

“Of course.”

Her gaze shoots anxiously to my arm and then my chest. “It might help Aidan if we set up a playdate for the two of you once he gets back. He helped decorate his grandparents’ tree. I think he’ll be receptive to decoratingourtree if you’re there. He’s said as much.” Then she looks stricken. “If you’re uncomfortable with having me around, I can hide in the kitchen again. Or my room.”

Her face turns scarlet, and I know she’s thinking about what we did in her room last night. And this morning.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” I say softly. “You don’t have to treat me like a scorned boyfriend. We agreed that what we had was casual. There were no emotions involved. It was just sex.”

I’m lying through my teeth, and it’s hard as hell to push out the words. But it’s what she needs to hear. Or at least I thought it was until her face goes slack and I see a flicker of pain in her eyes.

“I’ll text you,” she says, rising from her chair and taking a step backward toward the door. “About the day and time.”

“I’ll be watching for it.”

She darts out the door, and suddenly my apartment feels colder and emptier than it has the entire time I’ve lived here. How is that possible when she’s been here a total of ten minutes, tops?

I get up and start pacing, my gaze taking in the space. Seeing it from her eyes.

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