Page 209 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

I drop my hand and take a step back. “I’m sorry.”

Her gaze lifts to mine in the mirror. “No,” she says softly. “Please don’t say that.”

Does this mean she wants more? Does she like skirting the edge? Maybe she wants to be wooed, just like Mrs. Rosa suggested.

“We should go,” she says, her lips flattening with an apologetic look.

Gently, I turn her to face me, then drape the wrap around her shoulders and fasten the clasp in the front. “I was out of line.”

She slowly shakes her head. “You make me feel things, Jace. Things I’ve never felt before.”

I brush my thumb across her bottom lip. I’m not sure what to say, let alone what Ishouldsay. It’s possible I should discourage this, but selfishly, I don’t want to. “Let’s go watch a vampire wedding, but fair warning, if anyone tries to bite either of us, we’re out of there.”

Her eyes light up. “Deal.”

I offerto drive us in her much nicer, newer car, but she insists the truck is fine. She’s wearing a fancy dress, and I feel an uncomfortable prickle as I help her climb into my shit truck, but she tells me we don’t have time to argue. I give in.

During the short drive, she tells me more about the children’s dance class earlier. The owner worked with her for a few minutes beforehand, offering critique to help her brush up her skills.

I can hear the pride in Mary’s voice when she says, “Anette thinks I’ve retained my form remarkably well for not having danced for so many years.”

“That’s because you’re a natural,” I say, keeping my hands on the steering wheel. Otherwise, I’ll be groping her. “I’m happy it went so well.”

“You don’t think it’s crazy that I’m taking up something like this again after all these years?”

“There’s nothing crazy about doing what you love.” I shoot her a playful grin. “Although I might have to intervene if you start a porcelain doll collection.”

She bursts out laughing. “No worries there.”

“Then dance your heart out,” I say. “And if you have a recital, I’ll be first in line to buy tickets.” Glancing over at her, I see the amazement on her face. I don’t need to ask the reason for it, and I’m already tightening my hands around the wheel, wishing it were his neck. “Glenn is an asshole, Mary. You need to forget everything that man said or did.”

She makes a face. “About Glenn…” She trails off midway through the sentence, as I’m slowing the car, and turns to glance out the window. “What? No…”

I take a good look at the building we’re approaching, then erupt with laughter. “I’ve heard of this place. One of the guys I used to work with got married here, although I wasn’t invited to the wedding.”

A sign in the window reads, Fleetwood’s Rock-n-Roll Wedding Chapel, Bar, and Vintage Shop. The other window has a painted cupid and the words, Shop, Drink, Get Married.

A car honks behind me, and I speed up, cross the bridge over the highway and turn onto a side street, looking for a parking space.

Mary clutches my arm in panic. “She can’t get married here.”

“But she is,” I say, seeing an opening on the street ahead, and pull into the space. It’s nearly a miracle to find street parking in this area at this hour. “And we’re her witnesses.”

“That place is a joke,” she protests.

“Maybe so,” I say, putting the truck into park. Leaving the engine running, I turn to face her. “But they still perform perfectly legal weddings.”

“But…” Her protest dies before she releases it.

I place a hand on her bare arm and let my fingers stroke her silky skin. “Where did you get married?”

“This isn’t about me,” she says indignantly.

“Only, I think it sort of is,” I say, at the risk of pissing her off.

“How can you say that?”

“You got married in a church, didn’t you? With flowers and a white dress, and I bet you even had a live band at the reception.”

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