Page 220 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

My mind conjures images of Nicole, saying she’s decided to honeymoon in my attic. (It’s just a crawl space, actually, but there’s really no knowing with her.) Or Dottie, come to offer tea and cakes because she psychically felt the shattering of my heart.

But when I open the door, it’shim. Snowflakes glitter in Jace’s hair, and his eyes are shining with some emotion I can’t begin to read. His cheeks are slightly pink from the cold, and good God, no wonder, he’s in a T-shirt and shorts. Relief courses through me, even though it’s bitterly cold tonight, until I see the box in his hands.

Oh.

He came back to bring me Nicole’s present. Self-consciousness rides on the wave of that revelation. Because I’mwearing an old sweatshirt—currently covered with wine; red, because screw Glenn—and I’ve always been an ugly crier. My face is probably blotchy with it. I’ll bet he’s looking at me and wondering what he ever saw in me, and…

And he’s wearing a T-shirt and shorts in winter weather, Mary. Take the present or invite the man in.

I run a hand ineffectually over my wet sweatshirt, then reach for the present, intending to take it. Somehow, my hand falls on his arm instead, his very cold, very muscular arm, and I find myself pulling him inside. He comes without an argument, that inscrutable look still in his eyes, but at least he doesn’t seem angry.

Once he’s inside, I close the door behind him. I’m tempted to lock it, but if he wants to leave, a measly lock won’t hold him. Besides, I’ve learned the joy of being around people who want to be there. Jace helped me realize that.

“You have a bad habit of underdressing for the weather,” I say, because the words just spill from my mouth.

His expression stays solemn. Intense. He lowers the gift to the foyer table, and the action must have triggered the gift inside because the box suddenly starts vibrating.

“I wondered if you were joking about that,” he says, and now the corners of his mouth do kick up a little.

I shrug, riding another wave of self-consciousness, because I still look frightful, and now there’s a vibrating box sitting next to my door, and we both know what’s in it. “I wanted to get her something she’d actually like.”

He eyes the box and then picks it up. For a moment, I think he’s going to unwrap it and suggest that I get Nicole something else, something wedding-ish, so we can test it out instead. But that’s obviously just wishful thinking. He raps it against the table again, and the vibration stops.

It’s his turn to shrug. “You must have spent a lot of time wrapping it. I didn’t want you to have to redo it.”

My heart swells. Jace has a way of noticing me that’s both wonderful and unnerving. I want to ask him if he’s changed his mind. If, maybe, he wants to hear about Dennis’s report after all. But I also don’t want to break this fragile truce, if that’s what it is.

“Would you like something to drink?” I ask casually, as if men frequently stop in with vibrating presents intended for other people.

“No.” He paces inside a bit, as if restless, and his gaze lands on the tree before skipping back to me. “You don’t have to do anything else for me, Mary.” There’s frustration in his voice, and his eyes look like the ocean in a storm. “You know, at first I thought you hired that guy because you didn’t trust me, but Mrs. Rosa and Roger talked some sense into me.”

I’d be more relieved if he didn’t seem so ill at ease, like a tiger in a cage.

He scrubs a hand through his hair, now wet from where the snowflakes melted. “You told me about your club. Nicole keeps trying to get you to stop putting your own needs last. But here you are, trying to right my wrongs. Mary, I don’t want to be another item on your to-do list. I don’t want to be one more person you feel responsible for.”

For a moment, I can only gawk at him, because he’s at once so right and so wrong. I alwayshavefelt responsible for the people around me. Those words my mom drove into my brain—big sister, big sister, big sister—stayed with me, and not just in regard to my actual sisters. My tendency is to fill that role or wound myself trying. But that’s changing—well, not in regard to Aidan, obviously, since Iamresponsible for him, but with the other adults in my life. It has finally allowed me to see them for who they are and for them to see me.

Finally, I find my voice. “I didn’t do it because I felt like I had to, or because I felt sorry for you. It was something I wanted to do. Thiswasme putting myself first.”

I take a step toward him, needing to touch him, but he steps back. My heart lurches, but then he asks, “Don’t you see?” There’s torment in his tone, as if his words are tearing him apart. “I can’t give anything back. I’m a dead end, Mary. A nonstarter.” He waves at what I’m wearing. “You went to law school at UVA. You’re a successful, beautiful woman, and I’m a convict with a shit job and no money. I’m no one.”

His words feel like they’re tearing me apart too because I can’t stand for him to see himself that way. For him to suffer from the same awful feelings that have lurked within me for years, whispering in my ear that I’m not good enough. I’m only pretending to be all right, and someday it will all catch up to me. Jace is gorgeous and strong and brave and confident. But that same nasty voice lives within him, and I expect it sounds like his sister. Or maybe that bastard Lester.

“How can you say that?” I ask, sounding angry. No, furious. Tears are running down my cheeks again, and they’re so hot they sear me.

I cross to him and take him by the arms. I’d shake him if I could hope to do such a thing, but he’s as solid as ever, so I only grip him as if he’s a lifeboat and I’m marooned in that storm in his eyes.

“I’ve never met a better man. You listen to people when they talk without trying to tell them what they’re saying, and you go out of your way to do things for the people you care about. You got Aidan that model, you make Roger dinnereverynight, and Mrs. Rosa told me about the mobile kitchen island you built for her. Free of charge, even though you say you’re broke. And you’ve helped me more than you can possibly know. You’ve helped mefeelagain, Jace, in ways I didn’t think were possible.You’ve opened me to new experiences.” My voice breaks. “So don’t you dare fucking say you can’t give anything back. You already are, just by being you.”

I try to shake him, because I need him to understand what I’m saying. I need him to see himself as clearly as he sees me. I need him to look into the mirror I’m lifting, just like he showed me my reflection earlier.

He reaches up—his hand shaking slightly—and wipes the tears from beneath my eyes, his touch so gentle I almost cry harder.

“You don’t want to get tangled up in my shit life,” he says, his voice husky. “I want more for you.”

“Well, I want you.” My voice is firmer than I’ve ever heard it, and suddenly, the tears dry up, because I know it’s true. I repeat it. “I wantyou.”

Still, he hesitates. “I can’t be casual with you, Mary.”

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