Page 14 of Christmas With My Mountain Man Landlord
Mason:Still heading back to San Diego after Christmas?
The question bringsme up short. I haven't thought that far ahead, focused entirely on my current productivity streak and the immediate challenge of finishing my manuscript. But ofcourse I'll return to San Diego eventually. My apartment, my few friends, my entire life is there.
So why does the thought of leaving Whisper Vale, of leaving Tom's guest room and our awkward but increasingly comfortable coexistence, fill me with such unexpected sadness?
Me: That's the plan,I finally reply, setting my phone aside.
I returnto chopping vegetables with unnecessary force, trying to sort through my confusing emotions. Four days isn't long enough to develop any real attachment to a place or a person. Especially not to a grumpy sheriff who barely tolerates my presence and clearly has walls built so high they might as well be visible from space.
Yet here I am, cooking in his kitchen, anticipating his return, wondering what it might take to see that rare smile again.
"This is not good," I mutter to myself. "This is definitely not good."
But as I stir the pasta sauce, adding extra garlic the way I noticed he likes, I can't help wondering if perhaps, just maybe, it could be.
CHAPTER FIVE
TOM
The station is quiet when I finally finish the last of my paperwork. Night shift has taken over, leaving me with blessed silence after a day of holiday related nonsense. Three separate disputes over Christmas light brightness levels. A fender bender in the grocery store parking lot because someone was distracted by an inflatable Santa. The high school principal complaining about students stealing decorations for some elaborate senior prank.
I rub my eyes, feeling every one of my forty four years. Christmas brings out the worst in people, despite all the songs about peace and goodwill.
"Heading out, Sheriff?" Deputy Martinez asks, looking up from the dispatch desk.
"Yeah. Call if anything serious happens." I grab my jacket, already planning the silence of my empty house. Maybe a beer. ESPN on low volume.
"Will do. Say hi to Miss Mason for me."
I pause, my hand on the door. "What?"
"Miss Mason. Your houseguest." Martinez looks confused by my reaction. "My wife saw you two walking into town earlier. Said you looked comfortable together."
Great.Town gossip is already connecting us. Four days of cohabitation and suddenly we're the hot topic at the grocery checkout line.
"Miss Mason is just staying until the cabin heater gets fixed," I remind him, keeping my tone professional.
"Of course." Martinez nods, but there's a knowing glint in his eyes that makes me want to assign him to traffic duty for a month.
Outside, snow has started falling again, fat flakes drifting lazily in the glow of street lamps. The temperature has dropped considerably since this afternoon. I hope Kelsie found her way back to the house alright. She didn't seem prepared for mountain weather with those impractical city boots and thin jacket.
The thought of her walking alone in this weather speeds my steps. Ridiculous, really. She's a grown woman, perfectly capable of managing a quarter mile walk from town. Yet I feel responsible for her safety, a feeling that goes beyond professional duty.
When I get back to the house, I'm surprised to find lights blazing from every window. Normally I leave just the porch light on. The house looks different somehow. Warmer. Alive.
The smell hits me the moment I open the door. Something rich and garlicky that makes my stomach growl in protest of the coffee and vending machine snack that constituted my dinner. Music plays softly from the kitchen, something jazzy and unfamiliar.
I hang my jacket and move toward the sounds and smells. The scene I find stops me in my tracks.
Kelsie stands at the stove, back to me, stirring something that smells incredible. She's changed into soft looking leggings and an oversized sweater that slips off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin and the thin strap of whatever she's wearing underneath. Her hair is twisted up in a messy knot, exposing the delicate curve of her neck.
She's singing along to the contemporary Christmas music, completely off key but with infectious enthusiasm, her hips swaying slightly with the rhythm. The casual domesticity of the moment creates a strange tightness in my chest.
How long has it been since anyone cooked in my kitchen? Since music filled these rooms? Since the house felt like something other than a place to sleep between shifts?
Sixteen years.Since Caroline.
I must make some sound because Kelsie turns suddenly, wooden spoon in hand, expression brightening when she sees me.
