Page 25 of Christmas With My Mountain Man Landlord
"I never knew it could be like this," she finally says, voice soft with wonder. "With Marcus, it was always so... perfunctory. Like a task to be completed rather than something to be enjoyed together."
I tighten my arm around her. "He didn't deserve you."
"No," she agrees, surprising me with her certainty. "He didn't. But if I hadn't gone through that, I might not be here now. With you."
The simple statement carries weight far beyond our current position. I find myself contemplating the strange paths that led us to this moment. Her broken marriage. My sixteen years of solitude. The cabin heater that failed at precisely the right moment.
"What are you thinking?" she asks, looking up at me with those perceptive eyes.
"That I'm glad your heater broke," I admit. "Selfishly glad."
Her smile is slow and sweet. "Me too. Best appliance failure of my life."
I laugh, the sound surprising both of us. When was the last time I laughed in this bed? Had I ever?
"Tell me something true," she requests, echoing a game we've played over dinners this past week. "Something you've never told anyone."
I consider the question, wanting to give her something real but not too heavy for this moment of contentment. "I've beentaking therapy sessions with your brother for eight months," I reveal. "Not even Savannah knows."
Her eyes widen slightly, but there's no judgment in her expression. "That's why Mason suggested the cabin."
"Probably," I agree. "Though he never mentioned having a sister until you were already on your way."
She shakes her head, amused rather than annoyed. "Sneaky therapist tricks. He knew you needed something to shake up your routine."
"Or someone," I suggest, tracing her cheek with gentle fingers.
"Are the sessions helping?" she asks.
"More than I expected," I admit. "Though this past week with you has done more than months of talking."
She blushes prettily at that. "I'm not sure this is what Mason had in mind when he sent me here."
"Probably not." I chuckle, imagining her brother's expression if he knew exactly how far our connection has progressed. "Your turn. Something true."
She's quiet for a moment, considering. "I'm terrified of going back to San Diego," she finally admits. "Of losing this newfound creativity. Of being alone again."
The vulnerability in her confession touches something deep inside me. "When do you have to leave?"
"My rental agreement on the cabin was for a month." She doesn't meet my eyes. "But realistically, I should head back after Christmas. My life is there. My apartment, my few friends, my editor."
The thought of her leaving creates a hollow feeling in my chest I'm not prepared to examine too closely. "That's still weeks away," I point out, trying to sound unconcerned.
"True." She rests her head on my chest, her breath warm against my skin. "Plenty of time."
For what, neither of us says. For more nights like this? For exploring whatever is growing between us? For deciding if this connection is strong enough to survive beyond her temporary stay in Whisper Vale?
Instead of pursuing these questions, I press a kiss to her hair. "Stay in my room tonight," I request. "Sleep with me."
"I'd like that." She snuggles closer, fitting herself against me as if designed for the purpose. "Though fair warning, I sometimes talk in my sleep."
"I snore," I counter. "According to Savannah, it's like sleeping near a chainsaw."
She laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest. "Sounds like we're perfectly matched in sleep incompatibility."
Perfectly matched. The phrase lingers in my mind as her breathing gradually slows and deepens. I lie awake long after she's fallen asleep, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, marveling at the trust she's placed in me.
Sixteen years of empty nights, of a bed that felt too large and too cold. Sixteen years of avoiding connection, of keeping everyone at a safe distance. And now this woman, this unexpected hurricane of creativity and warmth, has breached every wall I've built with seemingly no effort at all.
