Page 30 of Christmas With My Mountain Man Landlord
My heart shouldn'tflutter at a simple text about timing and heaters, but the casual ‘miss you’ sends warmth spreading through my chest. Relief floods through me at the news about the delay, followed immediately by guilt. I shouldn't be happy about broken heating systems. Yet I can't deny the surge of joy at the thought of more time here. More mornings waking in Tom's arms. More evenings sharing meals and stories and touches that ignite something I thought long extinguished.
Me: The first bit is disappointing, but I can be patient.
As for the second... I think I can manage two more weeks of your company.
I miss you too. The house is too quiet without your grumpy presence.
His response comes quickly.
Tom:Grumpy, huh? I'll show you grumpy later. Meet at 1:30?
Me: Perfect. I'm still writing. See you then.
I set my phone aside,trying to refocus on my manuscript. The words continue to flow, but now they're tinged with a new awareness. My characters' developing relationship feels more authentic, their emotions more nuanced. The physical scenes between them carry an intensity born of personal experience rather than imagination.
For years, I've written about the transformative power of love. The healing that comes from being truly seen and accepted. The courage required to open oneself to possibility after pain. I thought I understood these themes on an intellectual level.
Now, as words pour from my fingertips, I realize how superficial my understanding has been. How theoretical rather than lived. In just over a week, Tom has shown me more about vulnerability and courage than I learned in three years of marriage.
The thought is terrifying. Exhilarating. And completely unexpected.
At one fifteen, I save my document and close my laptop. Nearly four thousand words today, on a Sunday no less. My fingers ache pleasantly, my mind buzzing with more scenes already taking shape. I haven't felt this creatively fulfilled in years, perhaps ever.
I change into slightly warmer clothes for our walk, layering a long sleeved shirt under a fleece pullover. The temperatures have dropped again, according to my weather app. I'm just lacing up my boots when I hear the front door open.
"Kelsie?" Tom's voice carries from the entryway.
"Coming!" I call back, giving myself a quick glance in the mirror.
I find him downstairs, cheeks flushed from cold, snowflakes melting in his dark hair. He's changed into jeans and a heavy flannel shirt that makes his shoulders look even broader.His expression when he sees me is worth every moment of anticipation.
"Hi," I say, suddenly shy despite everything we've shared.
"Hi." His voice is soft, his eyes warm as they take me in. "Ready for that walk?"
"Ready." I reach for my coat, our fingers brushing as he helps me into it.
Outside, the afternoon sun gleams on fresh snow, the world transformed into a winter wonderland while I was lost in words. Tom's hand finds mine as we walk, our gloved fingers intertwining naturally.
I can't remember the last time I felt this content, this present in a moment. Perhaps I never have. The crisp mountain air fills my lungs, Tom's solid presence beside me grounds me in ways I'm only beginning to understand, and ahead stretches a path neither of us could have anticipated but both seem eager to explore.
Whatever happens when the cabin heater is fixed, when Christmas passes, when real life demands decisions, I know with absolute certainty that I will never be the same. Tom Parker has changed me, awakened me, in ways that transcend the physical pleasure we've discovered together.
The real question now is whether I'm brave enough to embrace that change when the time comes to choose. Whether the woman who's finding her voice in Whisper Vale has the courage to rewrite her own story.
As Tom squeezes my hand, pointing out the frozen lake ahead, I silently promise myself to find out.
CHAPTER NINE
TOM
The lake trail curves through pine forest, each tree branch heavy with fresh snow. Beside me, Kelsie walks with her face tilted toward patches of blue sky, cheeks flushed from cold and exertion. Her hand rests comfortably in mine, our fingers interlaced as if they've always belonged together.
"This is incredible," she says, stopping to take in the view as we reach a clearing. The frozen lake stretches before us, a perfect mirror of white surrounded by mountains that seem close enough to touch. "I can't believe you have this practically in your backyard."
"One of the perks of small town living." I squeeze her hand, enjoying her wonder. "Not many tourists find this trail. Locals mostly keep it to themselves."
"So I'm getting the insider tour?" She smiles up at me, eyes bright behind her fogged glasses.
