Page 8 of Christmas With My Mountain Man Landlord
The Johnson dispute takes longer than it should, followed by a fender bender in the grocery store parking lot and a lost dog that turns out to be sleeping under its owner's porch. By the time I make it back to the station, it's well past noon and the coffee I bought is cold.
"Miss Mason came by looking for you," the desk sergeant informs me. "Said she was heading back to your place."
"My place?" I repeat, momentarily confused before remembering Kelsie is indeed staying at my house. A fact I keep forgetting until I walk in the door and find evidence of her presence scattered everywhere.
"She seemed pretty excited about something," the sergeant adds with poorly concealed curiosity. "Said to tell you she's making dinner to celebrate."
Celebrate what? I wrack my brain, wondering if I've missed something. Her deadline isn't for weeks. The cabin heater parts haven't arrived yet. Did she mention a birthday?
When I arrive home, the smell hits me before I even open the door. Something rich and savory that makes my stomach growl in anticipation. Music plays softly from the kitchen, accompanied by off key singing that can only be Kelsie.
I find her stirring something on the stove, dancing in place, completely oblivious to my arrival. She's changed into a soft looking dress that swirls around her knees as she moves, her curls piled haphazardly on top of her head with what appears to be a pencil holding them in place.
I clear my throat.
She whirls around, wooden spoon in hand. "You're home! Perfect timing. Dinner's almost ready."
"What's all this?" I gesture to the kitchen, which looks like a small explosion of ingredients and cookware.
"I wrote three thousand words today." Her smile is incandescent. "First time in eight months I've written more than a paragraph without deleting it all. This calls for celebration, and since you've been kind enough to let me crash here, I'm sharing the joy."
"Three thousand words." I nod, trying to gauge the appropriate level of enthusiasm. "That's... good?"
"It's amazing. For me, at least." She turns back to the stove. "I was starting to think I'd never write again. That my ex-husband had permanently killed my creativity along with my confidence. But today the words just flowed."
The casual mention of her ex-husband catches my attention. She rarely talks about him directly, though I've pieced togetherthat their divorce was recent and left significant damage in its wake. Something we have in common, though my wounds are considerably older.
"What are you making?" I ask, shrugging out of my jacket.
"Risotto with wild mushrooms." She stirs the pot with focused attention. "I found a market in town that had beautiful fresh mushrooms. Plus garlic bread and a simple salad."
"Didn't know I had ingredients for all that."
"You didn't." Her smile turns sheepish. "I might have gone a little overboard at the grocery store. Don't worry, I got things for the rest of the week too. Figured it's the least I could do since you're letting me stay here rent free until the cabin's fixed."
The thought of Kelsie shopping for a week's worth of meals strikes me as oddly domestic. As if she's settling in rather than just passing through. I'm not sure how I feel about that.
"Set the table?" She nods toward the cabinets without looking up. "Plates are in there, right?"
I follow her direction, strangely comfortable with being ordered around in my own kitchen. When was the last time someone cooked me dinner? Savannah was the cook of the family, but she has her husband, and catering business to think of now. Not much time to be cooking for her grumpy old man. My usual dinner, these days, is whatever can be heated up fastest or ordered for delivery.
"Wine?" Kelsie asks, opening my nearly empty refrigerator. "I bought a bottle that's supposed to pair well with mushrooms, according to the very enthusiastic grocery store clerk who wouldn't stop talking to me."
"Chad," I say automatically. "Fancies himself a wine expert."
"That's the one." She laughs, extracting a bottle from a grocery bag. "He had a lot of opinions about my choice until I mentioned I was staying at the sheriff's house. Then he got veryquiet and suddenly remembered an urgent restocking task in the back room."
I almost smile again. "Chad's been caught with open containers three times. Has a healthy respect for the badge."
"And here I thought it was my intimidating presence that scared him off." She hands me a corkscrew. "Do the honors?"
Dinner is surprisingly comfortable. Kelsie carries most of the conversation, telling stories about her day in town, the characters she's creating, the writing process that's finally unblocked. I listen more attentively than I have to anyone in years, drawn in by her animated expressions and genuine enthusiasm.
"Sorry," she says eventually, pushing her glasses up. "I'm talking too much. Mason always says I don't let other people get a word in when I'm excited about something."
"It's fine." I take a sip of the wine, which is actually quite good. "The risotto's excellent."
Her expression brightens at the simple compliment. "Really? I was worried it might be too fancy. You strike me as a meat and potatoes guy."
