Page 12 of Christmas With the Navy SEAL Mountain Man
It comes out more command than question, and I wince internally at my lack of social grace.But Leah doesn't seem to mind.
"I'd like that," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear."Maggie's is the only place open this late."
"Maggie's it is."
Twenty minutes later, we sit across from each other in a corner booth at the town's only diner.The place is half-empty, though the few patrons present don't bother hiding their curiosity about the mountain recluse dining with the town's event coordinator.I ignore their stares, focusing instead on how the candlelight catches the gold flecks in Leah's eyes.
"I still can't believe you gave that carved horse to that little girl ," she says, breaking a dinner roll in half."The detail was incredible."
I shrug, uncomfortable with the praise."It was nothing. Just something to pass the time while watching the carousel."
"It wasn't nothing to her." Leah's voice softens."That little girl has been through more in her five years than most adults face in a lifetime. You gave her a piece of magic."
Heat rises in my neck. I reach for my water glass to hide my discomfort, accidentally brushing Leah's fingers as she reaches for the same.The brief contact sends a jolt of electricity up my arm.
"Sorry," we both say simultaneously, then laugh, breaking the tension.
Our meals arrive, and conversation flows with surprising ease.I find myself telling her about my furniture commissions, about the cradle I'm building for a couple in Billings.She listens with genuine interest, asking questions that show she understands the craftsmanship involved.
In turn, she tells me about growing up in Seattle, about moving to Grizzly Ridge after her sister's death, about finding purpose in community service.As she speaks of Katie, her voice drops, fingers tracing patterns in the condensation on her water glass.
"It never really goes away," she says, eyes downcast."The missing them. Katie would have enjoyed this event."
Without thinking, I reach across the table to cover her hand with mine.Her skin is warm now, soft beneath my calloused palm."You honored her today. Those kids will remember this Christmas."
She looks up, eyes bright with unshed tears and something else—something that makes my chest tighten and my pulse quicken."Thank you for understanding."
When the check comes, I insist on paying despite her protests.Outside, snow falls in fat, lazy flakes, coating the sidewalk in fresh powder.The temperature has dropped further, and Leah shivers beside me despite her heavy coat.
"My apartment's just upstairs," she says, nodding toward the bakery next door."Would you like to come up for coffee? It's the least I can offer after you paid for dinner."
We both know it isn't about coffee.The awareness hangs between us, electric and undeniable.
"Yes," I say simply.
Her apartment is small but undeniably Leah—colorful throws draped over the furniture, books stacked on every surface, Christmas decorations adding warmth to the cozy space.She moves to the tiny kitchen, filling a kettle with practiced motions.
"Make yourself comfortable," she says, gesturing toward the sofa."I'll just be a minute."
I remain standing, suddenly hyperaware of my large frame in this intimate space.My gaze travels over framed photographs on the wall—Leah with an older couple who must be her parents, Leah surrounded by volunteers at various community events.
"That's Katie," she says quietly, noticing where my attention has landed.She sets two mugs on the counter and moves tostand beside me. "My sister. That was taken six months before she was diagnosed."
In the photo, two young girls grin at the camera, arms around each other's shoulders, the family resemblance unmistakable despite Katie's lighter hair.The happiness in their expressions makes something ache deep in my chest.
"She looked happy," Isay.
Leah's breath catches. She turns to face me, close enough that I can smell the vanilla and spice scent of herskin."Aaron?—"
Whatever she was about to say is lost as I close the distance between us, my mouth finding hers in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly ignites into something hungry anddesperate.Her lips part beneath mine, soft and warm and tasting faintly of the cherry pie she had fordessert.
For a heartbeat, she freezes, and I fear I've misreadeverything.Then her arms wind around my neck, body melting against mine as she returns the kiss with equalpassion.My hands find her waist, drawing her closer until there's no space left betweenus.
The kettle whistles, startlingusboth.Leah laughs against my mouth, the sound vibrating through me. "Terribletiming."
"I'm not here for coffee," I admit, voice rough withdesire.
"Thank God." She reaches behind her to turn off the stove without breakingaway."Neither amI."
