Page 21 of Christmas With the Navy SEAL Mountain Man
Her eyes widen as she takes the long, narrow box wrapped in simple kraft paper. "I thought you said no gifts."
"I lied." I watch as she carefully unwraps it, her fingers tracing the wooden box revealed beneath the paper.
When she lifts the lid, her breath catches. Nestled in velvet is a necklace—a delicate silver chain supporting a pendant I carved myself from a piece of cherry wood, polished to a warm glow. The pendant is shaped like a small carousel horse, detailed with the same precision as the one I'd given the little girl at the Winter Wonderland.
"Aaron," she whispers, lifting it from the box. "Did you make this?"
I nod, suddenly uncertain. "The chain is silver. The horse I carved from cherry wood. It's not expensive, but I thought?—"
"It's the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me," she interrupts, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Will you put it on me?"
She turns, lifting her hair as I fasten the clasp at the nape of her neck. The pendant rests just above the swell of her breasts, the warm wood glowing against her skin. When she turns back to me, her smile is luminous.
"I love it," she says. Then, more softly, "I love you."
The words hang in the air between us, her expression shifting from joy to uncertainty as I remain silent, processing what she's just said. What she's offering.
Love. Such a simple word for such a complex emotion. One I'd convinced myself I'd never feel again, never deserve again.
"You don't have to say it back," she says quickly, reading my silence as rejection. "It's okay. It's soon, I know, but I just wanted you to know how I feel, and?—"
I stop her rambling with a kiss, pouring everything I can't yet say into it. When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers.
"I'm getting there," I promise, voice rough with emotion. "Give me time."
Relief and understanding flood her features. "All the time you need."
I pull her close, holding her against my chest as the fire crackles and snow falls outside. Something fundamental has shifted tonight. A door long closed has been cracked open, letting in light and possibility.
And for the first time in years, I'm not afraid of what lies ahead. Because whatever comes next, Leah will be there, her hand in mine, guiding me back to the land of the living.
This Christmas Eve, in the quiet of my cabin that no longer feels like a fortress but a home, I've been given the greatest gift of all.
A second chance.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LEAH
The morning sun streams through the massive windows of Aaron's cabin, painting golden patterns across the empty sheets beside me. I reach out, finding the space still warm but Aaron nowhere to be seen. A moment of panic flutters in my chest before I hear soft movements in the kitchen.
He didn't disappear. The relief is embarrassing in its intensity.
I stretch languidly, my body pleasantly sore from our Christmas Eve activities. Last night had been perfect—Aaron opening up about his past, the tender exchange of gifts, and finally, those three words I'd been holding back for days.
I love you.
He hadn't said it back, but I hadn't expected him to. The way he'd kissed me afterward, held me through the night—that had been answer enough. For now.
Pulling on one of Aaron's flannel shirts that reaches mid-thigh on me, I pad barefoot across the cold hardwood floors, eager to start our Christmas morning together. The scent offresh coffee fills the cabin's open living space. Aaron stands at the kitchen island, his broad back to me, shoulders tense as he stares out at the snow-covered forest through the wall of windows.
"Merry Christmas," I say softly.
He turns, and something in his expression makes me falter. His eyes are guarded, a tension in his jaw that wasn't there last night. He slides a mug across the counter toward me without quite meeting my gaze.
"Morning. Coffee's hot."
No "Merry Christmas" in return. No kiss. No warmth in his voice. Something has changed overnight, and cold dread pools in my stomach.
