Page 22 of Christmas With the Navy SEAL Mountain Man
"Everything okay?" I ask, taking the offered mug, our fingers brushing briefly. He pulls his hand away too quickly.
"Fine." He moves to the fireplace, putting space between us as he stokes the embers and adds another log. "I need to get some work done in the shop today. The cradle needs finishing before New Year's."
"Oh." The disappointment is sharp, unexpected. "I thought maybe we could spend Christmas day together. I brought ingredients for breakfast, and we could?—"
"I can't." He cuts me off, voice flat. "I'm behind on the commission."
I study him over the rim of my coffee mug, trying to understand what's happening. Last night, he'd held me like I was precious, listened to me say I loved him, promised me time. This morning, he can barely look at me.
"Aaron," I say carefully, "did something happen? Did I do something wrong?"
He sighs, running a hand through his hair—a gesture I now recognize as discomfort. "No. Nothing happened. I just need to get to work."
But his eyes shift away when he says it. Aaron Wilson may be many things, but a good liar isn't one of them.
Setting my coffee down, I move closer, not touching him but entering his space. "Talk to me. Please."
For a moment, his expression softens, and I glimpse the man from last night—vulnerable, open, present. Then the shutters come down again.
"There's nothing to talk about." He looks at the wooden carousel pendant resting against my chest, and something like pain flashes across his face. "Last night was... nice. But I have responsibilities."
"Nice?" The word stings like a slap. "That's what you're going with? Nice?"
His jaw tightens. "What do you want me to say, Leah?"
"The truth would be a start." I cross my arms, trying to keep hurt from bleeding into anger. "Because yesterday you couldn't keep your hands off me, and this morning you can barely look at me. What changed?"
He turns away, moving to the windows to stare out at the snow-covered forest. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words.
"You said you love me," he finally says, voice so low I almost miss it.
My heart stutters. "Yes. I do."
"You can't." He turns back to me, expression pained. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough." I step closer, encouraged when he doesn't retreat. "I know you're kind beneath that gruff exterior. I know you're talented and dedicated to your craft. I know you carry guilt that isn't yours to bear. I know you've been alone too long."
His laugh is harsh, without humor. "Three weeks, Leah. We've known each other three weeks. That's not long enough to love someone. It's infatuation. Holiday magic. It'll fade."
"Is that what you think this is?" I gesture between us, heat rising to my cheeks. "Some Christmas movie fantasy that will disappear with the decorations? Because that's not what I'm feeling."
"You don't know what you're feeling." His voice rises slightly, frustration edging in. "You're caught up in the idea of saving the grumpy mountain man. Bringing me back to civilization. It's a project for you, not love."
The accusation lands like a blow. "How dare you tell me what I'm feeling? You don't get to dismiss my emotions because they make you uncomfortable."
"I'm being realistic." He crosses his arms, defensive posture matching mine. "You're a community person, Leah. You thrive on connection, on helping, on fixing things. And I'm the most obviously broken thing in your path right now."
"Is that really what you think of me?" The hurt is razor-sharp now. "That I'm some do-gooder who targeted you as my personal renovation project?"
Doubt flickers in his eyes, but he doesn't back down. "I think you believe what you're saying. But feelings change. Novelty wears off."
"And you'd know all about that, would you?" I challenge, temper flaring. "Mr. Two-Years-of-Isolation? When was the last time you even tried to let someone in before me?"
His expression hardens. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" I step closer, refusing to let him shut me out. "You're not pushing me away because you think I don't love you. You're pushing me away because you're terrified I might actually mean it. Because that would mean risking something again. Opening yourself to the possibility of loss."
His eyes flash, confirming I've hit a nerve. "You think you've got me all figured out."
