Page 17 of Mountain Gift

Since I started getting more into crafting, I've daydreamed a lot about opening my own shop. Taking commissions. Making it my one and only job.

But as a chronic creature of habit, imagining making a big change like that brings back that old familiar sense of worry.

As we pass by the old movie theater, there's a momentary gap between the buildings. And through the gap, I can see for miles.

Snow has settled over the town, clinging to every rooftop and public bench like a glaze on a donut. Gutters and front doors are decorated with garlands of fake pine, and some places even have little holiday trees or Santa Claus displays by their front doors.

It's just like looking at a Christmas card with the mountain in the distance.

Why would I ever want anything to change?

Even if I wanted to make these big changes, it's much easier said than done.

"I don't know if I can," I admit to Boone. "I've thought about focusing more on the crafts, but it always just sounded silly."

"It's not silly," Boone says. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he's entirely serious.

He's not just saying it to be nice. He believes every word he's saying.

"Callum told me what you did for the lodge," he continues. "He showed me pictures of it. It's beautiful."

"That's very sweet of you, Boone." A wide smile tugs at my blushing cheeks. "I put a lot of work into the lodge."

"It's not just the lodge, Caroline. Your dining room and living room are amazing, too. Not to mention what I saw in those boxes in the back. You're an artist."

There's no way I'm holding back my blush this time. It rages, burning my face like a powerful fever. "Well… thank you, Boone."

When I decorate something, even on that big of a scale, I feel a kind of peace within myself that I never feel anywhere else. It's like eating your favorite food that you haven't had in years.

Or drinking water for the first time after a long, brutally hot day.

I love it.

I glance at Boone again. That chiseled face, those wonderful eyes, and the chest I now know is hidden just beneath that jacket. That fantastic, warm, strong chest.

He makes me feel the same way. My first taste of my favorite food in years. A refreshing drink of water.

But just like my crafts store, I can't pursue him. I've been hurt by change before. And I don't want to love something just to lose it again.

By the timewe pull up outside the nursing home, the snow has started to fall again.

Boone helps me gather the boxes out of the truck, handing the lightest one to me and keeping the heavier two for himself. And then we run them into the building to avoid getting too much snow on them.

As we step into the lobby, the receptionist looks up from her desk to greet us. She must be a very recent new hire because I don't recognize her. She's young, most likely in her early twenties, with glossy red hair and long fake eyelashes.

"Hello," she says. And even though she's wearing a smile, there's still a hint of nerves behind her eyes. She's definitely new to the job. "Are you here to visit someone?"

"We're here to drop off some gifts for the residents. I'm friends with Maggie, the facility coordinator. She didn't tell you I would be coming by?"

"No, she didn't tell me about you," she says, frowning. Behind her eyes, I can see her wheels turning. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can let you in unless you're related to one of the residents here. Are you?"

"N-no, but—"

The receptionist shakes her head, her red hair swishing from side to side. "Then I'm sorry, but it's our policy. I can't let you—"

But before the new receptionist can turn us down, a man's voice hollers jovially through the room.

"Don't keep the nice lady waiting," he says. "Caroline's our little Christmas angel. In my mind, she's everyone's family."

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