Page 34 of Christmas With My Mountain Man Landlord
The parallel hadn't occurred to me, how my suspicion might trigger memories of her ex husband's controlling behavior. How my accusation might feel like a continuation of the emotional manipulation she'd finally escaped.
Shame washes over me, followed by the familiar urge to retreat further into isolation. It's easier than risking vulnerability again. Easier than admitting I overreacted because I'm terrified of how quickly she's become important to me.
I stare at the plate she brought, a simple gesture of care despite our argument. Something in my chest constricts painfully. I've ruined what started as a perfect day with suspicion born of my own insecurities.
Upstairs, a door closes firmly. The guest room door. Evidence that my walls have successfully pushed away yet another person who tried to get close.
This is what I do. What I've always done. Keep people at a distance where they can't hurt me. Where their inevitable departure can't shatter what remains of my heart.
Except Kelsie isn't Caroline. She didn't choose to be here initially, but she's chosen to stay every day since. Chosen to seebeyond my gruff exterior. Chosen to share her creativity, her body, her vulnerability with me.
And how have I repaid that trust? With accusations and suspicion at the first hint that she might know more about me than I've personally revealed.
I push the plate away, appetite completely gone. But the food sits there, a silent rebuke. Even angry, she still cared enough to bring me dinner. The simple act of kindness compared to my baseless accusations makes shame burn through me.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm on my feet and heading upstairs. This pattern of pushing people away has cost me too much already. I won't lose her without at least trying to make this right.
Outside the guest room, I hesitate. The light shines beneath the door, and I can hear the soft clicking of keyboard keys. She's writing, probably channeling her hurt into her work. I almost turn away, not wanting to interrupt, but force myself to knock softly.
The typing stops. Silence stretches across the door that might as well be a wall.
"Kelsie," I say quietly. "Can we talk?"
More silence. Then the soft pad of footsteps before the door opens. She stands there in pajama pants and an oversized t shirt, glasses perched on her nose, hair pulled back in a messy bun. Her eyes are slightly red, whether from crying or staring at her screen too long, I can't tell.
"What is it, Tom?" Her voice is flat, guarded in a way I haven't heard before.
"I was wrong." The words come easier than expected. "I jumped to conclusions and accused you of something I know deep down you wouldn't do."
She crosses her arms, neither accepting nor rejecting my apology. "Why?"
The question is simple but cuts to the heart of everything. Why indeed? The truth feels raw and exposing, but she deserves nothing less.
"Because it's easier to push you away first than risk you leaving later." I run a hand through my hair. "Because what's happening between us terrifies me."
Something softens in her expression, but she doesn't move from the doorway. "You hurt me."
"I know. And I'm sorry." I take a step toward her, stopping when she doesn't mirror the movement. "I've spent sixteen years keeping everyone at arm's length. It's become instinct to look for reasons to retreat."
"I understand instinct," she says, her voice gentler but still resolute. "But I can't be with someone who doesn't trust me. Who jumps to the worst conclusions about my character based on nothing."
"I do trust you." The words feel inadequate even as I say them. "I just panicked. The thought of you and Mason discussing me..."
"Mason never betrayed your confidence." She looks me directly in the eyes. "And I never asked him to. I would never do that to you."
"I believe you." I take another tentative step forward. "Please, Kelsie. I'm not good at this. At being vulnerable. At letting someone in. But I want to try. With you."
She studies me for a long moment, and I can see the conflict in her eyes. The desire to believe me warring with the need to protect herself.
"I need some time," she finally says. "Space to think about what I want. What we both want. This has all happened so fast, and today showed me we're both carrying more baggage than we realized."
The request stings, but I recognize its fairness. "Of course. Whatever you need."
"I'm not saying no," she clarifies, her voice softening further. "I'm just saying I need to be sure this is something we can work through. That it won't happen again the next time you feel threatened or exposed."
I nod, forcing myself to respect the boundary she's setting even as everything in me wants to pull her into my arms. "Take as much time as you need. I'll be here when you're ready to talk."
A small, sad smile touches her lips. "Thank you. Goodnight, Tom."
