Page 13 of Christmas With My Mountain Man Landlord
The genuine curiosity in his tone encourages me. "A woman starting over after a painful divorce. She escapes to a small mountain town, thinking she just needs solitude to heal. Instead, she finds community. Connection. And eventually, love with someone she never expected."
"Sounds autobiographical," he observes, glancing at me.
Heat rises to my cheeks. "All fiction contains elements of truth. But no, it's not autobiographical. My heroine is much braver than I am. And far less neurotic."
"You seem plenty brave to me." He says this almost absently, as if thinking aloud rather than deliberately paying a compliment. "Moving across state lines alone. Starting over. Takes courage."
The simple assessment touches me deeply. "Thank you. That means a lot, especially coming from you."
"From me?" He looks genuinely puzzled.
"You have a certain stoic strength about you," I explain, feeling suddenly self conscious. "Like someone who's weathered storms and remained standing."
He doesn't respond immediately, and I worry I've overstepped. But when I glance up at his profile, his expression is thoughtful rather than closed off.
"Sometimes standing is all you can manage," he finally says.
"Until it isn't anymore," I agree softly. "Until one day you realize you can do more than just stand. You can move forward."
His eyes meet mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths. For a moment, I wonder if I've imagined the connection between us, this strange understanding that seems to transcend our brief acquaintance.
"Sheriff Parker!" A voice breaks the moment. We've reached the station, and Deputy Rodriguez waves from the doorway. "Got a situation at the high school. Principal's waiting for you."
Tom nods, immediately shifting back into professional mode. "I'll be right there." He turns to me. "Sorry to cut this short."
"Duty calls," I say lightly. "I'll explore on my own. Maybe meet interesting locals. Gather material for my small-town romance."
"Be careful," he says automatically. "Main Street should be fine, but don't go wandering the forest paths alone. Easy to get lost if you don't know the area."
"Yes, sir, Sheriff, sir." I offer a mock salute that earns me a head shake that might actually be fond.
"Text if you need anything," he adds, already turning toward the station.
"I will," I promise, watching him go.
The afternoon passes pleasantly as I wander through town, notebook in hand, jotting observations and snippets of conversation. Whisper Vale is exactly the kind of picturesque mountain community I needed for my story, with its quaint storefronts and genuine small-town dynamics.
Everyone seems to know everyone else, calling greetings across the street and stopping to chat despite the cold. Several people introduce themselves, curiosity evident when they learn I'm staying at the sheriff's house. The revelation clearly carries significance beyond simple lodging arrangements.
By the time I make my way back to the house, darkness has fallen and temperatures have dropped considerably. I let myself in with the key Tom gave me yesterday, grateful for the warmth that greets me inside.
The house is silent, no sign of Tom. On impulse, I head to the kitchen and begin pulling ingredients from the refrigerator. If he's working late, he'll probably come home hungry. The least I can do is prepare something simple as thanks for his hospitality.
As I chop vegetables for a basic pasta dish, I hum Christmas carols, the town's festive atmosphere having infected me despite my usual ambivalence toward the holiday. Growing up with parents who viewed Christmas as an inconvenience rather than a celebration, I never developed strong feelings about the season.
My phone buzzes with a text from Mason.
Mason:How's it going with Tom?
Me: Fine. He's been very accommodating considering the circumstances.
Mason:He's not usually so generous with his space. You must be making an impression.
I thinkabout the small changes I've noticed over four days. Tom actually eating breakfast before leaving for work. The almost smiles that occasionally break through his stern facade. The way he listened intently as I rambled about character development over dinner last night.
Me: We're managing not to drive each other crazy
The now familiarwarmth that spreads through me whenever I think about my interactions with Tom spring to the front, but I refuse to examine them too closely.
