Page 32 of Christmas With My Mountain Man Landlord
The unease crystallizes into something sharper. Mason has been talking to Kelsie about me. About what I've been through. About my heart.
"What else did he tell you about me?" My voice comes out cooler than intended.
Kelsie frowns slightly, clearly confused by my reaction. "Nothing specific. Just that there's more to you than your gruff sheriff exterior."
"And you two discuss me often?" I stand, needing space suddenly. "Compare notes?"
"What? No." She looks genuinely perplexed. "It wasn't like that. He was just being supportive about whatever might be developing between us."
"Supportive." I taste the word, finding it bitter. "Because he knows so much about what I need."
Understanding dawns in her eyes. "Tom, Mason wasn't revealing anything from your sessions. He was just speaking as my brother who cares about us both."
But doubt has taken root, spreading through my thoughts like frost. Eight months of painful conversations. Eight months of revealing parts of myself I've kept buried for sixteen years. All potentially shared with the woman now looking up at me with growing concern, or worse pity.
"What exactly has he told you about our sessions?" I ask, unable to stop myself.
"Nothing!" Her voice rises with her frustration. "I know you see him professionally, but he's never discussed your therapy with me."
"But you've asked." It's not a question but an accusation.
"No." She stands now too, facing me with growing indignation. "I would never violate your privacy that way."
"Then why did you say he told you to be careful with my heart?" The words come out harsher than intended, but I can't seem to modulate my tone. "That sounds like information gained from our sessions."
"He was just being protective of both of us." She wraps her arms around herself, whether from cold or my sudden distance, I can't tell. "Like any brother would."
"Mason isn't just any brother though, is he? He's my therapist." I pace a few steps away, then back. "There are boundaries he's supposed to maintain."
"Which he has maintained." She speaks slowly, as if to a child. "He never once told me anything about your sessions or why you see him."
But suspicion continues to color every interaction in my mind. Had she known about my issues with abandonment when she climbed into my bed? Did she understand exactly which buttons to push based on her brother's insights?
"Then why did you tell him about us?" The question emerges accusatory and sharp. "About what's happening between us?"
"I didn't tell him anything explicit." Her cheeks flush with anger now, not just cold. "He guessed something was going on from how I talked about you."
"And what exactly did you say about me, Kelsie?" I step closer, voice dropping. "That the broken sheriff is good in bed? That his abandonment issues make him easy to manipulate?"
She recoils as if I've slapped her. "That's not fair. I would never discuss you that way with anyone."
"But you did discuss me." The betrayal feels fresh and raw. "With the one person who knows exactly how damaged I am."
"Stop putting words in my mouth." Her eyes flash with anger. "I mentioned we were getting along well. That's it. Mason was the one who brought up being careful with your heart."
"Which he only would have said if you'd indicated something intimate was happening between us." Logic feels like my only defense against the hurt building in my chest.
"Or because he's my brother and he knows me well enough to read between the lines!" She throws her hands up in frustration. "Why are you so determined to believe the worst right now?"
A valid question I'm not prepared to answer honestly. Because letting you in was terrifying, I want to scream. Because waking up with you in my arms felt too good to be true. Because happiness has always been temporary in my experience.
Instead, I deflect. "Why are you so defensive if you have nothing to hide?"
"I'm defensive because you're accusing me of something I would never do." Her voice cracks slightly. "I respect your privacy, Tom. I respect you."
But the damage is done. Doubt has poisoned the afternoon, turning something sweet into something suspicious. I can see her withdrawing, building walls to protect herself from my accusations.
"Let's head back," I say finally, unable to continue this circular argument. "It's getting colder."
