Page 35 of Christmas With My Mountain Man Landlord
"Goodnight, Kelsie."
The door closes again, quieter this time. I stand there longer than I should, hoping she might change her mind, but the light beneath the door remains steady, and eventually I hear the typing resume.
As I head back downstairs, the house feels emptier than it has in days, despite her continued presence under its roof. But beneath the ache of separation is a glimmer of something else. Hope, perhaps. That her request for time means she sees something worth salvaging. That my apology, however inadequate, was a step in the right direction.
I've spent sixteen years walling off my heart. It will take more than one conversation to convince her—to convince us both—that I'm capable of something different. But for the first time since Caroline left, I want to try.
For Kelsie. For the possibility of us. For the chance that what began as a broken cabin heater might lead to something neither of us expected to find again.
Tomorrow will be awkward. Painful, even. But it will come, and with it, another opportunity to prove I can be more than my past. More than my fears.
Whether Kelsie decides to take another chance on me or not, I owe her that much. I owe myself that much too.
CHAPTER TEN
KELSIE
Three days. Seventy two hours of carefully orchestrated avoidance. Three mornings of waking to the scent of coffee already brewed, breakfast waiting under warming lids. Three evenings of leaving dinner in the oven before retreating upstairs, listening for his key in the lock before shutting my door.
Three nights of lying awake in the guest bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he's doing the same thing one room away.
I push back from my laptop, stretching arms that ache from hours of continuous typing. The document open on the screen bears the words I never thought I'd type:THE END.Seventy nine thousand words. A complete manuscript, from beginning to conclusion, written in less than two weeks.
My most honest work ever. A story about a woman finding her voice, her courage, her heart, in the most unexpected of places. A novel that began as one thing and evolved into something else entirely when life and fiction collided in the most surprising way.
The irony isn't lost on me that I've finished a book about taking chances while hiding in a guest room, avoiding the very man who inspired it.
I check the time. Nearly four. Tom won't be home for hours yet. Saturdays at the station always run late, especially in December with holiday events requiring additional security. I have time to prepare, to rehearse what I want to say when we finally break this silence.
My phone buzzes with a text from Mason.
Mason:How's the writing going?
I hesitate,wanting to share my accomplishment but wary of bringing up anything connected to Tom, even peripherally.
Me: Finished the manuscript today. 79k words.
His response is immediate.
Mason:That's incredible! I knew Whisper Vale would be good for your creativity.
I stare at the screen,wondering how much to reveal. Mason hasn't mentioned Tom directly since our awkward exchange days ago.
Me: The ending surprised me,I finally type.
The characters made choices I hadn't planned.
Mason:The best stories write themselves,he responds.You just have to be brave enough to follow where they lead.
The simple wisdomhits harder than he could know.
I set the phone aside and gather my laptop and notes. Whatever happens next, I can't stay in this limbo any longer. Three days of space has clarified rather than confused my feelings. Every breakfast left with careful consideration of my preferences, every morning coffee brewed exactly as I like it, tells me more about Tom Parker than words ever could.
The first day, I told myself I needed time to think clearly, to separate the intensity of physical attraction from deeper feelings. The second day, I admitted I missed him with an ache that felt physical. By the third day, the truth was unavoidable. I'm in love with him. Completely, terrifyingly in love.
The question isn't whether I want to be with him anymore. It's whether what we're building is strong enough to survive our respective demons. His fear of abandonment. My fear of losing myself in someone else's expectations.
I pack my manuscript pages into a folder and take a deep breath. Tonight, I'll make his favorite meal, the pasta with mushrooms he praised so enthusiastically that first week. Then I'll share the ending of my novel. Let him see himself through my eyes.
