Page 6 of Christmas With My Mountain Man Landlord
"Whisper Vale goes all out for Christmas," I observe.
"They do." His tone is flat, almost dismissive.
"Not a fan of the holidays?"
"Not particularly."
Before I can probe further, he pulls up in front of a cozy looking coffee shop with a hand painted sign reading "The Grind."
"I'll be at the station." He nods toward a building down the street with the sheriff's department logo. "Text when you're ready to head back. If I can't get away, I'll have a deputy drive you."
"I can call a rideshare," I offer.
He actually laughs at that, a short bark of sound that transforms his face momentarily. "No rideshares in Whisper Vale. No taxis either. Just neighbors helping neighbors."
"Right. Small town." I gather my bag. "Thank you for the ride. And for letting me stay. And for the coffee this morning. And the coat. And, well, everything."
He nods once, waiting until I'm safely inside The Grind before pulling away.
The coffee shop is warm and inviting, with mismatched furniture and the rich aroma of freshly ground beans. I order a large latte and claim a small table by the window, spreading out my materials with the focused intention of a general planning a battle.
I open my laptop, willing the blank document to transform into something worth reading. For an hour I type and delete, type and delete, trying to find my voice. The voice that once came so naturally before Marcus got into my head.
This is smut, Kelsie. You're better than this. Write something that matters.
But romance does matter. My books made readers happy. They sent me letters about how my stories helped them through difficult times, gave them hope, made them feel seen. Why had I let Marcus convince me that wasn't enough?
"You must be new in town."
I look up to find a pretty blonde woman about my age standing beside my table, coffeepot in hand.
"That obvious, huh?" I push my glasses up my nose.
"Small town." She smiles, gesturing to my empty mug. "Refill? On the house for newcomers."
"That would be amazing, thank you." I push the mug toward her. "I'm Kelsie. Kelsie Walsh. I'm staying at Sheriff Parker's rental cabin."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Sheriff Parker's cabin? Really? I'm Sylvie, by the way. Friend of his daughter's."
"He has a daughter?" I realize how little I actually know about the man whose guest room I'm occupying.
"Savannah. Just got married a few months back to Colt Reeves." She leans in conspiratorially. "Big scandal at the time. The sheriff and Colt didn't exactly get along. But they're working on it."
"Interesting." I file this information away. "Actually, the cabin heater broke, so I'm staying in his guest room temporarily."
Sylvie nearly drops the coffeepot. "You're staying in Sheriff Parker's house? As in, actually living with him?"
"Just until the heater's fixed," I clarify, uncomfortable with her wide-eyed reaction. "It's not a big deal."
"Honey, Tom Parker hasn't let anyone into that house except Savannah since his wife left sixteen years ago." She sets the coffeepot down, fully committed to this conversation now. "It's absolutely a big deal."
"Sixteen years?" I repeat, stunned. "His wife left sixteen years ago?"
"Two weeks before Christmas," Sylvie confirms with a nod. "Packed up and disappeared while he was working a double shift. Left him with eight-year-old Savannah and a note saying she 'couldn't do this life anymore.'"
My heart constricts at the thought. No wonder the house feels frozen in time. No wonder he seems so closed off.
"Don't tell him I told you," Sylvie adds hurriedly. "He's intensely private about it all. Most people in town know better than to mention it. Or Christmas. Or relationships. Or emotions in general."
