Page 15 of Noel with the Mountain Man
"Can we just... stay here? Like this?"
"Yeah." He pulls me against his chest. "We can do that."
We spend the morning tangled together on the couch. He tells me about his workshop—about the smell of fresh-cut wood and the satisfaction of seeing a piece come together. I tell him about the chaos of twenty five-year-olds hopped up on holiday sugar and the pure joy of watching them learn to read.
"I want to meet them," he says. "Your kids."
"They'd love you. Especially when they found out you build things." I grin. "You'd never escape. They'd have you making toy boats and dollhouses for the rest of your life."
"Sounds terrible," he deadpans, but his eyes are warm.
Around noon, my phone buzzes. I glance at it and see a voicemail from the rental company.
"I should listen to this," I say reluctantly.
I put it on speaker. A cheerful voice apologizes profusely for the double-booking, explains it was a computer glitch, and offers us both a full refund plus a free week at any of their properties.
"Well," Kyler says when it ends, "at least we don't have to fight over who gets to keep it."
"I kind of liked fighting with you."
"We can still fight." He pulls me into his lap. "I'm sure we'll find something to argue about."
"You're probably a morning person."
"Guilty."
"See? Completely incompatible." But I'm smiling as I say it.
His expression turns serious. "I don't want you to go."
"I don't want to go either."
"So don't." He says it quietly, but there's an intensity in his eyes that makes my heart race. "Stay. One more night. We can have Christmas dinner together."
I should say no. Should be sensible. Should remember that I have a life to get back to.
"Okay," I whisper instead.
The relief on his face is everything.
We spend the afternoon making Christmas happen. Kyler finds a frozen chicken in the freezer and declares he can roast it. I make instant mashed potatoes and discover there's a box of stuffing mix in the pantry. It's not fancy, but it's ours.
While dinner cooks, we decorate. I add more popcorn garland. He finds pine branches outside and arranges them on the mantel. I queue up a Christmas playlist on my phone.
The cabin transforms.
"It looks good," Kyler says, surveying our work.
"It looks like Christmas."
He pulls me close, swaying slightly to the music. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For reminding me what this is supposed to feel like." He kisses my forehead. "I forgot. For two years, I forgot that Christmas is supposed to be about joy. About being with someone who matters."
Tears prick my eyes. "You matter too, you know. You matter so much."
