Page 11 of Her Mountain Christmas
“I’d love to,” I say, grinning at him. Jack hands me a box filled with ornaments, and we start to decorate the tree. The lights are already on, casting a warm glow over the cozy living room. There’s also a fire crackling in the fireplace, adding to the coziness. I take out a glittery red ball and hang it on one of the higher branches, standing on my tiptoes to reach.
“So,” says Jack as he hangs what looks like a hand carved wooden snowflake on the tree. “What do you do back in Edmonton?” He shoots me a grin. “Besides go to fancy Christmas parties, I mean.”
I laugh softly, more warmth spreading through me. “Well, I just graduated from U of A this past spring, and I haven’t really figured anything out yet.”
Jack sorts through his box of ornaments carefully. I peer over his shoulder, curious as to what story they’ll tell about him. For example, my family pays an interior decorator to do our tree every year, and it’s always gorgeous. Cold and completely impersonal, but lovely. Which basically sums up…well, everything to do with them, honestly.
Some of Jack’s ornaments are store bought and shiny, while others appear more rustic. Homemade, or at least not made in afactory. Unable to help myself, I reach into his box and pull out one that’s caught my eye—a small wooden fire truck, painted red and adorned with a tiny wreath on its front grill. It’s a bit worn and it makes me wonder how many years it’s been hanging on his tree.
“My parents gave me that my first Christmas as a firefighter. I’d wanted to be one since I was a little kid, and they were so proud of me. Still are, I hope,” he adds with a wink.
“Do they live around here?”
He nods. “In Canmore, about twenty minutes away. My sister and her husband and kids live there, too.”
“Oh, you’re an uncle?” For some reason, the idea warms me from the inside.
“I am. They have three kids, two boys and a girl.”
“But no kids for you?” The question pops out of my mouth before I can think better of it.
He shakes his head, sadness flickering in his eyes. “No. I always wanted them, but I guess I was a little too married to my job to find the right woman.”
Our eyes meet and his words hover between us, shimmering with a tentative kind of hope.
“I like this one,” I say, touching the small fire truck ornament. “And the story behind it.”
He grins and passes me a delicate glass angel. “Careful with that one. It was my grandmother’s.” I nod and very gently hang it from a branch. “So, what did you study at university?” he asks, and I frown slightly.
“Business. My parents insisted. It wasn’t really my choice.”
Jack pauses, a thoughtful look on his gorgeous face. “What would your choice have been?”
“Art history.” I take another ornament out of the box and hang it. “I love how the art reflects the time period in which it was created, and how it tells a story, not just of what’s happeningin the painting, but in the world at the time. Art has always been a reflection of culture, society and politics. Even the current pop culture is a reflection of society.” I roll my lips inward, realizing I’m rambling. But Jack’s looking at me with a rapt expression on his face, hanging on my every word. I shrug. “That, and I like painting. It’s my favourite hobby.”
“If money was no object, is that what you’d do as a career? Paint?”
My tongue ties itself into knots. Money is no object, but that doesn’t mean I have the freedom to do as I please. Gilded cage and all that. My chest goes tight as the scene from the party replays itself, and I stare at the tree, my vision going out of focus.
“Ella? Are you okay? Where did you go?” asks Jack, laying a huge hand on my shoulder. His touch brings me back to the present, and I blink a couple of times before looking up at him.
“I’m okay,” I say, and in this moment, here with him, it’s the truth. His hand lingers on my shoulder, his gaze searching mine, but after a moment, he nods and clears his throat, and we go back to decorating the tree. He tells me stories about the different ornaments as we hang them, and with each tidbit of information he reveals about himself, I get hungrier for more. I want to know everything about him. I could listen to him talk for hours. He’s warm and engaging and funny and kind. He’s whatever the opposite of toxic masculinity is. He’s confident and steady and a little self-deprecating.
“What does your family do for Christmas?” he asks, and it’s an innocent question, but I don’t want to talk about my family. I don’t want them here in this magical snow globe where it’s just me and Jack. I hesitate just a little too long, and turns to face me. “What happened yesterday, sweetheart?” he asks softly.
I force myself to take a breath and shake my head. “I learned that I’m well and truly on my own,“ I say after a moment. “And that if I want a future on my own terms, I’ll have to make my ownway, without my family. They’re…they have a lot of money, and they like to use that money as a means of control.”
The fire crackles and the wind blows the snow around outside. My mouth feels pasty just saying these things out loud.
“You’re not on your own, Ella,” Jack says, slipping his fingers under my chin and tilting my face up to his. “You’ve got me.”
I bite my lip before it can start to wobble, emotions clogging in my throat.
“And no amount of money is worth your freedom. It sounds to me like they never deserved you in the first place.”
It’s like he’s knocked all the air out of my lungs, and my eyes start to sting with unshed tears. Without a word, Jack slips his massive arms around me, holding me gently against his chest. He’s so big and warm, and his heart pounds against my cheek in a soothing, steady rhythm.
Jack feels more like home than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life.
