Page 11 of Christmas With The Broken Mountain Man
Me: He almost kissed me tonight.I hesitate before adding:I wanted him to.
Tasha responds with a row of exclamation points, followed by:Get it girl!
It's not like that, I reply, though my body heats at the memory of his fingers on my cheek.He's just being kind.
Tasha: Sure, Jan. Men don't almost kiss women out of kindness.
I set my phone down without responding. Tasha doesn't understand. She didn't see Mason's face when I told him about Greg, the careful neutrality that barely masked his anger. He sees me as someone to fix, a trauma case like the troubled teens he counsels at Jax's wilderness program.
I'm not a project. I refuse to be one. Not again.
Greg started the same way, seeing potential in the shy new teacher, taking me under his wing, molding me into what he wanted. It took two years to realize he didn't love me; he loved owning me.
The bruise around my eye throbs, a visceral reminder of what happens when I trust the wrong man.
Giving up on sleep, I slip downstairs for water. The cabin is quiet except for the occasional pop from the dying fire. Through the windows, moonlight paints the snow in shades of silver and blue, a fairytale landscape.
Movement on the deck catches my eye. Mason stands at the railing in flannel pajama pants and a thermal shirt, staring out at the mountains. He looks solid and real against the dreamlike backdrop, steam rising from the mug in his hands.
I should go back upstairs. Instead, I slide open the glass door and step into the frigid night.
"Couldn't sleep either?" I ask.
Mason turns, unsurprised by my presence. "Occupational hazard," he says. "My brain doesn't know how to shut off sometimes."
I wrap my arms around myself, wishing I'd grabbed a coat. "What are you thinking about?"
"You."
The simple honesty of his answer knocks the breath from my lungs. No pretense, no games.
"What about me?"
"Wondering whether I'm helping or making things worse." He offers me his mug. "Hot chocolate. I make it from scratch."
I take a sip, the rich sweetness coating my tongue. "This is amazing."
"My mom's recipe. Secret ingredient is nutmeg."
"I suspected as much." I hand back the mug. "And for the record, you're helping. More than I can say."
Mason nods, taking a drink before asking, "How long were you with him? Your ex?"
"Two years." I lean against the railing beside him, close enough to feel his warmth but not touching. "It wasn't always bad. That's the part no one understands. In the beginning, he was charming, attentive. Made me feel special."
"They usually start that way." Mason's voice is gentle but matter-of-fact. "Love bombing. Sets the foundation for the control that comes later."
"Is that your professional assessment, Dr. Walsh?" I try to keep my tone light.
"Just Mason is fine." He half-smiles. "And no, that's the voice of experience. My friend Riley was in a similar situation a few years back."
"What happened?"
"She got out. Met someone who showed her what real love looks like. They're married now." He turns to face me. "There's life after abuse, Destiny. Good life."
His words hit a tender spot in my chest, hope mixing with doubt. "I want to believe that."
"Start small. One day at a time." He gestures to the night sky. "Look up."
