Page 2 of Christmas With The Broken Mountain Man
I swing the door open to find a petite woman with bright eyes and honey-blonde curls standing on my porch. She's bundled in a red coat that matches her mittens, a tin of cookies clutched in her hands. Her smile is sunshine breaking through storm clouds.
"Mason Walsh?" Her voice is warm caramel, smooth and sweet.
"Yes, and you must be?—”
"Destiny Brooks." She extends the cookie tin. "I made these for you. Snickerdoodles. I hope you like cinnamon."
I take the tin automatically, trying not to stare at the dark purple bruise surrounding her right eye. She's attempted to cover it with makeup, but the swelling gives it away.
"Thank you, but there's been a misunderstanding. I didn't?—”
"I know your sister signed you up." She laughs, the sound light and musical. "Mine was a dare from my roommate. Life's funny that way, isn't it?"
She shivers in the cold mountain air, and despite myself, I step aside to let her in. Just long enough to explain, I tell myself.
"How was your drive up from—” I realize I don't know where she's from.
"San Diego." She unwinds a sparkly green scarf from her neck. "Beautiful drive, actually. These mountains are magical in winter."
Her cheerfulness should be grating, but something about it feels genuine rather than forced. I smile before I can stop it.
"About that eye..." I begin, my therapist instincts kicking in.
Her hand flies to her face. "Oh, this silly thing? I was decorating my rental. Fell right off the ladder trying to hang garland. First day here and already making an impression, huh?"
She's lying. I've counseled enough abuse victims to recognize the signs. The slightly too-casual tone. The ready explanation. The self-deprecating joke to deflect concern.
I should still tell her to leave. This is exactly the kind of complicated situation I don't need in my life.
Instead, I hear myself asking, "Coffee? You must be cold after your drive."
"I'd love some." Her smile brightens, and something shifts in my chest, a disruption to the careful order I've maintained since Sarah left.
As I lead her into the kitchen, I notice her taking in my cabin, the minimal Christmas decorations, the bookshelves lining the walls, the conspicuous absence of personal photos. Her gaze is curious but not judgmental.
"I love your place. It's so peaceful."
"Thanks. It's nothing special."
"Are you kidding? This view alone is worth a million bucks." She gestures to the window overlooking the valley. "And all these books! I bet you're super smart."
I hand her a mug of coffee. "I'm a therapist. Reading comes with the territory."
"A therapist?" Her eyes widen with interest. "That explains it."
"Explains what?"
"The way you looked at my eye. Like you could see right through my bullshit story."
My coffee stops halfway to my lips. Most people don't call themselves out like that.
She sighs, deflating slightly. "Look, I didn't come here to dump my problems on you. I came because I needed a fresh start, and this arrangement seemed perfect. No messy dating, just two adults agreeing to build something practical together."
"Ms. Brooks?—”
"Destiny, please."
"Destiny." I set my mug down. "I need to be clear. My sister signed me up for this service without my consent. I was in the process of canceling when you arrived."
