Page 27 of Christmas With The Broken Mountain Man
The casual implication, that there might actually be a future where this conversation is relevant, makes me smile. I snuggle closer, allowing myself to imagine it: Mason waiting for me at the end of an aisle, vows exchanged against the backdrop of mountains, a lifetime of mornings like the one we shared today.
It's a dangerous fantasy. Too much, too soon. But as I drift toward sleep in Mason's arms, I can't bring myself to let it go.
For the first time since fleeing San Diego, I fall asleep thinking not about what I'm running from, but what I might be running toward.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MASON
Five days before Christmas, I wake before dawn to find Destiny curled against me like she belongs there. In the soft glow of pre-morning light, I study her sleeping face, the curve of her cheek, the sweep of her lashes, the slight part of her lips. Something swells in my chest, an emotion too big to contain.
I'm in love with her.
The realization doesn't shock me as it should. Instead, it settles into place like the final piece of a puzzle I've been working on for years.
I've spent the last three years building walls to protect myself after Sarah, only for Destiny to walk right through them like they were made of smoke. Four days. That's all it took for her to completely upend my carefully constructed solitude.
She stirs, her eyes fluttering open to meet mine. "Morning," she murmurs, voice husky with sleep. "How long have you been watching me?"
"Not long." I brush a strand of hair from her forehead. "You're beautiful when you sleep."
"Just when I sleep?" She grins, still half-dreaming.
"Especially when you sleep. No smart comebacks."
She pokes my chest. "Rude."
"Accurate." I capture her hand, bringing it to my lips.
"What's on the agenda today?" she asks, stretching like a cat.
Since our confrontation with the Escalade two nights ago, we've established a routine. Public appearances during the day to maintain our cover, private security measures at night. So far, there's been no sign of Greg returning to town, but Tom's officers spotted the SUV at a motel just outside the county line yesterday.
"I need to see a couple of clients at my office this morning," I tell her. "Tom's sending a deputy to stay with you while I'm gone."
"I don't need a babysitter." Her brow furrows.
"Humor me." I press a kiss to her forehead. "Just for a few hours."
She sighs but relents. "Fine. I can use the time to start on Christmas presents."
The casual mention of Christmas presents, the implication that she's planning to be here for the holiday, planning to be part of my life, gives me more ideas than I need living in my head.
"After that, I thought we could get a Christmas tree for your room," I suggest. "The one downstairs looks lonely."
Her face lights up. "Really?"
"Really. And maybe some more decorations for the rest of the house. This place could use some holiday spirit."
"Who are you and what have you done with grumpy Mason Walsh?" She narrows her eyes in mock suspicion.
"I killed him. Buried the body in the woods." I pull her closer. "You like the replacement better?"
"Much better." She kisses me, morning breath and all. "Though I was getting fond of grumpy Mason too."
"He makes occasional appearances." I roll her beneath me, relishing her soft gasp as our bodies align. "Usually before coffee."
"Good thing I'm an excellent coffee maker." She hooks her leg over my hip, drawing me closer.
