Page 6 of Christmas With The Broken Mountain Man
Her ability to find humor in her situation is either admirable or concerning. Probably both.
"Any sign of our unwelcome visitor?" she asks, glancing toward the windows.
"Not since yesterday." I check my security app again. The cameras I installed last year after a bear destroyed my trash cans have proven unexpectedly useful for monitoring suspicious vehicles. "But that doesn't mean we should let our guard down."
"Never," she agrees, her voice hardening momentarily before she brightens again. "So what's on the agenda today? How do we convince Whisper Vale we're madly in love?"
"Small towns run on gossip. We just need to be seen together enough times for people to notice." I take a sip of my coffee. "I thought we could go into town, pick up some groceries. Maybe stop by Darlene's Diner for lunch."
"That's it?" She sounds disappointed. "No dramatic declarations? No scandalous PDA?"
"This isn't a Hallmark movie," I point out, though her enthusiasm makes me smile despite myself. "People here know me. If I suddenly start acting lovestruck, they'll know something's up."
"Fair point." She hops onto a stool at the counter. "I should probably know more about you anyway. For authenticity's sake."
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything." Her eyes sparkle with genuine interest. "But we can start with the basics. Favorite color? Food preferences? Any secret talents I should be aware of?"
"Blue. Anything except eggplant. And I play guitar, though I wouldn't call it a talent."
She gasps. "You play guitar? That's definitely going in our love story. I can see it now, rugged mountain therapist serenades city girl teacher under the stars..."
"Let's not get carried away."
"Too late. It's canon now." She grins. "Your turn to ask me something."
This back-and-forth continues through breakfast. I learn she's twenty-seven ("Almost twenty-eight!"), loves teachingsecond grade ("They're independent enough to tie their shoes but still think you hang the moon"), has a weakness for cheesy Christmas movies ("The predictability is comforting"), and makes the best snickerdoodles in Southern California ("State fair blue ribbon two years running").
She's easy to talk to, drawing information from me without it feeling like an interrogation. Before I realize it, I've told her about my therapy practice, my work with Jax's wilderness program, and even a bit about my failed engagement to Sarah.
"So that's why your sister signed you up for the service," she muses. "She wanted to help you move on."
"She wanted to meddle," I correct her. "Moving on implies I'm stuck in the past."
"And you're not?" Her question is gentle, not accusatory.
"I learned a valuable lesson from Sarah." I rinse my coffee mug in the sink, keeping my back to her. "Some people aren't meant to carry others' burdens. I do that professionally now, not personally."
"That sounds lonely."
I turn to find her watching me with something uncomfortably close to compassion.
"It's practical." I dry my hands on a dish towel. "Now, if we're going into town, you might want to do something about?—”
"My face?" She touches her bruise self-consciously. "Yeah, I brought concealer. Give me twenty minutes."
While she gets ready, I check the security cameras again and make a quick call to Sheriff Tom Parker, a client, old friend and fellow bachelor until recently when he got with my sister.
"I need a favor," I tell him after explaining the situation with Destiny's ex. "California plates, black Escalade. Probably using fake ID."
"I'll keep an eye out," Tom promises. "Does she want to file a restraining order?"
"Not yet. She's afraid it'll just confirm her location." I lower my voice, though Destiny's still upstairs. "This guy has connections, Tom. Police, private investigators. We need to be careful."
"Understood. I'll be discreet." He pauses. "So you're pretending to be engaged?"
"It seemed like the simplest cover. Her ex is a principal, so appearances matter. If he hears around town Destiny is getting married, he may back off."
