Page 8 of Christmas With The Broken Mountain Man
"Mason Walsh, as I live and breathe." Mrs. Peterson appears from behind a display of Christmas ornaments. "Who's your lovely friend?"
"Fiancée, actually." The word feels strange in my mouth. "Destiny, this is Mrs. Peterson. She taught me third grade a lifetime ago."
"It's wonderful to meet you," Destiny gushes, turning on the charm. "Mason's told me so much about Whisper Vale. I can see why he loves it here."
Mrs. Peterson looks between us, clearly delighted by this development. "Fiancée! My goodness, when's the wedding?"
"We haven't set a date yet," I say before Destiny can invent something elaborate. "Still getting used to the idea ourselves."
"Well, I never thought I'd see the day." Mrs. Peterson pats my arm. "You've been alone in that cabin too long. It's about time you found someone to warm your heart."
"And other things," Destiny adds with a suggestive smile that makes me choke.
Mrs. Peterson cackles with laughter. "I like her, Mason. Don't mess this one up."
As she bustles away to spread the news, Destiny leans into my side, giggling. "Too much?"
"Just right," I admit. "She'll tell everyone in town before dinner."
We continue shopping, gathering groceries and enduring more curious introductions. Destiny plays her role perfectly, clearly smitten but not putting on a show. By the time we reach Darlene's Diner for lunch, half the town knows about Mason Walsh's surprise engagement.
Darlene herself seats us in a prime booth by the window. "Bout time you settled down," she tells me, slapping menus on the table. "This one's too pretty for you."
"Don't I know it," I reply, playing along. Destiny beams at me across the table.
Tom Parker stops by our booth midway through lunch, introducing himself to Destiny with a warmth that puts her at ease. I watch her carefully as they chat, looking for signs of distress, but she seems genuinely relaxed.
"No sign of your unwelcome visitor today," Tom tells me quietly as he's leaving. "But we're keeping an eye out."
"Thanks," I murmur. "I owe you one."
"Just invite me to the wedding." He winks, clearly not buying our charade but playing along anyway.
After lunch, Destiny insists we need a Christmas tree. "Your cabin is practically begging for one," she argues. "All those big windows showing off the perfect corner space."
I haven't put up a tree since Sarah left. Haven't felt the need. But Destiny's enthusiasm is hard to resist, especially when she's looking at me with those hopeful hazel eyes.
"Fine," I concede. "But we're getting a real one. None of that plastic nonsense."
Her delighted squeal draws amused looks from nearby tables.
We spend the afternoon at Evergreen Ridge Tree Farm, trudging through snow to find the perfect pine. Destiny rejects tree after tree, searching for some mysterious quality only she can identify.
"That one's too scraggly." She points to a perfectly acceptable blue spruce. "And that one's too perfect. We need one with character."
"They're all going to shed needles and die," I point out pragmatically. "Just pick one."
She gasps in mock horror. "How dare you reduce the sacred Christmas tree selection to mere practicality!"
"Forgive me," I deadpan. "I didn't realize we were performing a religious ritual."
"We are." She nods solemnly. "Now shut up and help me find a tree with soul."
Twenty minutes and dozens of rejected candidates later, she stops in front of a slightly crooked Douglas fir. "This is it," she announces with conviction. "This is our tree."
"What's special about this one?" I ask, circling the tree skeptically.
"It's a little broken, but still beautiful." She touches one of the branches tenderly. "Just like us."
