Page 13 of Christmas With The Broken Mountain Man
I understand what he's asking. "No. I kneed him in the groin and locked myself in the bathroom until he left. Then I packed my car and drove straight here."
Relief softens his features. "Smart thinking."
"I'm learning." I manage a small smile. "Running might seem cowardly, but sometimes it's the only option."
"It's not cowardly. It's survival." Mason shifts closer, his thigh now touching mine. "You're incredibly brave, Destiny."
The compliment warms me more than it should. I look down, suddenly shy under the intensity of his gaze. "Tell that to my knees. They haven't stopped shaking since I got here."
"Fear and bravery aren't mutually exclusive." His fingers brush mine where they rest on the couch. "True courage is feeling the fear and acting anyway."
His touch sends electricity up my arm. I should pull away, maintain boundaries, keep perspective. Instead, I turn my hand palm up, an invitation he accepts, his warm fingers interlacing with mine.
We sit like that in comfortable silence, hand in hand, watching the fire burn down to embers. For the first time in months, I feel no need to fill it with nervous chatter or people-pleasing smiles.
"We should get some sleep," Mason eventually says. "Big day tomorrow."
"Right. Tree lighting ceremony. Dinner with your friends." I reluctantly release his hand. "More fiancée theatrics."
Something like disappointment flickers across his face. "It doesn't have to be all theatre."
My pulse jumps. "What do you mean?"
He stands, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Just that... the best cover stories contain elements of truth."
Before I can ask him to elaborate, he wishes me goodnight and heads to his bedroom, leaving me alone with the dying fire and a riot of confused emotions.
I don't get much sleep that night, either.
The next morningdawns bright and clear, perfect weather for the tree lighting ceremony. Mason's already gone when I come downstairs, a note on the counter informing me he had an emergency session with one of his clients and will be back by noon.
I use the alone time to bake cookies for tonight's dinner at Jax's. Baking centers me, the precise measurements and familiar processes soothing my anxiety. By the time Mason returns, the cabin smells like vanilla and cinnamon.
"It's like living with Mrs. Claus," he comments, hanging his coat by the door. "Those for Jax and Riley?"
"I never show up empty-handed." I brush flour from my cheek. "My grandmother's golden rule."
Mason steals a warm cookie from the cooling rack. "Your grandmother was a wise woman."
"Still is. Ninety-two and sharp as a tack." I watch as he savors the cookie, unreasonably pleased by his obvious enjoyment.
"These are incredible," he says around a mouthful of cookie. "What are they?"
"Brown butter snickerdoodles with a caramel center." I smack his hand as he reaches for another. "Save some for tonight!"
He captures my wrist gently, pulling me closer. "Make me."
The challenge in his eyes sends heat pooling low in my belly. We stand frozen, the air growing pregnant with possibility.
The moment breaks when his phone rings. Mason releases my wrist, stepping back to answer. I busy myself with the cookies, heart hammering against my ribs.
What is happening between us? This isn't just pretend anymore, at least not for me. Every touch, every look, feels increasingly real and dangerous.
"That was Tom," Mason says after hanging up. His expression has hardened. "The black Escalade is back. Circling town."
Cold fear washes over me. "He found me."
"Not necessarily," Mason counters. "Tom says the driver's being careful, staying just long enough to look around before moving on. Could be he's still searching, not certain."
