Page 23 of Christmas With The Broken Mountain Man
"What are you thinking now?" he asks.
I smile against his shoulder. "That I could get used to mornings like this."
"Good." He drops a kiss on my forehead. "Because I plan on many more."
My stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly, ruining the romantic aftermath.
Mason laughs. "Breakfast first, then we figure out our next move."
"Next move?"
"With your ex." His expression turns serious. "Last night was a warning. He knows you're here, which means we need to be strategic."
The reminder of Greg's presence shatters our peaceful bubble. I sit up, pulling the sheet around me. "I should leave. I'm putting you in danger by staying."
"Absolutely not." Mason's voice leaves no room for argument. "Running solves nothing. We face this together."
"You don't understand what he's capable of."
"I understand enough." Mason sits up beside me, taking my hand in his. "You're not alone anymore, Destiny. That's what I'm trying to tell you."
The simple statement hits me with unexpected force. Not alone. For so long, I've carried the weight of fear and uncertainty by myself, convinced that no one could or would help me.
"I don't know how to do this," I confess, voice barely above a whisper.
"Do what?"
"Trust someone again. Depend on someone." I stare at our joined hands. "Every time I've tried, it's ended badly."
Mason lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "I'm not everyone else. And I'm not asking for blind trust. I'm asking for a chance to earn it."
The sincerity in his blue eyes makes my chest ache. I nod, not trusting my voice.
He brushes his thumb across my cheekbone. "Let's start with something simple. Breakfast. Then a shower. Then we call Tom and make a plan."
"Okay." I manage a small smile. "But only if breakfast includes coffee."
"What kind of monster do you take me for?" He kisses the tip of my nose. "Of course there will be coffee."
After quick showers, separate, though Mason's lingering kiss suggested he was considering joining me, we head downstairs. Mason makes his signature French toast while I brew coffee, moving around the kitchen together with surprising ease.
It feels domestic. Normal. As if we've been doing this dance for years instead of days. The realization fills me with a warm glow of possibility.
We're just finishing breakfast when Mason's phone rings. His expression darkens as he looks at the caller ID.
"It's Tom," he says before answering. "Hey, what's up?"
I watch the play of emotions across Mason's face as he listens, concern, anger, then grim determination. My heart races, hands clenched around my coffee mug.
"When?" Mason asks. "Are you sure it was him?" Another pause. "Alright. Keep me posted."
He ends the call and sets his phone down carefully, too carefully. My mouth goes dry.
"What is it?"
Mason takes a deep breath. "The Escalade was spotted at the county courthouse this morning. The driver was asking questions about local property records."
"Property records?" I frown, confused. "Why would he?—”
