Page 33 of Christmas With The Broken Mountain Man
CHAPTER EIGHT
DESTINY
The Whisper Vale Elementary School gymnasium has been transformed into the North Pole. Silver snowflakes hang from the ceiling, twinkling lights drape across every wall, and a massive Christmas tree stands in the corner, dripping with ornaments made by students. It's like stepping into a holiday movie set.
"What do you think?" Mason asks as we enter, his hand warm against the small of my back.
"It's magical," I breathe, taking in the festive scene.
The party is already in full swing with couples dancing to a live band playing Christmas classics, children racing between tables laden with cookies and punch, townspeople mingling in their holiday best. For a moment, I forget about Greg and his associate, about the constant fear that's shadowed me for months. Tonight, I'm just a woman at a Christmas party with the man she's falling for.
"Mason! You made it!" Riley hurries over, resplendent in a crimson dress that matches the poinsettias decorating thetables. She hugs us both. "And Destiny, you look stunning. That dress is perfect."
"Thanks to Sylvie," I say, smoothing the emerald fabric. "She's a miracle worker."
"Speaking of miracles..." Riley gestures toward Mason. "Getting this one to attend a social function used to require an act of God."
Mason rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "I wasn't that bad."
"You brought work files to last year's party and hid in the supply closet," Riley counters with a laugh. "Jax had to physically drag you onto the dance floor."
"That was before he had a beautiful fiancée to dance with," Jax says, appearing with two glasses of punch. He hands one to Riley and kisses her cheek. "You clean up nice, Walsh."
"So I've been told." Mason wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to his side. The possessive gesture sends warmth spreading through me.
We make our way through the crowd, stopping frequently as Mason introduces me to what feels like the entire town. Everyone is welcoming, curious about the woman who finally captured the elusive therapist's heart. I play my part—the adoring fiancée—though it hardly feels like acting anymore.
"Destiny, honey!" Mrs. Peterson beckons from a table near the dance floor. "Come sit with us old folks for a minute. I want to hear all about how you and Mason met."
Mason squeezes my hand. "I'll get us drinks. The real kind." He nods toward a table where Tom is discreetly adding something from a flask to cups of punch.
"Don't be long," I say, not wanting to be separated even briefly. Despite the festive atmosphere, awareness of potential danger lingers just beneath my holiday cheer.
"Two minutes," he promises, dropping a kiss on my temple before weaving through the crowd.
I join Mrs. Peterson and her friends, launching into our rehearsed story about meeting during one of Mason's wilderness therapy retreats where I was researching for a children's book. The lie flows easily now, embellished with details we've added over the past week.
"And when did you know he was the one?" Mrs. Peterson asks, leaning forward eagerly.
The question catches me off guard. Our script covers how we met, how he proposed, but not this—the moment of recognition, of certainty. I pause, considering.
"It wasn't one moment," I find myself saying, surprised by the honesty in my voice. "It was all the little things. How he brings me coffee exactly how I like it without being asked. The way he listens—really listens—when I talk. How safe I feel when he's near."
The women coo appreciatively, but I'm barely aware of them. The truth of my words resonates through me, startling in its clarity. When did Mason Walsh become essential to my happiness? When did this charade transform into the most real thing I've ever felt?
"You're glowing, dear," Mrs. Peterson pats my hand. "Young love is a beautiful thing to witness."
Before I can respond, the crowd parts, and I spot Mason returning with our drinks. He moves with easy confidence, nodding to people as he passes, completely unaware of how striking he looks in his dark blazer and blue shirt that makes his eyes appear even more intense.
This man is mine, I think with a surge of possessiveness that surprises me. Not just for show, not just for safety, but mine in all the ways that matter.
"Sorry for the delay," Mason says as he reaches us. "Got caught by the mayor asking about collaborating on a youth mental health initiative."
"Always working," I tease, accepting the cup he offers. The punch has been liberally enhanced with what tastes like spiced rum.
"Some things never change," Mrs. Peterson agrees with a knowing look. "Though you've certainly improved his social skills, Destiny. Last Christmas he spent the entire party hiding behind a potted plant."
"It was a strategic location with good sightlines," Mason defends himself, making me laugh.
