Chapter 3 #2
"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."
Something shifts in my chest at her words, an uncomfortable tightening that feels dangerously like emotion. I clear my throat, focusing on the practical task of cutting down the tree rather than examining whatever just happened in my heart.
Back at the cabin, we spend the evening setting up the tree and unpacking the box of ornaments I've kept stored in the attic. Destiny handles each one like a precious artifact, asking about their origins and meanings.
"My mother made this one," I explain, holding up a ceramic star painted with childish enthusiasm. "And this..." I unwrap a small wooden train. "My dad carved one for each of us kids the year before he died."
"It's beautiful," she says softly. "Thank you for sharing these with me."
The simple sincerity in her voice catches me off guard. I'm not used to someone appreciating these small pieces of my history.
We string lights around the tree, Destiny insisting they be arranged "just so" while I hold the ladder steady. Her tongue pokes out slightly as she concentrates, an unconscious habit I find unreasonably endearing.
"Perfect!" she finally declares, stepping back to admire our work. The tree glows warmly in the corner, reflecting in the windows against the darkness outside.
I pour us each a glass of wine, and we settle on the couch to admire our handiwork. The fire crackles in the hearth, snow falls gently outside, and Christmas music plays softly from the speakers. It's like a scene from one of those holiday movies my sister loves, painfully cozy and domestic.
"Thank you," she says suddenly, turning to face me. "For everything. The tree, the town visits, the fake engagement... just all of it."
"Don't thank me yet. Your ex is still out there."
"I know." She sets her wine glass down. "But for the first time since everything happened, I feel safe. Like I can breathe again."
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and without thinking, I reach out to brush a curl from her cheek. She leans into my touch, her skin warm and soft beneath my fingertips.
The moment stretches, charged with something neither of us expected. Her gaze drops to my lips, and I lean closer, drawn by some invisible force.
She meets me halfway, her breath mingling with mine as our lips hover mere inches apart. My heart pounds in my chest, desire I've denied for years surging through me with unexpected intensity.
Just as our lips are about to touch, headlights sweep across the windows, a car pulling into my driveway. We jerk apart like guilty teenagers.
"Are you expecting someone?" Destiny whispers, fear edging into her voice.
I reach for my phone, checking the security camera feed. "It's just Jax," I tell her, relief and disappointment warring in my chest. "My friend from the wilderness program."
"Oh." She smooths her hair, cheeks flushed. "I should... I should go freshen up."
She disappears upstairs as the doorbell rings. I take a moment to compose myself before answering, trying to ignore the lingering warmth of her almost-kiss.
Jax stands on the porch, eyebrows raised as he takes in my flustered appearance. "Bad time?"
"No, it's fine." I step aside to let him in. "Just setting up the Christmas tree."
He stops in the entryway, clearly shocked by the decorated living room. "You put up a tree? Voluntarily?"
"It wasn't entirely my idea."
Understanding dawns on his face. "Ah. So the mail-order bride situation... took an unexpected turn?"
"It's complicated." I run a hand through my hair. "Her name's Destiny. She's... she's in trouble, Jax. Abusive ex hunting her down. We're pretending to be engaged to throw him off the scent."
Jax's expression grows serious. "Is she safe here?"
"For now. Tom's keeping an eye out for suspicious vehicles." I lower my voice. "But this guy has resources. Connections with law enforcement in California."
"What can I do to help?"
Before I can answer, Destiny descends the stairs. She's composed herself, the flush gone from her cheeks, but her eyes still hold a wariness that cuts through me.
"Destiny, this is Jax Reeves, an old friend." I make the introduction. "Jax, this is Destiny Brooks, my... fiancée."
The word feels less strange this time, settling into place with surprising ease.
"Nice to meet you." Destiny offers her hand, which Jax takes with a warm smile.
"Likewise. Mason's a lucky man."
"Oh, I'm the lucky one," she replies smoothly, moving to stand beside me. Without hesitation, she slips her arm around my waist, leaning into my side like she belongs there. "He's been my rock through all this."
Her performance is flawless, but there's a vulnerability beneath it that only I can see. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer in silent reassurance.
"Well," Jax says, watching us with interest. "I just dropped by to invite you to dinner tomorrow night. Riley's cooking. But I can see you're... busy."
"We'd love to come," Destiny says before I can respond. "Wouldn't we, honey?"
The endearment sends a jolt through me. "Of course," I manage, sounding only slightly strangled. "We'll be there."
After Jax leaves with a knowing smirk, Destiny steps out of my embrace, her absence leaving a cold spot against my side.
"Sorry if I overstepped," she says, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. "With the whole 'honey' thing. I thought it would sound more authentic."
"It was fine." More than fine, actually, but I'm not ready to examine why. "You were convincing."
We fall into an awkward silence, the almost-kiss hanging in the air like an unfinished melody.
"Well," she finally says. "I should probably get some sleep. Big day tomorrow with the tree lighting and dinner with your friends."
"Right." I nod stiffly. "Good night, then."
"Good night, Mason."
She heads upstairs, leaving me alone with the glowing tree and the lingering scent of her perfume. I sink onto the couch, running a hand over my face.
What the hell is happening to me? Three years of carefully maintained emotional walls, and this woman waltzes in with her sunshine smile and sad eyes, making me feel things I've locked away since Sarah.
It's the proximity, I tell myself. The forced intimacy of our situation. Nothing more.
But as I stare at the Christmas tree we decorated together, the crooked fir she chose because it was "a little broken, but still beautiful", I know I'm lying to myself.
And for a man who's built his career on helping others face their truths, that's a dangerous place to be.