Page 29 of Mack

“Anytime you want,” Mack said.

T.J. nodded like that was settled, then reached up for Mallory’s hand.

They unsaddled the horses together, Mallory moving around Rosie with the easy confidence of someone who knew what she was doing, and Mack found himself watching her more than he should have. She caught him once, raised an eyebrow, and he went back to what he was doing without comment.

Inside, the farmhouse was warm and smelled of the hot chocolate still lingering from the morning. T.J. climbed onto the braided rug in front of the living room fire without being asked, curled up with Rex and Blue, and was asleep within minutes.

Mallory stood in the doorway looking at him with that particular look mothers get, equal parts love and relief.

“He’ll be out for an hour at least,” she said quietly.

“Good timing.” Mack nodded toward the kitchen. “I’ll make lunch.”

She turned. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” He was already heading for the kitchen. “Come talk to me while I cook.”

She hesitated for just a second, then followed.

He made soup from what he had, nothing complicated, and she sat at the kitchen table with her hands wrapped around a fresh cup of coffee and they talked. They were starting to feel comfortable with each other. Easy things at first. Her shop, his work, the town. She told him about opening Festive Finds, how terrified she’d been, how her father had believed in it before she did. He told her about the Marshals, some of them, the parts that were just stories now with enough distance on them to be told without weight.

At some point the soup was ready and she got up without being asked and found the bowls, opening the right cupboard on the first try, which made him smile.

They ate at the kitchen table while the snow started up again outside the window, light and unhurried, and T.J. slept on in the other room.

It was the kind of afternoon that didn’t announce itself. It just settled in quietly and made itself at home.

She hadn’t opened up to him, not really. He’d hoped she might, but he wasn’t surprised. The only glimpse he got was when she mentioned being terrified, and he knew she meant more than the shop. He’d seen that particular look before, in Juliette’s eyes, in the set of her shoulders when she thought no one was watching. He knew what it meant and he knew better than to push. When Mallory was ready she’d tell him. Until then he’d just keep showing up the way he’d promised himself he would. Steady. Patient. Without pressure.

He could do that.

****

Mallory did her best to keep her eyes to herself, which was harder than it should have been.

He was so different from Troy. He moved through his own home like a man who was comfortable in his own skin, unhurried and undemanding, not filling every silence with himself. Troy had needed to be the center of everything, had sulked like a child when he wasn’t. Mack didn’t seem to need anything from her at all, which somehow made her want to give him more.

She knew if they kept seeing each other she’d have to tell him about Troy. About all of it. She’d been avoiding it, not because she was ashamed, but because saying it out loud to someone new made it real in a different way. Still, she had a feeling he already knew or at least suspected. The way he was careful with her without making her feel fragile. The way he never pushed.

She thought about his sister and was pretty sure that was where it came from. The dreams were coming more and more. Most nights, she barely got any sleep because every time she closed her eyes, Troy would show up. With that disgusting sneer on his face, as if he hated everything about her, but wouldn’t let her go.

After lunch she helped Mack clean up the way he’d done at her place, and he didn’t argue about it, just handed her things to dry and put away. They moved around each other easily in the kitchen, comfortable enough now that the silence didn’t need filling.

She reached to put a glass away at the same moment he stepped toward the cupboard, and they bumped into each other and laughed. Then their eyes met and the laughter faded and something else moved into the space it left.

She watched his gaze drop to her lips, then come back up to her eyes. He set the dishtowel on the counter slowly, without looking away.

“Mack.”

“I want to kiss you, Mallory.”

She looked at him, this steady careful man who had wrapped his coat around her son on horseback and who never once made her feel like she owed him anything.

“I want that too,” she said.

He stepped closer, cupped her face in his hands, and she had just enough time to register how gentle they were before his lips met hers. She gasped softly. He settled into the kiss, deepened it, unhurried, and she slipped her arms around his waist and leaned into him and let herself stop thinking for a little while.

“Mama?”