Christmas On Crimson Mountain. Michelle Major

      “What about needing the girls to be quiet?” she asked, her mouth thinning. “I’m not going to demand they don’t talk.”

      He wanted to press the pad of his thumb to her full lower lip. This need to touch her, to be near her, was a slippery slope that could only lead to complications for both of them. It had driven him across the property when he should be working. Now the thought of April and the girls leaving him totally alone up here on the mountain had him agreeing to a jaunt into town when he hadn’t allowed himself to be social or out in public for years. He was used to being alone, had meticulously carved out the solitary existence he lived. But he couldn’t force himself to turn around.

      “I realize that was an unfair request.” He tried to offer a reassuring smile, but his facial muscles felt stiff from underuse. “I’d like a do-over. Please.”

      Part of him hoped she’d refuse and he could crawl back into the reclusive hole that had become his life. At least there he was safe. A deeper piece of him needed the companionship and acceptance April could provide. As much time as he spent alone in his apartment in San Francisco, he thought he might go crazy if left by himself on Crimson Mountain. He couldn’t let—

      “We’ll leave in five minutes.” April said the words so softly he barely heard her. “And it’s going to be fun, so prepare yourself.”

      Something in his chest loosened and it was easier to flash her a genuine smile. “Are you insinuating I’m not fun?”

      She let out a little huff of laughter. “Of course not. Connor Pierce, life of the party.”

      “That’s me.”

      “Grab your stuff, Mr. Party Pants.” She held his gaze for several long moments, then shook her head. “This should be interesting.”

      “Thank you, April.” He wanted to say more, to assure her he’d thought this through and it was a good idea. But he hadn’t and, as insignificant as a visit to town seemed, the weight of it suddenly crashed over him, making it difficult to catch his breath. He opened the door, the biting-cold air a welcome distraction.

      Fun was no longer part of his repertoire, so he had five minutes to retrieve parts of himself that he’d shut away after the accident. He’d asked for this, and he had to figure out a way to manage it. It was one afternoon in a small mountain town. How difficult could it be?