Michelle Major - Christmas On Crimson Mountain

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?

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