Chapter 8 - The Christmas Tree at Harbor Glen
By two o'clock on Christmas Eve, the storm had cleared, leaving Harbor Glen glistening under a brilliant winter sun.
Inside Apartment 3B, the air was hot, filled with the delicious, rich smell of roasting chicken, cinnamon apples, and fresh pine.
In the corner near the window, where the yellow eviction notice had hung twenty-four hours before, now stood a majestic, six-foot Fraser fir Christmas tree. Its branches were heavy with glowing warm lights, glass baubles, silver tinsel, and a golden star at the very top that Mason had lifted Clara onto his shoulders to place.
Underneath the tree lay a dozen wrapped boxes—courtesy of a late-night shopping trip Mason had ordered through his firm’s concierge service—filled with winter coats, warm boots, art supplies, books, and educational games for Clara, along with two soft wool sweaters for Maya.
Clara was sitting on the rug beneath the tree, wearing a bright pink fleece sweater, utterly lost in a new watercolor painting set, her tongue tucked into the corner of her mouth as she carefully painted a blue reindeer.
In the tiny kitchen, Maya was standing near the stove, stirring a pot of gravy.
She was wearing one of the new wool sweaters—a soft sage green that brought out the warm gold flecks in her hazel eyes. Her face was flushed from the heat of the oven, but the dark, hollow smudges beneath her eyes seemed to have vanished completely, replaced by a radiant, peaceful light.
Mason stood near the kitchen doorway, holding a cup of hot coffee, watching her work.
"You didn't have to buy the tree, Mason," Maya said softly, looking over her shoulder at him with a gentle, teasing smile. "Or the food. Or the twenty pounds of art paper down there."
"I didn't buy the tree," Mason said smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee. "My firm’s administrative director bought the tree. It was billed to corporate outreach."
Maya laughed—a rich, melodic sound that filled the small apartment like music. It was the first time Mason had heard her truly laugh, and the sound did something strange and wonderful to the quiet spaces in his heart.
She set down her wooden spoon, walked over to him, and stood right in front of him.
"Thank you," she whispered, looking up into his grey eyes with an intensity that made his pulse quicken. "Not just for the money, or the lawyer work, or the court order. Thank you for looking at us... and seeing us."
Mason set his coffee cup down on the counter behind him. He looked down at her pale, beautiful face, his chest swelling with a feeling so profound, so utterly real, that every corporate success, every courtroom victory, every million-dollar fee he had ever earned seemed meaningless by comparison.
"I saw a little girl with empty hands, Maya," Mason said softly, his voice rough around the edges. "And then I saw the woman who was giving everything she had to keep her safe. I didn't save you. You were already fighting. I just gave you a shield."
Maya reached up, her hand soft and warm as her fingers gently touched the side of his jaw. Mason leaned into her touch, his eyes closing for a fraction of a second as her thumb brushed across his cheekbone.
"Stay for dinner," Maya whispered.
May you like
Mason opened his eyes, looking down into her hazel gaze.
"I'm not going anywhere, Maya," Mason promised quietly. "Not today. Not tomorrow."
