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His experience had been all about his feelings and them being wrong, no matter what feelings he offered.

But Alex and Jack were working through a specific disorder. Anxiety and nightmares. Gabe had just beenwrong.

And now, he had no nightmares, few anxieties. War didn’t plague him in the least. He was fine.

In those moments with Jack and Alex discussing what Monica did for them, Gabe had to wonder why he was the odd man out. The one who didn’t need help. It was almost like being back in that therapist’s office, being told he was all wrong, all bad.

A good man would need help, because Alex and Jack were the best men he knew.

What the hell was he doing standing out here, freezing his balls off, thinking about that? Gabe marched himself across the yard. He was here on something of a business mission really—clear the air so they could work together normally. Without bringing it back up again.

Maybe he needed to prove to himself that he was no coward. Because he could face these types of things. He wasn’t going to skitter away from her the rest of his life. No. His runaway days were over. No one got to intimidate, warp, or threaten him anymore.

He raised his fist and knocked hard on the front door. He could hear the strains of music from behind the door. Christmas music. He grimaced.

The door swung open, and Monica came into view. She’d clearly looked out the window to see who was there, but she still looked shocked at his appearance.

Shocked and too beautiful. Her blond hair was a little wild, her cheeks a little flushed. All that tense anger that had been coiling inside of him loosened somehow.

“White Christmas” blared from somewhere inside, and the smell of cookies was almost overwhelming. Monica had white smudges all over her shirt, and for one blinding, stupid second, all he wanted to do was push her inside and take her mouth with his.

But he was not here for that. He was here to have a conversation that would put them on even, solid ground.

“Hi. What…what are you doing here?” she asked, smiling, but it didn’t hide the nerves.

“I thought we should talk.”

“Oh. Um…” Something beeped from the direction of the kitchen. “Come in.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him and trying not to notice the way she clasped her hands together and then released them.

“Just give me a second to get the cookies out. And then…we can, we can…we can talk. Right. Talk.”

He shouldn’t get any pleasure from her stuttering or the way she scurried off to the kitchen clearly trying to find some center of calm, but helikedgetting to her.

You are not here to get to anything.

Gabe stepped into the living area. The interior of the cabin was mostly open. The small living room was filled with couch, TV, and fireplace, and the only thing that separated that room from the kitchen was a small counter.

Monica had the fireplace blazing, so Gabe shrugged out of his coat and placed it over the arm of the couch. When he glanced over at Monica, she was bent over the stove.

He attempted to remind himself he could resist anything. Including the desire to have his hands on her ass. Including the way his body tightened at just the sight of her.

“Um, want a cookie? They’re chocolate crinkles.”

“What’s a crinkle?” he found himself asking, moving toward the kitchen even as something in his gut told himnotto move. As a man who listened to his gut in all things, it was disconcerting to find how easily and quickly it could be overruled.

“Chocolate. Powdered sugar. If you haven’t had one before, I’m going to have to insist, since that’d be a travesty.” She held out the messy-looking cookie.

Gabe shrugged and took it, lifting it to his lips. He bit into it, and somehow their eyes locked over that, and she watched his mouth as the cookie disappeared into it. She exhaled, a little shuddery and overloud.

Well, this was a mistake, that was for sure.

* * *

Monica turned away quickly, almost knocking over the pan of cookies she’d just taken out and all but burning herself in the process.

Good Lord, get a grip.