Wrapped Up in a Beau

by Angelita Gill

  “Holy cow, it’s me! Remarkable,” he gushed with all sincerity. “You should grow up to be a painter, Ashley. You have talent.” When he tried to hand it back to her, she shook her head and handed it back.

  “For you!” she insisted.

  Mason seemed touched by the offering as he rose from the short bench, nodded and bowed as though a prince thanking royalty. “I’m honored. Thank you.”

  Ashley smiled, then grabbed a fresh piece of paper before starting another work of art, as though she was in great demand and he was now dismissed. Mrs. Carlton winked at him for giving the artiste some attention.

  Peering, Greta lightly rested her chin on his shoulder. “Miss Ashley has a keen eye for the unspoken. See how big your head is in comparison to the rest of you? How serious your gaze is while your smile is mischievous and too big for your face? She’s wise beyond her years.” She went to snatch the picture, but he held it away from her as she laughed.

  He turned, eyes slitting. “Are you suggesting I have a big head because of my ego?”

  She pretended to be shocked at his perception as she began to back up from his playfully terrorizing gaze. “You catch on quick.”

  He swooped to catch her but she proved too quick and made her escape in the gym, laughing as she fast-walked to the other side, glancing behind her.

  Like a predator, he stalked with an unrushed pace, but as soon as he re-entered the gymnasium, the kids screeched in joy at his return then surrounded him with requests to play.

  Greta knew she’d been saved. When she turned and met his gaze, she also knew, very soon, she would inevitably be caught.

  She couldn’t wait.

  Chapter Fifteen

  They say time flies when you’re having fun. Yeah? Well it flies even faster when you think you’re falling in love too. Mason knew somewhere between their first dance and their last kiss, he’d fallen for Greta Marcum. Every time he questioned it, he always came back to the same conclusion. Self-denial wasn’t something he liked to indulge in. Was it possible to fall in love so soon? If someone would’ve asked him a few weeks ago, he would’ve said no, impossible. Love took time. Lust was instantaneous and very often confused with love, but Mason had enough experience to distinguish the difference.

  He wasn’t even sure when it hit him, because he couldn’t recall having an “A-ha! I’m in love” moment. He’d gotten used to seeing her at least once every day and most definitely every night, and whenever he thought of the days and nights ahead when he would never see her, a sorrowful poison seared in his gut. The more he tried to ignore it, the more frequently it erupted, to the point where it angered him. Over the last couple days, he realized he wouldn’t be able to send her off with a “have a good life, maybe we’ll see each other again” farewell. There had to be a way to keep her there. Like flying her back once a month to visit. Seeing her every three weeks or so could keep what they had going, and of course in between there would be video calls, texting and emails…if she was even set up for that kind of correspondence. After all, she and Sophie kept in touch via snail mail. No matter. He’d make sure she had every tech device and solid Wi-Fi in her cottage to make it possible.

  The only question was whether she’d agree to that.

  Once she got on the plane, he might never get her back, no matter what future arrangements he made. With her determined to settle down and start a life thousands of miles away, coming back to Swan’s once a month could hold her back from moving forward.

  Doubt gnawed at him. Maybe it’d work for a few months, maybe even longer if they really put in the effort. Mason thought far into the future—he was a big-picture kind of man—and saw good times, the sweet anticipation building for her next visit, the ecstasy of a reunion each month. But, eventually, that too wouldn’t last. How long would it take before she grew tired of it? How many months until he did? The plan, while temporarily ideal, was doomed to fold in on itself. The kind of relationship he wanted required more than stolen weekends, stamps and Skype.

  Pulling up the guesthouse drive, he shoved the gear in park and softly cursed. It also occurred to him he’d have to tell her how he felt in order to suggest something like a long-distance relationship. He didn’t know what she’d say or do, and he didn’t like showing his hand unless he could predict the outcome. Sure, she cared about him, liked him but did she love him? Not knowing meant he’d be taking a risk.

  Without a doubt, he knew how he felt, but Greta…no.

  What was the worst that could happen? She’d laugh in his face, pity him, then fly away, never to come back to avoid future awkward encounters. The best case? Love returned, obviously. Regardless, living on separate continents strained even the most devoted commitment, and theirs—he had to be honest here—would be brand new. The odds were against them.

  As he switched off the ignition, the ambition of his plan died with it.

  If he told her he loved her, she’d run. If he didn’t, she’d run. Either way, he lost.

  When he walked in the guesthouse, somber, he strove not to show it. Greta greeted him from the loft with a grin, gripping the rail, her hair flying over one shoulder. Radiant, fresh and glowing in her red V-neck sweater. “Sorry I’m a little late getting ready. Be right down.” She dashed back to the bathroom, shouting from there. “I had the best day! Tell you all about it in a minute.”

  Mason shoved his hands in his pockets, shifting his gaze from her discarded scarf on the back of a chair to her radio, from the boxes she’d prepared for her Christmas presents, stamped and ready to ship, to the half-dozen pairs of boots lining the mat next to the door. Never again would he ever be able to step inside this place without imagining her all over it. Without imagining them being together all over it.

  She swept out of the bathroom and bounded the stairs with lightness in her step, oblivious to his brooding. “I was complaining to Sophie about feeling lazy and needing a good workout, so she took me to this place where we they do Bikram yoga. I’d heard of it, but never done tried it. Until today!” She grabbed her scarf and arranged it around her neck. “At first I thought I was going to faint from the heat, but I managed to stay conscious for the hour. I felt so good afterward, I could’ve kissed the instructor! Then we drove a half hour out of town to Briarly and spent the rest of the day at the spa. Manicure. Pedicure. Body scrub. A blow-dry. The works.” He watched as she grabbed her boots and plopped on the sofa to slide them on. She had no idea how much he wanted to cancel their evening in town, stay inside and make love. Call him a jerk for it, but there was nothing he’d rather do. She continued her story with enthusiasm. “On our way home, Sophie got a call from one of the tenants, a Mrs. Thorston, in the apartment building you guys own and said there was an emergency. It wasn’t until we got there that we found out the emergency was her lost bunny rabbit. We had no idea how the little creature escaped her apartment, but imagine trying to find a white bunny outside in the snow!” The boot zipper made a noise as she yanked it up. “There we were, trying to call the poor thing like you would a dog or a cat, as if it would come running to us. Mrs. T tossing out blueberries everywhere to tempt Bitsie—er, that’s the bunny—and just when Sophie spotted her, she fell face first in the snow and missed. I’m laughing so hard I can barely stand. Then Bitsie jumps right in Sophie’s lap, as though it was a game the whole time.” She laughed in remembrance, practically glowing from the inside out. “We stopped by Galore for some hot chocolate and of course Leo was there. Did you know he met someone while in the hospital? Her name’s Maria. She was there to visit her sister and walked in the wrong room. Leo’s. He declared that any woman who can smile at him while he wore in a hospital gown was a treasure. I so hope he’s right. He’s a good man who deserves more love in his life, don’t you agree?”

  At a loss for words, sunken deeper in his low mood, he simply nodded with a soft smile. With any luck, her bright disposition would rub off on him. He certainly di
dn’t want to spoil their night with his sullen attitude.

  She beamed back and pushed up from the sofa, as he handed over her coat. Instead of taking it, she stretched her arms around his neck and kissed him with slow, sensual pressure. Gripping her jacket, he wrapped his arms around her, savoring her exquisite kiss. It pained Mason knowing it would be one of the last he’d ever taste.

  She broke away too soon with a husky laugh, taking her coat. “Let’s go.”

  For the first time in his life, Mason didn’t know what to do. Deep down, he knew telling her he loved her was the wisest—riskiest—option. Maybe it was best to withdraw altogether; separate himself from that scary thing called love, and just let her go.

  At the steakhouse, she must’ve sensed his tension, carrying most of the conversation throughout dinner, but didn’t ask him what was bothering him. And he was glad that she didn’t, as he might’ve shouted out his feelings, scaring her.

  So instead of sitting her down, holding her face in his hands and telling her he loved her, his pride forced him to take the coward’s way. He stayed quiet.

  She couldn’t know he was thinking these things, even though she seemed determined to bring him out of his strange mood. And he gave a valiant effort to pretend he was only tired. He couldn’t focus, not even on her.

  They were living in a fantasyland, after all. Christmas was over, and reality was setting in. The company needed him back full-time and the festive air of the season would settle into predictable winter days, and forgettable winter nights.

  “Aren’t you staying?” she asked later, after he kissed her good night at the door.

  The way she looked up at him, those beautifully dark eyes so heady with desire, was almost his undoing.

  “I can’t…I have to be at RDI early. Time to get back on schedule.” Inner cringe. Using work as an excuse? Although lame, it wasn’t totally deceptive. He’d been spending most of his mornings at the office the past couple days already.

  “Back full-time so soon?” Understanding, she nodded. “Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  He panicked, needing some time…some space. “Actually, it might be one of those long days for me. Can’t really commit to anything right now.” He couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “I’ll call you when I’m wrapping things up. Might be late. Is that okay?” No, you idiot. It’s not okay. He wanted her to say that. But she didn’t. She believed him. Her pretty eyes held questions, and she probably sensed something was off. Still, she didn’t question him.

  “That’s fine.” She smiled, pulling away.

  Forcing the steel around his heart, he gave her an impersonal kiss on the cheek.

  The disappointment in her features gutted him, and as he pulled out of the driveway, watching her wave good-bye, he wondered how the hell he was going to deal with losing her.

  Physical distance made a relationship virtually impossible. Emotional distance didn’t allow any relationship at all. And Greta’s inner alarm rang high and loud once Mason had called to explain that he wasn’t going to be able to meet her that night at the pub. Again. She hadn’t seen him since their dinner the night before last. Two whole evenings in a row without him. No matter how busy he was during the day, she never expected him to leave her alone in bed at night. Normally, when a man started making vague promises of phone calls, and canceled dates, it meant one of two things: the connection had fizzled for him or he’d met someone else.

  Since she was certain he hadn’t the time to get involved with someone new that only left the former.

  Sitting at the vanity, brushing her hair, she started to frown, slowing her strokes. She set the brush down. She should’ve expected this. The holidays were over and therefore, so were they. This is what she wanted. But, her conscience warned, giving in to Mason had been totally against her goal to stay away from men like him. Now she was paying the price.

  A queasiness in her stomach began. Pushing up to the closet, she dismissed it. She had to get ready to meet for drinks with Sophie. What to wear…the silk top with black pants? The sweater dress? The turtleneck and jeans?

  Oh, who cares. She yanked the dress off the hanger.

  Mason didn’t want to see her. And it hurt.

  She was flying home tomorrow! How could he brush her off for two whole days?

  Obviously he didn’t care, or else he’d be there right now, spending every available minute with her. He couldn’t work twenty-four hours a day, could he?

  Collapsing on the edge of the bed, she fought back tears. This wouldn’t hurt if she hadn’t fallen in love with him. And she had come very close to telling him so the other night. But his strange, withdrawn mood had thwarted her.

  Well, maybe it was best she hadn’t shared her feelings. After all, she’d only known him a short time. Still, her heart insisted it was true. Hard to believe, to understand how and when, but it felt right to admit it. Even so, they’d agreed to an uncomplicated affair and she would suddenly renege on it. Perhaps he could tell she’d fallen, sensed her attachment, and withdrawn on purpose. Men were clever that way.

  Questioning if her emotions really were authentic, or a natural development of the perfect moments they shared, she decided to think about it later. She threw on the sweater dress, her boots, dabbed her mouth with lip stain and rushed out the door.

  At a popular local pub, McRory’s, Greta distracted herself with a pint of the best beer on tap, a bowl of peanuts and wonderful company. Sophie had invited two of her friends, Nichole and Lizzie, to join them. They shared stories about their respective holidays, fashion, celebrity gossip and of course men.

  Nichole confessed a penchant for sensitive types, artists and musicians, while Lizzie had her eye on the architect she worked with. Sophie haughtily claimed her taste in men varied; her philosophy was to date every type to know what she wanted, and what she didn’t. Blake Kessman, for instance, had recently asked her out and they had a date set for the coming Friday. Only Greta knew he was exactly what Sophie wanted. Greta gloried in the news, but diluted her reaction to a mere pleased smile and silently commended herself for a job well done. She’d demand details in her letters. Oh how she would love to see Sophie and Blake together in person!

  “What about you, Greta?” Nichole asked, stirring the stick of olives in her martini. “What’s your type?”

  She shifted in her seat. “Mine? Well…” Mason was all she could think of.

  “I’m guessing one of those tall, dark, Greek men.” Elizabeth smiled.

  Deciding to be vague, she lifted a shoulder then answered, “I like them all, girls. No preference.”

  The ladies laughed, and Sophie turned her head as a friend of hers walked up. “Hey, Tom.”

  Greta recognized him from the Christmas party, remembering they’d been introduced and shared a dance. He broke into a quick grin as he approached the table. “Is it ladies’ night?”

  “Sort of. Showing Greta more local favorite spots before she leaves.”

  He waved for a waitress. “Let me buy you a round.” When his eyes met Greta’s, she supplied a friendly smile, said hello, and he grinned. “It’s good to see you again, Ms. Marcum.” He held her gaze a second more than he needed to, just before he gave a general good-bye to the table, and joined his group after ordering a round for them.

  “Whoa. He certainly didn’t stop by to say hi to us,” Nichole stated, pointing at Greta.

  “You saw that, too?” Elizabeth chimed in.

  “Tom Whitland is one of the biggest flirts I know,” Sophie declared.

  Elizabeth watched him disappear in the crowd. “I’d love it if he flirted with me. But obviously he prefers brunettes.”

  Greta shrugged. “We danced at the Christmas party, that’s all.” Excusing herself, Greta went to the restroom to relieve her bladder and powder her nose. Her mood shaded darker with every minute, confused
by Mason’s withdrawal. When she came back out, she almost bumped into Tom, and a slosh of beer spilled over his cup.

  “Oh, sorry!” She swiped at the beer on his sleeve.

  His smile was wide. “No damage done. I’m glad I ran into you. Gives me an excuse to talk to you alone. How was your Christmas in Swan’s Crossing?” As she paused, thinking of a general answer, Tom added, “I can already tell it exceeded your wildest expectations.”

  She laughed softly. If he only knew! “It was…” Unexpected. Magical. Passionate. “It was lovely. How about yours?”

  “Typical. I have a big family, so there was a lot of food and a few fists flying. My uncles trying to talk over one another while my nephew almost set his hair on fire. One of my sisters crying over a guy, and quite a few gifts I’d like to return.”

  “Sounds lively.”

  “I imagine things were a little more civilized at the Renclair estate.”

  She smiled. Civilized? A little too much, but she’d miss them all terribly. “They were very gracious hosts.”

  “Think you’ll come back? If you like Christmastime in Swan’s, then you’ll love the festivals we have in the summer. I could take you on horseback through the trails.”

  “You have horses?”

  He nodded, grinning. “I grew up on them. Too bad you’re leaving or else I’d give you a tour. Maybe if you do come back, you’ll look me up.” He stared at her with open interest, and Greta realized he was flirting with her. She couldn’t fault him; he had no idea how involved she’d been with Mason. Still, she didn’t want to be rude about an invitation she would never accept.

  “Well, if and when I do return, I’ll keep that offer in mind,” she told him politely.

  “Great.” The door of the men’s restroom opened and he started to move around her. “I’ll let you get back to the girls. Happy New Year.” He kissed her cheek.