“Sowwyy,” I grumble between swallows. I finish chewing and swallow the food in my mouth and try again. “Sorry. I thought it’d be funny considering how you looked at me when I poured the ketchup. I didn’t think I’d almost die in the process.”
“Serves you right. I’m enjoying my weekends off so if you could avoid me having to save your life, that’d be great.”
“Ah, there she is.”
“What’s that mean?”
“The woman I met on New Year’s Eve. The one who is witty and slightly sarcastic. The one whose smile causes the edges of her eyes to crinkle. That woman.”
“First, they’re called crow’s feet, and it’d be really nice if you wouldn’t talk about my wrinkles. And I’m always witty and sarcastic. It’s part of my charm. I’ve just been kind of . . . I don’t know, avoiding you a little?”
“Because you thought I was a cheating bastard?” She nods sheepishly, looking at her lap. “Is that the kind of man you thought I was after spending time with me, Addison?”
“Gah, Addy, please. When you say Addison it makes me feel like I’m in trouble.”
“Trouble? I can see you being a little bit of trouble, Addison.”
She sighs and rolls her eyes at my use of her full name again. Instead of responding, I go about eating my lunch while engaging my impromptu date in conversation. She pretends to reluctantly help me with my fries when I slide my plate toward her as she tells me about her move here and how her new job is going. I make sure to tell her how much I’m enjoying working with Mason even if I’m not one hundred percent certain he showers regularly.
After tossing a twenty on the table, I stand and hold my hand out for Addison to take. She hesitates enough for me to know she’s not the kind of woman to easily trust. I knew this already from some of the stories she told me on New Year’s Eve and after her immediate assumption I was a cheater. Hoping I didn’t pause too long before sliding my hand in my pocket and step aside to give Addison room to pass me as she stands from the booth.
Once outside, I stop and turn to Addison. “Where’s your car?”
“We walked here after yoga,” she says, holding up a mat.
“Got it. Well, I’m just over here. Want a ride to your car?”
“I think I can manage the hundred feet or so to my car, but thanks,” she teases, and the moment she smiles and looks up at me through her long lashes, it’s my turn to blush.
“Well, thanks for accepting my apology, and I promise to be less bitchy the next time I see you, Landon.”
And without a goodbye, Addison Sinclair turns on her heel and walks away from me. I may be a simple man, but I swear there’s a little more pep in her step than usual. But, when she turns to look over her shoulder and catches my eye, I know for a fact there’s more and maybe, just maybe, it’s all for me.
Mason has been working with me for a few weeks, and I’m as surprised as anyone else how well we work together. The very evident chip on his shoulder from two weeks ago seems to be less of an issue. Last week I told him if he didn’t walk in here with a piss-off attitude or slam shit like it doesn’t cost me a lot of money, I’d consider letting him use the saw. Turns out, Mason isn’t much different than I was as a kid—motivated by simplicity. Don’t be a dick and you get to do things. It’s pretty simple.
“I’m here. It’s Friday and I didn’t slam shi . . . I mean, stuff. You promised, Landon.”
“Dude, relax. You’ve been here seven minutes. I thought you were going to some school dance or some shit?”
“That’s not till seven. I have almost three hours. Are you going to hold up your end of the bargain, or what?” he asks, crossing his arms and widening his stance. I want to laugh, but that’ll probably piss the kid off, and I don’t have time for that. Instead, I motion for him to follow me and gesture toward the safety glasses I laid out next to the saw. A huge smile takes over his face and I feel a sense of pride knowing offering this kid some work has made a huge difference in his new life in Lexington.
Saying Mason is a natural with the saw is an overstatement. His first few attempts to cut a straight line aren’t exactly, well, straight. Once I remind him to breathe and take it slow, he improves greatly. The sense of pride he shows when he sets and resets the blade on his own makes me honored to be the one teaching him.
After a few goes with the saw, I turned my attention back to the dining set I’m working on for Spencer. I prefer sanding by hand on most pieces, but considering this table is at least three times the size of any I’ve sat at, the power sander came out of its storage space. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I realize we’ve been working hard for a few hours.
“Mason, it’s six thirty; you should probably call your uncle to find out where he’s at or you’ll be late for the dance,” I shout over the music, and Mason gives me a thumbs up before picking up his phone. In seconds, I hear a plethora of swears, and a can goes flying across the garage.
I turn off the sander and throw off my safety glasses. Turning to face Mason, I’m ready to lay into him when I see the look on his face. Distraught. Upset. Angry. I take a few tentative steps toward him. If I’ve learned anything working with Mason, it’s that teenagers are a little like feral cats and must be handled with caution.
“What’s wrong? Do you need a ride?”
“No. My mom’s coming.”
“Okay,” I reply confused. “Is that a bad thing? I mean, are you fighting with your mom?”
“No. My dad.”
His dad. In the weeks Mason has been working with me, he has only mentioned his father a few times. Normally, it’s in passing, and the minute he realizes he’s said anything, he changes the subject. Never have I seen this type of reaction, so I’m a little taken aback.
“I’m going to need more words, kid.”
“Ugh, I hate him.” I step closer to Mason, and when he looks up at me, I’m slapped in the face with the reality that regardless of how mature Mason is most of the time or how tough he acts, he’s still a kid. A kid who looks like his entire world just ended.
“Hey guys, how’s it going?”
Mason and I both turn toward the voice from the doorway. Addison.
In a few steps, she’s in front of Mason and resting her hands on his shoulders, looking into his eyes. “Honey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“Nothing,” Mason mumbles.
“Mason Taylor Sinclair. Do not lie to me.” Damn, mom voice is hot on Addison.
“Dad text me.”
“And? That’s a good thing, right?”
“Not when it was a picture of him with some chick in Tahiti. Tahiti, Mom.”
I feel like a voyeur in this moment, but I can’t seem to turn away. I should excuse myself and give Addison and Mason a moment. I shouldn’t intrude on their privacy, but I can’t seem to move.
“I see. Well, good for him. Tahiti is beautiful.”
Damn she’s good. I can see the stiffness in her posture, yet Addison doesn’t falter. She simply puts Mason first, and I don’t want to look away. But, I do.
In a few steps, I make it to the doorway, giving Addison and Mason some privacy, when I hear a sniffle. Turning toward them, I see a sad young man being comforted by his mother. My heart tugs a little as I leave them and head inside to make dinner.
Looking at my son as his heart breaks is killing me. I wondered when the moment would come. The moment he realizes his father has moved on—not just from me, but from us. The moment his anger manifestes into agony and defeat. The moment that will change him.
We’re in this moment now. As I hold him and run my hand down his back and he cries, we’re in it. And it sucks. It sucks so bad. There must be a better word for it than sucks.
Fucking sucks.
That’ll do.
I’m not sure how long we stand in Landon’s makeshift workshop, but at some point, Mason goes from sobs to sniffles and begins to pull back. When he does, I stop him by placing my hands on his cheeks. My tear-stained f
ace mimics his, but I smile at my only child and know he’s going to be okay. We’re both going to be okay.
“You okay?” I ask, and he shrugs. “I know this wasn’t the kind of text you wanted from your dad and, well, I’m probably doing this wrong, but it was kind of a dick move on his part.” Mason laughs, and I join in.
This is what I want. Sure, I can sugarcoat my words and say things like “your dad loves you” or “I know your dad misses you,” but honestly, I don’t know who Dan is anymore and I can’t defend his actions. In the months since we moved to Lexington, he’s made next to no effort to find out about Mason’s life here. I gave up trying to keep him in the loop, and the first communication he makes to Mason is a picture of him on a sunny vacation with a girlfriend.
I’m tired of protecting Dan and won’t do it anymore. That’s why I’m going to be honest with Mason. Myself? Not so much. I won’t address the fact that I’m pissed off, my feelings are hurt, and I’m jealous. Jealous he gets to run off and live the high life while I’m here, being an adult. A responsible adult and parent. Fuck him and his choices.
“Whoa, what’s wrong, Mom? You look like you want to kill someone all of the sudden.”
“What?” I ask, pulled from my thoughts. “Oh, sorry. I’m not much with hiding my emotions, am I? I’m just pissed at your dad. I wish he had a little more tact. But regardless, it doesn’t matter. We’re here and handling life just fine. He’s going to regret not being part of your life, Mason. Just keep being you, and it’ll all work out.”
“I guess,” he mutters.
“Hey, looks like you’ve missed the beginning of the dance. If you still want to go, we can hurry and probably have you there in about thirty minutes.”
“Nah, I’m not in the mood. I was only going because . . . nevermind. How about we order a pizza instead?”
I follow Mason out of the shop as he checks a few switches and turns off the light. It’s only then I realize Landon had left us alone. God, that must have been uncomfortable for him to watch. Hell, it was uncomfortable to be part of, I can’t imagine how he felt being sucked into our drama.
“We should probably tell Landon we’re leaving. And apologize for having to force our family drama onto him.”
“Nah, Landon’s cool. He probably didn’t even care. But I’ll go tell him we’re leaving.”
I stand at the base of a set of stairs that lead to the side of the house and wait while Mason goes inside. I hear a few laughs and what sounds like a high five or other hand smacking flesh, and I step up to open the door and see what’s happening when Landon opens the door.
“Why are you waiting out here? I was making tacos; why don’t you come in and have something to eat?”
“No, it’s okay. We should let you get back to whatever you’re doing.”
“Addison, it’s dinner time, and Mason said he’s not going to the dance, and you’re going to order pizza. By the look on your face in response to the word “pizza” and the comments you made a few weeks back about it, I’m thinking you’re a little over pizza.”
“It’s true. I thought it was my favorite food. Heck, it’s even one of my security questions for a password. But now? After indulging Mason for months as a way to help make him happy? It’s the last thing I want to eat.”
“Perfect, tacos are not pizza,” he says with a smile and holds the screen door open for me.
As I take a tentative step into the house, I am surprised to find it less bachelor pad and more . . . homey. The door I entered takes me into a large open kitchen that looks out over the living room. The kitchen is bright with a ton of cabinet space, which has my envy button pushed, and beautiful sconces hanging over a large island in the middle of the room. A single glass of wine sits on the island. I look from the wine to Landon, and he smiles before stepping toward the stove.
“Is that for me?”
“Yep. I’m having a beer. Go on, take a sip. After what I saw out there, I’m sure you need more than a glass of wine, but it’s all I had.”
He’s right, I could go for a nice bourbon and a night under the stars to wallow in my emotions. But, a glass of wine will work. I pull out the counter-height chair and sit down before reaching for the glass. The cold white is a shock to my system at first, but I instantly embrace the flavors of crisp apples and peaches. Delicious.
“Thanks for this. Where’s Mason?”
“He’s washing up. I gave him a pair of shorts and a T-shirt to put on. I now understand what my mother meant when we were kids and complained of the constant stench. That kid is foul half the time.”
“Don’t I know it. I swear he showers. Scouts honor.” I lift my fingers in a mock scout’s salute and Landon laughs. After a few minutes of small talk, during which he never brings up Dan or what happened in the garage, we fall into a comfortable silence as Landon finishes cooking and I help myself to the rest of my wine. I’ve never been more grateful for another person’s perceptive ways than I am now. Landon is a good guy, and I hate that I ever thought anything less.
And, truth be told, I have never been more grateful for whatever slice of good karma I’ve been given, because watching Landon fry tacos and drink beer may be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. It’s obvious while Mason and I were outside in the garage, he cleaned up. He’s barefoot in a pair of loose fitting lounge pants that highlight a superb ass and a sleeveless shirt, and his hair is slightly damp from his shower. I’m pulled from my thoughts when my wine glass slides toward me and I startle, looking into a pair of eyes dancing with mischief.
Busted.
I clear my throat and take a large drink from my newly filled glass. I shouldn’t drink a second glass, hell I shouldn’t be here. I should be at home with a new bottle of my favorite bourbon and my son sitting on the couch playing a video game. I have no business here with this guy. He’s young and, well now that I know for sure, single. He should be out meeting women, on a date. Somewhere that isn’t spending a Friday night cooking tacos for a kid he pays to sweep up after him and his boring middle-aged mother. Dear Lord, I’m pathetic.
“Addison.” Landon’s voice is deeper than I remember and pulls me from my thoughts as I set the wine glass down, lifting my hand to wipe a drop of wine from my lip. Before I’m able to reach my lip, Landon does. His thumb brushes the drop from my lip and then goes straight to his own.
“Sweet.”
I gulp. It must be loud enough to be heard, and my eyes widen. Damn, that was hot. Like a book. A movie. Heck, a book turned into a movie. Clearly I’m the ditzy girl in the movie, so I simply nod in response. And blush. Like an “is it hot in here?” kind of blush.
Is it hot in here?
“I’m feeling quite warm, actually.”
“Shit. I said that . . .” I don’t finish my sentence because as Landon leans forward and my eyes go from his to his lips, my tongue peeking out between my lips as I prepare for the inevitable, I hear a voice that is an instant buzzkill.
“Are the tacos done? I’m starving here!”
And just like that, the moment passes. Or I thought it did but when Landon stands to his full height and winks at me, I maybe blush a little more.
“Let’s eat!” Landon declares, clapping his hands.
Along the counter he’s set up quite the taco bar. Seasoned ground beef and chicken, shredded cheese, chopped tomatoes, lettuce, and avocado. An assortment of hot sauces and salsa sit to the side along with some black beans. Suddenly I’m ravenous and pull a plate without preamble. I make myself a taco salad and resume my spot at the bar. Mason takes the spot next to me with a plate full of tacos, and as he takes his first bite, I nudge him with my arm and give him a look that tells him not to take a second.
“Landon, this looks delicious. Thank you for having us for dinner. It’s very kind of you. Right, Mason?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Landon laughs at Mason and crumbles up a napkin before tossing it at his head. Mason looks up and shrugs. “What, man? I’m starving.
But Mom’s right. Thanks. This is really good.”
“You’re welcome.”
Dinner is fun, and it’s nice having a man to engage Mason in conversation. I hadn’t realized how little he had been talking at the table over the last few months until tonight. He’s laughing and teasing Landon, who is dishing it right back. When I finish my salad, I stand and begin placing the sauces back in the refrigerator.
“Addison, please don’t worry about this, I’ll do it later,” Landon says from behind me. Closely behind me. My heart begins to flutter, and I shake my head quickly.
“It’s the least I can do. Now, do you have containers to store this meat?”
Chuckling, he begins opening cupboards and pulls out a few containers and lids and places them on the counter next to me. For the next few minutes, we work side by side cleaning up from dinner, and a pang of nostalgia hits me. Memories of my childhood, my parents and how they worked as a team. My dad loved my mom, and they were happy. Taylor and I would often catch them kissing in the kitchen and make a huge production over their inappropriateness. But truthfully, I wished for that as a child. I wished I would grow up and find a man who was not only my lover but my partner. A man who would make me laugh, make me smile, and never make me cry.
“Thanks for helping. While you were off in la-la land, I promised Mason an ultimate battle on the Xbox. Is that cool?”
“You want to spend your Friday night with a teenager? Don’t you have better, more single guy things to do?”
“I’m not sure what ‘single guy things’ are,” he says with air quotes. “But, I enjoy hanging out with Mason, and I never turn down an Xbox challenge.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m positive. Why don’t you head home and take a bath, read a book, drink some of that bourbon you love so much? I can bring him home in a few hours.”
Bourbon & Bonfires Page 8