by Lili Valente
With Lark.
I’m going to win her back. I’ll prove Parker wrong about that the same way I’ve proven him wrong about everything else.
Head on straight once more, I hitch the little fishing boat to the back of my car and pull down the gravel driveway without a glance in the rearview.
It’s too dusty to see much, and I’m done looking back.
Chapter 7
Mason
Date Two
I pull up to the curb outside Lark’s parent’s house at three p.m. on the dot, heart lifting when I see her waiting outside on the front porch. I jump out of the car with a grin, so excited to see her that I’m halfway up the walk before I realize she’s not dressed for an afternoon on the lake.
In fact, she’s not dressed at all.
At least, not for leaving the house.
“What’s up?” I glance down, gaze skimming over her oversized gray t-shirt and thin pink pajama pants.
“I’m not feeling well.” She sniffs, rubbing her nose with the tissue wadded in her fist. “I woke up yucky.”
“What are your symptoms?” I ask, snapping into doctor mode, hoping she’s up to date on all her vaccinations. “Any fever? Body aches?”
“No, nothing serious.” She sniffs again. “Just a runny nose and sinus pressure. Must be spring allergies or something. I don’t know, but I’m definitely not up for fishing today.”
I shrug, taking the news in stride. “Okay. Why don’t we just hang out and watch a movie or something? I can make you chicken soup with extra noodles and rub your feet.”
“No. I don’t want to make you sick.”
“You said it was probably just allergies,” I remind her. “And even if you were sick, chances are I wouldn’t catch it. I’ve spent the past four years at the hospital swimming in germs. I’m immune to everything. Or almost everything.” I smile, nudging her socked foot gently with my shoe. “Besides, I’d risk a virus to spend the afternoon with you.”
“That’s sweet, but I think I should go back to bed.” She tucks her chin, causing her hair to spill around her face, hiding her expression. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I could use the rest.”
“All right.” I try to ignore the stab of disappointment in my chest, but I’ve been looking forward to seeing Lark again since the moment she closed the car door behind her last night. After our disastrous first encounter at the wedding, our first date went better than I could have imagined.
I woke up this morning hopeful that I was on my way to winning a second chance, and that date two was going to be even better than date one.
Now, I’m going to spend the afternoon alone.
But she can’t help being sick….
Hmmm…
Lark…sick….
I furrow my brow. Come to think of it, have I ever seen her under the weather? I rack my brain, but with the exception of a nasty case of food poisoning from raw oysters at a Mardis Gras party a year after we started dating, I can’t recall her ever being ill.
There’s a first time for everything, of course, but the way she’s refusing to meet my eyes makes me wonder…
“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” She keeps her head tucked to her chest as she stands and reaches for the door.
I stop her with a gentle hand on her shoulder, letting my fingers brush along the back of her neck.
No fever. After a harrowing year working in the E.R. during the pandemic, I can guess a person’s temperature by touch.
She shivers and glances at me over her shoulder. “What was that for?”
“Checking your temperature.”
“With your fingers?”
“You’re right. Can’t tell for sure with fingers.” I can tell with my fingers, but she doesn’t know that and an excuse to get closer to her is suddenly too tempting to resist. Leaning in, I brush her hair to one side before bending to press my lips to the column of her throat.
She sucks in a breath, and my chest goes tight.
God, her skin is as soft as I remember, soft and warm, smelling of shampoo and spiced apple lotion and Lark, the most honest and mysterious and addictive scent in the world.
In the past four years, I’ve dreamt about this smell dozens of times. Now, here I am, with my lips on Lark’s bare skin and the smell of her making my head spin, and I can’t resist just one more kiss.
And another…
And another…until she makes a soft, pained sound and spins away.
“Is that how you treat all of your patients?” she asks, her voice shaking. She’s scowling, but her breath is coming faster, making me hope I’m not the only one affected by the chemistry between us.
“Only the ones I really like,” I joke, hoping to lighten the moment, but her scowl deepens.
“Oh yeah? And how many of those have there been?”
My smile slips. “I was joking, Lark. I’m sorry if I overstepped, I just—”
“No, I know there must have been someone.” She hitches her chin up, the way she does when she knows I’m not going to like what she has to say. “Probably a lot of someones. You were gone for four years, Mason. Don’t tell me you didn’t date anyone the entire time you were gone.”
“I thought we were talking about doctor-patient relationships,” I say, not wanting to talk about other women. I don’t even want to think about other women.
Lark is the one for me. End of story.
She shrugs. “Well, now we’re talking about boy-girl relationships.”
I nod, buying myself some time. Obviously she isn’t going to let this go. I was hoping to have at least one more low key date before we started talking heavy stuff, but if she wants answers then I’m prepared to give them to her.
“Okay,” I say, propping my hands low on my hips. “I’ll talk about boy-girl relationships and anything else you want to talk about. Get your swim suit on and we’ll talk while we catch some fish for supper.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “I told you, I’m too sick to—”
“You’re not sick.”
Her eyes narrow. “You don’t know that.”
“I know you don’t have a fever, and you haven’t had to use that tissue a single time since your first dramatic nose wipe.”
“Dramatic—” Lark’s eyebrows shoot up. “Are you calling me a liar?”
I lift my hands in the universal sign of surrender. “I’m not calling you anything. I just know you’re not sick, and I really want to take you fishing.”
“No, you are calling me a liar. I’m not stupid, Mason,” she says, but she doesn’t sound nearly as outraged as the old Lark would have. The old Lark took great pride in her honesty. “If you’re going to insult me, at least have the guts to own it.”
“All right.” I step closer, bracing my hands on the door on either side of her face, trapping her within the circle of my arms. She tilts her head back, her lips parting in a way that has me dying to kiss her all over again. Instead, I whisper, “Unless I’m sorely mistaken, you’re lying about being sick in order to get out of going on a second date with me. But the real question is…why? What are you afraid of?”
She huffs. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Really?” I prod gently. “It’s okay to be afraid. I’m afraid all the time. The trick is not to let fear keep you from enjoying the good stuff.”
The skin between her brows wrinkles. “But is this the good stuff?”
I lean closer, until I can feel her breath on my lips and my entire body starts to hum. “I certainly think so. Nothing makes me happier than being with you.”
“Nothing?” she echoes in a breathy whisper.
“Nothing,” I assure her.
Her gaze flicks from my eyes to my mouth, and her tongue slips out to wet her lips, making things low in my body twist. God, how I want to taste her, to pull her so close her breasts are pressed tight to my chest and her—
“You have to go, Mason,” Lark says, her words ice water poured down the back of my shirt.
I flinch. “What?”
“You have to go. I can’t do this. I can’t…” She swallows hard and shakes her head. “I thought I could, but I just want to enjoy my vacation. And I can’t do that with you showing up every day making me feel all…” Her eyes squeeze closed. “I just can’t, okay?”
“Making you feel all what?”
“No.” She shakes her head again, her eyes still closed.
“Please, Lark,” I beg. “If you don’t tell me what you’re feeling, how can I help you feel better?”
“I don’t need you to help me,” she says. “I just need you to go.”
My throat tightens. “But I thought we had a good time last night.”
“We did have a good time.” She rakes a clawed hand through her hair. “Too good a time, and I went to bed feeling sad and alone for the first time since I finally accepted you weren’t ever coming back.” She lifts her eyes, her gaze filled with pain I put there. “It took over a year to stop hurting all the time, Mason, and I can’t… I can’t forget that, even if I wanted to, and I’m not sure I do.”
I nod, though I secretly wish I could make us both forget.
“I’m stronger and smarter than I used to be,” she continues. “I can take care of myself and other people and I don’t have to call my boyfriend to see what he thinks every time I need to make a decision.”
I frown. “You never—”
“Yes, I did, and we both know it,” she says, her tone gentler than it was before. “And that’s okay. I was just a kid when we started dating. I needed someone to lean on. But I don’t need that anymore. Now, people lean on me, and I don’t want to give that up to become some starry eyed kid in love all over again.”
I stare hard at her, into her, but she doesn’t blink or look away. She’s telling the truth. She honestly believes this isn’t going to work, no matter what I do to try to convince her otherwise.
I suppose most men would take that at face value, count their losses, and slink off somewhere to lick their wounds in private, but I’m not most men.
Uncle Parker was certain I’d never make it through medical school. In his eyes, my failure was confirmed before classes even started. But I refused to accept my uncle’s bleak vision of my future, and I refuse to accept Lark’s, either.
Not until I’ve given this everything I’ve got.
I can make her happy, I know I can, if she’ll just give me the chance.
“Six more dates,” I say after a beat. “And then I’m gone.”
She growls beneath her breath. “Are you listening? I don’t—”
“I am listening,” I cut in evenly. “I don’t want you to lose anything you’ve gained. I want you to be strong and independent, but I also want you. In my life. However that shakes out. We were good friends once, and I know we can be again.”
“We were more than friends,” she grumbles. “And I think you still want to be more than friends.”
“Would that be so terrible?”
She sighs. “Yes? No? I don’t know because I’m scared and confused and having a hard time thinking clearly?”
“Then don’t think.” I slip an arm around her waist, heart lifting when she doesn’t push me away. “Feel. What feels right? Right now?”
“I don’t know,” she says, but a moment later she softens against me. Her palms flatten on my chest, but she doesn’t push me away. Instead, her fingers curl into my shirt, making my pulse beat faster.
I lean in, breath held as I tilt my mouth closer to hers.
I’m lost in her, heart hammering as I realize my first Lark kiss in four years is mere seconds away, when suddenly the door swings open behind her and something flies through it.
I see the projectile coming in my peripheral vision, but there’s no time to move out of the way. The object hits my nose with an offended squeak and I flinch and curse, summoning a high-pitched squeal of delight from inside the house.
Chapter 8
Mason
I look up.
Into the eyes of a vengeful Viking warrior princess thirsty for my blood.
Lark’s big sister is known for shooting looks that kill, but this is the first time I’ve ever been a target. Mentally, I vow to do whatever it takes to get back in her good graces.
Or invest in glare-blocking body armor. One or the other.
“She’s sick.” Aria hitches the adorable redheaded baby in her arms higher on her hip, as Lark pulls away with a nervous cough. “She shouldn’t be getting that close to anyone.”
“So you threw a…” I glance down to see a bright red plastic hammer with a yellow squeaker at one end lying on the stoop by my feet. “A baby hammer. Good choice.”
“I didn’t want you to get sick,” Aria says in a tone that makes it clear she couldn’t care less if I catch the plague and die. Slowly. While in great, great torturous pain. “And it was Felicity who threw the hammer. She doesn’t trust men with facial hair.”
“Mason doesn’t have facial hair.” Lark deliberately avoids looking my way, her cheeks still flushed with embarrassment.
“Must be his face she doesn’t trust then.” Aria doesn’t crack a smile. “You’d better come in, Lark. We wouldn’t want you to get any sicker.”
“She’s not sick,” I say, forcing a smile. I don’t want to get on Aria’s bad side, at least not any more than I am already.
“Yes, she is.”
“No, I’m not,” Lark says with a sigh.
“Yes, you are,” Aria says through gritted teeth. “Now come inside, get in bed, and go to sleep before you do something you’ll regret.”
Lark looks up at me for a long moment before turning back to her sister. “It’s okay, Ra,” she says, resting a gentle hand on Aria’s arm. The two women stare at each other for a long moment, speaking without words the way the March girls do.
I’ve always been a little envious of those conversations, wondering what it would be like to be so close to someone that you could communicate without uttering a sound.
Finally Aria blows air out through her pursed lips and shrugs as if to say “it’s your funeral,” and Lark turns back to me.
“I’ll be down in fifteen minutes. Just let me change and get my swim bag together.”
She disappears into the house and I’m left with Aria, who clearly isn’t inclined to invite me in. Instead, she leans against the doorframe, her baby still on her hip, glaring a hole through my forehead while Felicity bats at her mother’s feather earrings.
“So...” I say after a long, uncomfortable silence, broken only by Felicity’s baby chatter and a bird squawking in the tree behind me that I swear sounds like it’s telling me to run. “How’s it going?”
“I’m a divorced single mother whose ex refuses to pay child support, living with my parents, Mason,” Aria says in a flat tone. “How do you think it’s going?”
“Not easy,” I say, feeling like an ass.
“No, not easy.” Aria smoothes Felicity’s whispy hair from her forehead.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Like what?” She doesn’t blink.
“My friend Chris Mathis from high school is in family law in Atlanta,” I say. “If you have any questions you’d like to ask a lawyer off the clock, I could ask him to get in touch with you. I know the fees can get pretty crazy when they’re billing you for ten minute phone calls and every piece of paper they print out.”
“Thank you, but that’s okay. I don’t need a lawyer. I don’t care about the support. All I care about is having Felicity here with me.”
“Well, if you change your mind, I’m happy to make the call.”
Aria glances back at me, her green eyes sad, but clear and strong. “That’s very sweet, but some things are unforgiveable, Mason. No matter how sweet you are afterward. I’m not sure if what you did falls under that category for Lark, or not, but it sure would for me.”
“I made a mistake, Aria.” I meet her hard look with a penitent one. “I wish like
hell I could take it back, but I can’t. But I can promise that it’s one I won’t be repeating. I would never hurt Lark or anyone else like that again. Not ever.”
Aria reaches up, gently pulling her earring from Felicity’s fist before the baby can draw it into her mouth. “Maybe you can convince her that’s true Mason, but I’m a little more familiar with people who swear they’re not going to make the same mistake twice. And guess what?” The baby starts to fuss, but Aria shushes her with a tummy rub and a bounce on her hip. “They always make the same mistake. Always. Sometimes three or four or five times. All that giving them another chance does is make you feel like a fool.”
“I’m sorry you’ve been through that, but—”
“But nothing,” Aria says, the harsh note creeping back into her tone. “I learned my lesson the hard way, but I hope to God my sister won’t have to. I’m not on your side, Mason, so you can stop trying to win me over. I don’t need your favors, and Lark needs you back in her life like an octopus needs a hang glider.”
I open my mouth, but before I can speak, I hear Lark’s footsteps pounding down the stairs. A second later, she’s at the door, her filmy black cover-up swirling around her legs as she breezes by Aria with only a slight pause to kiss the top of Felicity’s head.
“Ready to go?” she asks in a breathless rush, her brown eyes searching mine.
I force a smile. “Ready.” I glance back at Aria. “See you later, Aria.”
“Not if I can help it,” she says.
Lark frowns, but before she can turn around, Aria closes the door with a firm thunk.
Lark sighs. “Sorry about that,” she whispers as we start down the walk toward my car. “She’s just…protective. And cranky. Crankily protective.”
“It’s all right. I understand. Sounds like she’s going through a hard time. I can be patient… Wait for her to come around.”
Lark hesitates at the end of the walk before turning to me with a panicked expression.