by Tracy Ewens
Ella laughed. “You better get out of here before your dad has to come back in and get you.”
Mason waved overhead and was gone. The kid was charming and fun. Ella meant what she’d said to Boyd: Mason was intelligent, and she couldn’t help but connect with him. Maybe that had been her issue all along. It wasn’t that she was cold like her father; she simply needed to surround herself with the right people.
Chapter Eight
The next day, Ella took a deep stretch class with Vienna and Bri after work. She forgot her mat and had to borrow one from the studio, which smelled like broccoli and feet. Ella hated broccoli, and no one liked the smell of feet. Even Bri would agree with her on that one. Along with forgetting her own personal lovely-smelling mat, Ella had walked out of the hospital without her wallet and then had to turn back, giving her barely enough time to change before class started. Christ, it was a good thing she had tomorrow off because she couldn’t seem to pay attention to anything.
That wink and the nearness of Boyd McNaughton replayed through her mind all night like she was some stupid teenager. She’d gone too long without human contact. What thirty-six-year-old woman was thrown by a wink? Boyd tolerated her because his son had formed an attachment, that much was clear. So why was she still thinking about the look on his face when she stopped short and all but plowed into him? His face was so…
She needed to get a grip. Where the hell was her broken heart when she needed it? After months of pain and crying following Marc’s bomb drop, and through the year of anger after that, her heart had been front and center. A throbbing reminder of where she’d come from and why she was not equipped to choose men. As early as last New Year’s, she and her heart had agreed that they were happy and never wanted to hand things over to another man again.
Right? Heart, are you listening?
Placing her palms flat on the stinky mat, Ella closed her eyes and found her heart steady and warm in her chest. She hoped it was listening, but the truth was there was nothing jarring or dangerous about Boyd McNaughton. She was certain he knew how to be naughty; that wink was a glimpse for sure. But he didn’t lead with his ego or show interest in her at all for that matter. He didn’t seem to need anything or even complain. The guy was raising a son on his own and running a brewery. All of that must come with baggage. Surely there was a story about Mason’s mother. But he seemed solid, right in the center of his life and not needing anyone to make him feel good about himself, listen to his problems, or stroke said ego, at least not outwardly anyway.
It was refreshing and caught her off guard. And his son—what the hell was she doing hanging out with a newly minted teenager? She was in no position to give advice, and yet the simplicity of his dilemma was also new and innocent. It called to a time when emotions were wild and confusing. He was right on the cusp of feelings Ella had spent her whole life trying to figure out. But giving a young man advice on the young girl, a girl undoubtedly much like she was once, was so delightful. Ella didn’t know how long Mason would need her assistance, or his father would put up with it, but for now it was genuine, shoes off, belly-laughing fun. The kind that a woman could get used to, a heart could settle into.
After class and a quick dinner with Vienna, Ella stood at the sink in her bathroom. She splashed water on her face, took off her sports bra, and sank into a hot tub of Epsom salts. Her muscles were sore and she needed to figure out what to get her parents for their anniversary. It was still over a month away, but it wasn’t like she could hop on Amazon and have something shipped overnight. They weren’t even the swanky boutique type. No, Ella learned long ago that any gift for her parents was a production. “An extension of intention and value,” her mother had once said. “Gifts are so much more than spending money. They are a way of showing you know a person.” Ella carefully sipped the hot tea resting on the side of the tub and questioned how she’d ever managed to get them anything with that kind of pressure. It was easier when she was younger because she made mugs or picture frames that the school would send home. She was never there to see her parents open gifts back then but did notice none of them were around the house when she came home for break. Even as a child, there were standards for praise.
Ella laughed at the absurdity, scooted up the slick surface of the tub, and tucked a towel behind her neck. Maybe she’d contact that rare bookseller the chief of pediatrics in San Francisco recommended three Christmases ago. She’d see if they could find a first edition of… In Cold Blood. There might be a subliminal message in there somewhere, but her parents collected books and while her father loved Truman Capote, he’d never been able to locate a first edition. That would be a coup.
“A genuine extension of intent and value, Mother dear,” she said to her empty bathroom.
She’d call around tomorrow. On a sigh, she took another sip of tea and cracked open her pain management book in a concerted effort to get her continuing education credits done before the end of March. Perhaps reading about the terminally ill in a tub of salt would squash any romantic notions she had that Boyd wanted anything other than for his son to stop asking her for advice.
By the time Mason threw away the empty bag of popcorn, Boyd knew all the presidents and vice presidents. He hoped like hell his son did too. After checking his emails while Mason showered, Boyd did his usual nightly routine whereby he pretended to walk by his son’s room and then spontaneously stopped to talk.
Bedtime used to be an event in the McNaughton house. He would read a story complete with different voices, tuck him in, and check that the bathroom light was left on. Those days were gone and while the memories pulled at his heart a few times a year, Boyd enjoyed the growing-up version of Mason too.
“So, did you get any good advice, other than not to wink?” Boyd asked as his son finished drying his hair and tossed the wet towel on the floor.
“Uh-huh. She’s smart. And she likes you.”
“Is that so?” Boyd leaned into his room from the doorway and picked up the towel. Handing it to him, he pretended not to be pumping his son for information, although he couldn’t tell now if he was more interested in why Mason suddenly needed an expert opinion or the expert herself. “She can’t be all that smart then.”
“True. But she does.” Mason slid his history book into his overstuffed backpack and zipped it closed.
“Did you brush your teeth?”
Mason huffed. “Yeah, Dad. You don’t need to remind me to brush my teeth anymore. I’m like practically an adult.”
“Yeah, well Uncle Cade still forgets.”
Mason’s expression went from indignant to laughter, and Boyd was glad he still had some parenting skills left.
“Did you see how she got a little nervous when you winked and then… oh, how did she put it? Broke eye contact. That’s it, she broke your eye contact. Did you see that?” Mason hopped into the dark navy sheets of his bed and hit the button on his iPhone docked on the shelf behind him.
“Can’t say I did.”
“Well, she did, and that’s a sign that a girl likes you. Doc told me.”
Boyd sat on the edge of Mason’s bed, noticing something was missing from his bookcase. “Where’d your comics go?”
“I put them in a box in my closet.”
“Why?”
Mason shrugged. “I don’t read them that much anymore.”
Boyd wanted to go to the closet and put them back where they belonged. But that wouldn’t change reality—his son was getting older.
“So, do you think you’re going to ask her out?”
“Who?” Boyd shifted out of his thoughts.
“Ella.”
Boyd covered up the jump in his pulse at the mention of her name with a laugh.
“No. I’m good, but thanks.”
Mason scrunched his face. “Why not? You don’t have a girlfriend and she likes you. There’s no way you don’t like her. She’s pretty and you winked at her. You never wink. So what’s the problem?”
“I winked to p
rove a point. I was not winking at her. Speaking of girls liking you, how’s Chloe? Anything you want to talk about?”
His son blushed and Boyd wanted to tell him there was no rush. He’d get his heart twisted into knots soon enough. Thirteen was a time to be selfish and get dirty. Damn hormones, Boyd thought. They took perfectly good bike-riding, fort-building boys and turned them into driveling idiots desperate for a look or a feel.
“Ella said to stop worrying about liking her and be her friend.”
“Good advice.”
“She said to ask her opinion or something about her.”
Boyd nodded. He had to admit it was great advice. “What do you think about that?”
“I guess I can try, but my hands get sweaty and”—he shook his head—“I don’t know. Maybe I should find a girl who doesn’t make me so nervous for my first girlfriend. Besides, I think she likes Elton.”
“The kid who wears shower shoes with socks?”
“He’s popular.”
Figured, Boyd thought. “So?”
“So, girls who look like Chloe like guys like that. He walks around like he’s not in a hurry to be anywhere. I never see him with books. And his arms. My God, Dad, the guy makes me look like I’m five. I think he was held back a couple of grades. Chloe is forever talking about his hair.”
“Is that why you texted Uncle Cade? You’re consulting the family hair expert too?”
Mason nodded and flipped his bangs out of his eyes. “I need better hair.”
“Christ.”
“Language, Papa Bear. Language.”
Boyd laughed. “Do you think new hair will make you feel better?”
“Yeah, I think Uncle’s hair is cool.”
“Good. That’s all that matters. And to be clear, I get final say on the haircut. You are not walking around with a wilted Mohawk.”
Mason laughed.
“Don’t start doing stupid stuff for some girl. If she likes you for you then she gets to go out with you. If not, she misses out. Her loss.” Boyd stood and went to turn off the light.
“Did Mom miss out on you?”
The question almost knocked him off his feet. He prided himself on knowing what Mason was going through or at least being in the ballpark. The mention of his mom was normal, but the question about the two of them together was new.
“I… neither one of us missed out. We got you.”
“Yeah, but as a man. Did you want Mom to like you?”
“Mom does like me. But we’re not in love with each other.”
“Were you ever?”
Crap, he knew Mason. This question volley could go on for hours.
“Yes. We loved each other when we made you. In fact, maybe now is a good time to talk about how babies are made, Mase.” Boyd sat back down on the bed as if to show he was settling in.
His son squirmed and pushed him off. They were both laughing. One minute he was so cool, talking about hair and on the brink of being a dude. The next, he was a kid. The “sex talk” was usually an easy out. Boyd knew it wouldn’t be that way for much longer, but for now it was his escape when he didn’t have the answers, which was becoming more and more frequent these days. He kissed his still-wriggling son on the forehead and hit the lights. Mason reached back and grabbed his phone.
“One more thing,” Boyd said.
“Yeah.”
“I have it on good authority that not all beautiful girls like the cool guys in shower shoes. Most of them go for the different guys, the ones with something else to offer. Don’t you notice that?”
Mason’s brows scrunched together. “Not… really. Look at Tom Brady and Giselle. Pretty even there.”
Boyd shook his head. “Did Uncle Cade mention that?”
“No, why?”
“Never mind. Phone better be back on the charger by nine.”
“Nine thirty?”
“Okay, but you best deliver an A on the presidents tomorrow.”
“Done.”
“Uh-huh. Love you.”
“I know. You’re not bad either.” Mason smiled, and Boyd’s heart melted like it did back when Mason only had one front tooth. No matter how much changed around him, some things stayed the same. Boyd turned off the hall light and went to his bedroom.
He’d lived alone with Mason for as far back as he could remember and that meant sleeping alone. Kicking off his boots, he lay on top of the made bed. Thirteen years was a long time to sleep alone, he thought. Why it mattered all of a sudden, he had no clue. He hadn’t gone thirteen years without sex—now that would have been a tragedy. Hadn’t it been his intention that he and Mason would make a life together alone? That must have meant accepting that he’d be sleeping alone. He had not thought much about it until he cut his hand and his son failed to see the inherent male dangers in a woman like Ella.
She was sexy and smart, which was a deadly combination. She appreciated Mason, which in a strange way both warmed his heart and broke it a little. His son didn’t need a mom. He had one, even if she wasn’t around all the time.
Ella wasn’t trying to be his mom, Boyd corrected himself. She was… hell, what was she? She was being herself and for reasons he didn’t want to understand, he couldn’t shake the urge to step closer. Mason wasn’t helping.
There may have been some flirtation when Boyd winked at her, but it was to prove her wrong, nothing more. At least, that was the story he was sticking with for now. He stacked the extra pillows on the empty side of the bed.
I have everything I need. Boyd practically said the words out loud. Then he turned on the television because it was too quiet.
Chapter Nine
The next morning, Ella was at Sift and paying Pam for her chocolate croissant and a latte with three pumps of vanilla. Extra sugar and chocolate fixed things. It was science. She’d put in a few calls to book dealers and only had three more chapters on pain management to go. Ella planned on riding her bike that afternoon if the sun managed to burn off the clouds, so she let herself indulge.
Taking her seat, she had to admit if someone attempted to remove the chocolate croissant from her hand on a Friday morning, they were going to die. Probably a developing addiction, she thought, laughing to herself and taking out her textbook, but the best kind, she decided.
She’d just taken out the postcard reminder she’d received from the AMA, which now doubled as a bookmark, when she glanced up and saw Mason. He waved and lumbered over in that way young men did when they were still growing into their legs.
“Hey. Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” Ella asked before taking a bite of pure butter and chocolate. She supposed it was bad form for a doctor to be eating this in front of a kid in the morning, but once her taste buds exploded with joy, she forgot to care.
“On our way. We need to pick up the cookies for my class.”
“Nice.” She wiped her mouth and wondered about the “we” in his statement. Boyd? A friend or girlfriend? Vienna mentioned Mason’s mother didn’t appear to be “in the picture,” but that was all she knew. The McNaughtons, all of them, came in from time to time and Vienna had made Mason’s birthday cake a few months ago when he turned thirteen. Red Velvet. Ella remembered because it was her favorite.
She wasn’t certain why she cared about the “we.” She wasn’t one to snoop and Boyd, whom she’d decided to start referring to as Mason’s dad since she was beginning to like the sound of his name, was unquestionably giving her the cold shoulder. That usually meant girlfriend, not that Ella’s commitment radar was reliable. Why was she doing this? Thinking about any of this? She had sugar and coffee. Her life was set.
Vienna came up behind the counter. “I’m packing up your box now. Give me a few minutes. Do you want something for breakfast too? On the house.”
“Sure. Hi, Vienna.”
“Hey, cutie. Glazed doughnut?”
“Yes, please.”
“Ella, did you pay for that?”
She nodded and took another bite. Vienna wiped her
hands on a huff. It was a busy morning—good chance parties like Mason’s needed extra cookies. Ella had been coming in long enough to recognize her friend’s buzz and often took it as a chance to pay for something and even leave a tip in the jar by the register.
Ella could tell Mason wanted to wink, but he resisted as Vienna punched in something on the computer for Pam and then returned to the back.
One less future winker. My work is done here, Ella thought. That, of course, brought the best wink she’d ever witnessed to mind. Stupid wink.
“So, how are things?” she asked as Mason stood by her table and shifted his weight front to back.
His eyes traveled around the space in that way teenagers did when they felt the least bit vulnerable. “Do you mean with she? I haven’t had a chance to try the friend thing. We’re not friends on Snapchat.”
“That or baseball or school. General inquiry.”
“Oh, yeah. Baseball update: We still suck. I mean it’s fine, but I’m not good. I’m thinking about field hockey once I start high school.”
“My roommate in high school played field hockey all four years. She loved it.”
“You had your own place in high school?”
“Sorry. No, I went to boarding school.”
“Really? What’s that like?” He sank down into the seat next to her as if she’d become ten times more fascinating.
“Um, kind of lonely,” Ella said, telling the truth.
“Were you far away from home? Why did you go if you were lonely? Did you get in trouble or something?”
Ella hadn’t had a lot of exposure to children. Her sister had a daughter, but she was, well, Ella didn’t remember her niece ever being a child. Her name was Cressida. That seemed to come with a maturity right out of the womb. Other than her niece, most of the children Ella interacted with were sick or hurting. Mason was happy and so full of life.
“Yes, it was far away from my home. My parents live near Los Angeles in Brentwood. I went to high school back east in New Hampshire.”