by Parker, Ali
“I don’t think you’re a lot to handle,” she argued.
I gave her a look. “Bullshit. You specifically told me I was a lot to handle.”
She threw her hands into the air. “Fine. I was trying to be nice, but my God, you were intolerable.”
My mouth dropped open. “That’s not nice.”
“I’m kidding.”
“What am I going to do?” I repeated.
“You have to make a decision. You either want to move in with him or you don’t.”
“It’s not that simple. I know I love him, but what if he gets tired of me? Like you said, I’m intolerable. What if he discovers he doesn’t like me and kicks me out? I don’t want to lose him.”
She was quiet for a second. “You won’t know until you tell him.”
“If I put my notice in and then he changes his mind, I’m screwed. I’ll never be able to find a place I can afford that close to work,” I told her.
“What if you put your notice in and you move in with Mason and everything is great?” she posed.
I chewed my bottom lip. “That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do.”
“I can’t do that, but you do need to make a decision. You can’t keep lying to him,” she said, her voice serious.
“I’m not lying,” I argued.
“You told him you wanted to move in with him. You lied.”
“No, I didn’t!”
“Are you going to move in with him?”
“Oh my God, are you seriously going to keep asking me that until I say yes?” I snapped.
She burst into giggles. “Maybe. I keep thinking you are eventually going to say yes.”
“There is too much riding on this to make a decision in a split second. I have to consider all the options. I have to make sure I know what I’m getting into. I can’t make a rash decision and end up regretting it for the rest of my life. I just feel like everything is changing, like I’m on a speeding train and can’t find the brakes to slow the thing down,” I explained.
She smiled at me. It wasn’t exactly the reaction I was looking for or expecting. “I can’t believe you and Mason are a thing. I have to remind myself it’s real.”
“It is real. It’s the realest thing I’ve ever had in my life. I just don’t know what the right choice is. I’m absolutely torn,” I groaned.
She let out a long sigh. “I can’t tell you what to do, but I can tell you lying to Mason is definitely not the right choice.”
“I know. I’m not lying though. I do plan on moving in with him, but I don’t know if I can do it in a few weeks,” I explained.
“Well, you’ll have to think about it, but Mason just pulled up out front,” she said, nodding toward the door.
I turned to look out the window and saw his sleek car. When he emerged from the driver’s seat, I felt that familiar pang of excitement that I always felt when I saw him. He was gorgeous, and he was mine for the taking. I just needed to push my fears to the side and dive in head first. Why couldn’t I do it? What the hell was wrong with me? Mason Bancroft was the total package. I would never find a better man and I never wanted to. I wanted him.
“Hi,” I called, maybe a little over-eager, as he walked through the door.
He grinned as he walked to me, greeting me with a kiss. “Hi,” he said, giving me one of those looks that said he was thinking about sex before turning to look at Deanna. “Hey,” he said, giving her a quick hug.
“You’re chipper. Mason Bancroft chipper is not something I thought I would ever see,” she said with a laugh.
“How was your class?” he asked me.
“Good. She kicked my ass as she usually does,” I muttered.
“But you have to appreciate those legs and that tight ass,” Deanna said with a wink.
Mason reached around and slapped my ass. “I very much appreciate her tight ass. I’ll bring her to spin class every morning if I have to.”
“Hey now! I’m the one that has to do the class, I think I get a say in it!”
“Fine, we won’t force you to do it. I’ll love your ass no matter how big and flabby it gets,” he teased.
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks, that’s exactly what I needed to hear.”
“I’ve got good news,” he said, quickly changing the subject to something a little safer than the size of my ass.
“What?” Deanna and I asked together.
“The liquor license will probably be approved and hanging on your wall within a week,” he announced.
“What? Seriously? They told me three months when I applied!” I exclaimed.
He winked. “I made a few calls.”
“Wow. That is amazing. My hero,” I said in my best Southern belle accent.
“Damn straight, anything for my baby,” he said, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me in close.
I looked up and saw Deanna watching us, a huge smile on her face. “You guys are so cute.”
“I’m not cute,” Mason replied.
“I think you’re cute,” I told him, putting my hand on his stomach.
“I’ll show you cute,” he snarled.
I scowled at him. “Be good.”
“I’m always good. Haven’t we had this conversation before?”
Deanna giggled. “Gross.”
“Guess where I was?” he said, looking down at me.
I raised my eyebrows. “I have no idea.”
“My mom’s.”
“What? No way! Really?”
He smiled and nodded his head. “Really.”
“How did it go?” Deanna asked.
He grimaced. “I don’t know. I mean, it wasn’t terrible. I told her what I expected, and I told her we were moving in together.”
I winced, the guilt so heavy on my shoulders I felt like I had shrunk an inch. “You told her?” I repeated, my voice rising in pitch.
He nodded. “I did. I told her you and I were serious, and she could either accept it or go away.”
I shook my head. “That’s not exactly what I meant when I said you needed to talk to her.”
“James was there, and he was happy for us. I think my mom will come around. If she doesn’t, that’s her problem. I’m not going to bend over backwards to make her happy. This is my life. She has to accept that. I’m not one of her favorites. I’m not going to work in the family business. She can get on board with that or get off—I don’t care,” he said, his familiar surly tone back.
It tended to come back whenever he was talking about his family, I noticed. That family needed some serious therapy. I was in no shape to offer advice on that topic, but I hoped things got better and fast.
“Let’s talk about the liquor license,” Deanna said, shutting down the talk about his family.
“It means we need to get busy securing those deals with the craft beer companies,” he said with a smile.
“Are we really going to do it?” I asked with disbelief.
“I hope so. If not, you just got a liquor license to sell coffee,” he teased.
I laughed. “Hot toddies, that’s what my dad would call it.”
“Hey, that is definitely something we can put on the menu. We can create a drink and name it after your dad,” Deanna said excitedly.
I liked that idea. I really liked it and it would be another way for me to separate myself from my competition. I looked around the shop, my nervousness about opening settling down a little. I was still terrified by all the changes, but I trusted Mason. He wouldn’t let me fail. He was going to be there through the rough weeks when it looked like everything was going to hell in a handbasket. He would be there to celebrate the good days and keep me sane when I thought everything was falling apart.
I turned to look at his profile, knowing I was fortunate to have him, which only pissed me off even more. Why couldn’t I commit to him? I wanted to live with him, I wanted it all with him, but I was stuck. I was looking down a fork in the road, unsure of which way to go. Both paths were scary.
I had to make a decision and fast.
Chapter 60
Mason
I smiled at Adelaide as she stared at the raw ground beef in the bowl on the counter. She was making meatballs to go with the spaghetti. We’d scanned the recipe website we’d been using, looking for something on an easy level that we could make together. She was the one who came up with the idea of her making dinner by herself.
I watched as she dumped a variety of seasonings and spices into the bowl. She looked at the recipe on her phone and then up at me, a scowl on her face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
“Eggs? I’m supposed to put eggs in meatballs?” she grumbled.
I shrugged a shoulder. “I honestly have no clue.”
“Do we even have any?” she asked with a worried look on her face.
“I’ll check,” I said and opened the fridge.
I pulled out the carton of eggs and handed it to her. I watched as she cracked them into the bowl. I loved watching her.
She turned to look at me. “What?”
I grinned. “I was only watching. It’s like watching a masterpiece being created. I want to watch it coming together from the ground up.”
“Masterpiece my ass. This is a hot mess. It looks gross. I sure as hell hope it tastes better than what it looks like now.”
“I have no doubt that it will. Did you have a chance to get some packing done this morning?” I asked casually.
“No, I, uh, I went to a spin class and then I had that meeting with the coffee supplier, and I had some other errands to do,” she said, not looking at me.
“Oh. I cleared out most of the closet for your stuff. You can have the spare room as well to use as an office or whatever. I have the desk in there, but it’s yours to do with as you please,” I told her, trying to make the transition as easy as possible.
“I don’t need an office,” she said irritably.
“Okay, well, it’s there if you need it.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind,” she mumbled, stirring the mixture with a heavy fork.
“I understand. We both have been working our asses off. Once we get this thing opened, up and running, we can both breathe easier,” I said with a sigh.
“Yeah, it will be better.”
“Are you sure you don’t want help?” I asked her again.
“No, I’ve got this. I can do this. I read the recipe and I watched like a million videos on YouTube. I just didn’t realize it was going to be so icky,” she said, her lip curled in disgust.
“I’m sorry. I wish I had gloves or something,” I muttered.
“It’s okay. It’ll be fine. I can wash my hands. I’m going to do this,” she said, talking herself up to the challenge.
“Yell if you need me,” I told her. “I need to take care of some stuff.”
She took a long drink from the glass of wine sitting next to the bowl of raw beef and other ingredients. “I’m going in,” she said with a small laugh.
Just like that, she was back to her normal self. I missed our easy banter. She’d been pretty uptight lately. I was glad we could have these quiet nights together, just us, no stress, no need to pretend to be anything we weren’t. It was just us.
I laughed and picked up my glass, watching her for a few seconds as she kneaded the meat with her hands. The hamburger squished between her fingers. It was no longer erotic and a little gross. I nodded my head and walked out of the kitchen, feeling like things were back to normal.
I carried my glass of Jack and Coke into the spare bedroom where the cherrywood desk was pushed against one wall. There was a huge abstract painting on one wall. I was sure it had probably cost me a small fortune. The desk had been there since I’d officially moved in. I had never really needed it, but the decorator insisted I have an office. I wasn’t sure why I needed one. I had an accountant who handled all my bills and money matters. Sitting at a desk made me feel too much like my brothers or my dad. I sat down, trying not to freak out by the very normal gesture. I imagined Grayson and Jack sitting at their desks day in and day out. They were the only two out of all six of us that had fully committed to the idea of being in the business.
I opened up the laptop and pulled up my email, checking for anything that needed my attention. Everything was set as far as the shop went. We were in the final stages of ordering the supplies we were going to need for the opening. Adelaide had insisted on keeping her suppliers, which I agreed with, but I had managed to negotiate a better deal since she was going to be ordering larger quantities.
There was an email from Jack, checking in with me. I let him know all was well and I would talk to him later. I was anxious to have Adelaide move in and had been trying to convince her to move in earlier than next weekend, but she’d always had a reason why she couldn’t. Her biggest issue was she lacked the time to pack and clean.
I was going to help her with that. I did a quick search, finding the number of a moving company and immediately called. I set up the movers to be at Adelaide’s apartment at nine on Friday. She’d been working her ass off the last few weeks and had very little time to pack. I offered to help but she had shut that down in a hurry, claiming I had already done so much for her. Next, I searched for the name of a cleaning company. I made another call and scheduled them to come in on Monday following her move-out day. That should ensure she got her deposit back and take a huge load off her plate.
I closed down the laptop and got up, interested to know how things were going in the kitchen. I didn’t hear the smoke alarms and had to hope there were no fires. I couldn’t wait to tell her about what I had done to help her out. I needed her to know how much I was looking forward to her moving in.
“Are you still alive in here?” I called out, walking into the kitchen.
She smiled, stirring the pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove. “I’m alive.”
“It smells delicious,” I commented, thoroughly impressed.
“Good. That’s a good sign.”
“Can I help with anything?” I offered.
She shook her head. “Nope. I’m making you dinner. You could pour me another glass of wine.”
“I’ll do that,” I said, quickly doing as she asked.
Fifteen minutes later, we were seated at the table. Her dinner looked great. I was impressed by her cooking skills. We’d promised to eat in more often and both of us wanted to learn how to cook. She dished up, not saying much at all. I grabbed a healthy serving of her homemade meatballs and dropped them on my pile of spaghetti.
She took a tentative bite. I watched her face to judge her reaction. When she didn’t grimace or spit it out, I took my own bite.
“Well?” she asked.
“Delicious. You really outdid yourself,” I told her.
She smiled, not meeting my eyes. I sensed there was something wrong. I’d been sensing it for the last week. She had been avoiding me and looking at everything except my eyes. I had thought it was the coffee shop stressing her out, but now that that was all sealed up, I didn’t understand what her deal was.
“I like cooking.”
“Good, you can cook for me every night.”
She scoffed. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m kidding. I arranged to have the movers at your apartment at nine on Saturday. You don’t have to do any packing or anything,” I told her.
She grimaced but quickly schooled her features. “Thank you. What do you mean I don’t have to do any packing?”
“It’s a full-service thing. They’ll come in and pack your breakables and seal the boxes up. You don’t have to worry about anything,” I assured her, hoping to set her mind at ease.
“Great, that sounds great,” she murmured.
I watched as she pushed food around on her plate. Something was off. I wondered if it was me. Maybe Dalton had been right, and the newness had worn off. She was bored. I was pushing her into something she wasn’t ready for.
“Are you excited for the grand
opening?” I asked her.
She nodded. “I am. You?”
“Hell yeah. I’ve talked with an advertising company and ordered some flyers along with some radio advertising,” I told her.
“What? Isn’t that expensive?” she asked.
“We need the advertisement. We need to extend your customer base and that means reaching out to some neighborhoods you haven’t previously been in. The only way to do that is to increase visibility and get people talking,” I said, feeling like one of my brothers and really hating it.
“Okay,” she mumbled.
Now I knew for sure she was not really in the moment. I wasn’t ever going to be known as an excellent communicator, but I knew I needed to learn to talk to her. We had to do better if we were going to make it. I wasn’t used to needing to talk things out. That had to change.
I cleared my throat, trying to work up the courage. “Is there something wrong?” I asked.
She looked at me, shaking her head. “No, of course not.”
She was lying. My insecurities that I hid well with my hard exterior were floating to the surface. I hated the idea of not being enough for her. It brought up old pain, thinking about my dad and how much I’d disappointed him.
“Adelaide, something isn’t right. Please tell me what it is. I want to fix this. We’re supposed to be moving forward with our lives together and we’re not going to be able to do that if we don’t talk,” I said, hoping I wasn’t pushing too hard.
She put her fork down, her plate of food half-eaten. “Mason, it’s fine. I don’t want to talk.”
“You don’t want to talk because you have nothing to say or you don’t want to talk because you’re mad at me for something? If I did something, you have to tell me. I want to fix whatever it is I did, please,” I said, hating that I sounded needy.
“You didn’t do anything. I’m a little tired,” she said, grabbing her plate and walking away.
I watched her move around the kitchen, cleaning up the mess and effectively ignoring me. I wasn’t sure if I should push or give her space. I knew I could get withdrawn at times and shut people out. I hated the idea of us falling apart.
I moved into the kitchen, reaching out to put my hands on her waist as she stood at the kitchen sink. “Adelaide,” I said.