His head nods toward the window. “Don’t think I’d get there yet anyway, but no point now my shift’s nearly over. Beck, our Captain, told me to just hunker down here until the roads clear and the SUV restarts.”
I reach for a clean festive mug and pour myself some coffee from the pot he’s already made. Sipping it slowly, I watch him for a moment, before verbalizing the words that’ve been playing on my mind.
“You told me last night you’ve been hurt before…”
He doesn’t reply right away, just plates up a pancake, then another, and slides them onto the counter.
I wait him out, giving him time to sort through his thoughts.
Eventually, he leans his hands on the edge of the bench, staring down at the steaming stack. His jaw works. “My dad was in hospital a few Christmases back.”
I straighten slightly, remembering him talk about his dad at Christmas lunch.
“He was already pretty sick. But I didn’t want the whole day to feel heavy, you know? So I told him my plan, how I was going to propose on New Year’s Eve to Connie, my ex. She didn’t know, of course. But I’d bought the ring, planned the whole thing. Even asked my dad for advice.”
There’s a pause as his throat bobs.
“He was so damn proud. Said it gave him something to look forward to, and… and maybe he could hold out long enough to see me marry her.”
My chest aches as Mason’s voice drops.
“Then I got off shift early on New Year’s Eve, went home to surprise her, and found her in our bed with someone else.”
“Oh, fuck. Mason, I’m so sorry.”
He doesn’t flinch, just exhales a short, bitter breath. “She told me they’d been seeing each other for months. That I’d been too distracted with work, with dad, with life.”
I feel sick thinking about what that must’ve felt like for him to hear.
“I spent the whole night driving. Couldn’t go back to the hospital, couldn’t lie to my dad.” He finally looks up, grey eyes stormy but dry. “But the next morning, I told him the truth. Told him it was over.”
“And what did he say?” I whisper.
A humorless smile tugs at his mouth. “Said she was an idiot, and that I deserved someone with a real backbone. Someone who’d want to be with me, even when life got hard.”
I nod. “He was right.”
“Maybe. But he didn’t really get to see me come out the other side of it. He passed that spring, and I wasn’t much more than a fucking shell until long after.”
I reach for his hand and lace our fingers together.
“I think he’d be so proud of who you are now.”
“I hope so,” he says quietly. His thumb brushes over mine, and he brings our hands to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “And I’m proud of who I am now, too.”
I don’t know what to say to that; it settles in me like something precious. A truth he wasn’t ready to hold but gave to me anyway.
So instead of answering, I tug him down into a kiss. It’s tender, slow and sweet and the way I’d like to be kissed every single morning by him.
After, we sit together at the little table eating pancakes in the soft hush of the morning. Surrounded by snow, silence, and the quiet comfort of knowing we’re both on the brink of something real.
Once the pancakes are gone and the plates are rinsed, we somehow end up on the couch, watching the snow continue to fall outside.
It’s still pretty early, and I’m half curled into Mason with his arm draped around me, the fire crackling low.
It’s quiet. Not awkward-quiet, just the kind that makes everything feel softer. His fingers trail absently over my arm, thumb brushing a lazy path from shoulder to elbow. My head rests against his chest, the steady beat of his heart thumping beneath my cheek.
I’m full and warm and dangerously close to the kind of peace I don’t usually let myself feel.
