Emma Jane, the barista, whom I also go to college with, quickly gets my tea brewing in one of their cute, light green mugs with floral imprints on the side of it.
“Thanks, Emma Jane,” I say as I grab my mug and reluctantly head back to the table in one of the more darkened corners of the café. It’s a cloudy day with a storm brewing on the horizon, so the café isn’t as lit up as it usually is at ten in the morning. The meeting is for ten-fifteen, but I got here early to make sure Icould choose the seats and set the tone. Mason will not pull one over on me today. Nope, I am prepared, and I am a fierce tiger, as Hadley would say.
Chuckling at the thought, I disregard it. While Hadley may be a tiger, I am definitely more of the turtle variety. That wasn’t a lie.
The bells above the door jingle, and I jump out of my seat, heart racing.
But it isn’t Mason. It is an elderly gentleman who frequents this place as much as I do.
Jeez, Karoline. Not as prepared as you thought you were, huh? Get it together!
My phone buzzes, and I check the screen.
Channel:Good luck today! Show that turd who the real boss is.
I chuckle, sending a heart and thumbs up emoji while my heart rate still comes down from the blasted door opening.
As soon as the beating slows and I go back to sipping my delicious chocolate-tasting tea while looking over the marketing plans Hadley and I had spent the past few days developing, the door opens again.
And once again, my body betrays me, revealing how Ireallyfeel.
I’m not, in fact, cool as a cucumber, as every romance novel ever written would suggest. At least, that’s what Lucy Spence says. It’s a rule. The phrase must appear once. I’m not a huge reader, though, so I wouldn’t know.
Embarrassingly enough, this whole “door opens, Karoline freaks out” thing happens three more times as ten-fifteen approaches and sweeps by. By ten-twenty, I am anxiously tapping my foot on the floor and hugging the mug of tea close to my lips, mostly to hide part of my face so that if he’s looking mydirection when he saunters in, maybe I have a fleeting chance of not revealing the anxiety coursing through my veins.
Where is he?
The moment the thought crosses my mind, the bells jingle and the door opens again. This time, a tall, muscular-defined man walks in wearing faded, ripped jeans, a beige Henley long sleeve shirt, and dark brown boots that look to be a masculine Chelsea-style. His hair, a dark chocolate color that sits at the baseline of his neck and, well, flows as he walks towards me, is lucious enough that every woman that sees it wants to run her hands through it.
Every woman but me, that is, because that’s the man who ripped my heart out and stomped on it when he left me sitting in a dusty diner in Dallas after effectively ruining me for all men.
Dirtbag.
But look at that full beard he now sports. I definitely noticed it on New Year’s Eve, which is why I didn’t realize it was him immediately. Imagine that pressed against my cheeks with his lips…
KAROLINE RENEE WRIGHT! He is the devil, girl. And don’t you forget it.
He lowers his black sunglasses as he approaches the edge of the table. “Hey, Karoline. Nice scowl you’re wearing. Did you mean to accompany it with a sliver of drool?” He motions to the corner of his lip, and I chastise my eyes for following his motion. His voice, as I recognized at our last impromptu run-in three days ago, is deep and rich, a different type of melodic than his singing voice.
His comment and smirk start the process of boiling my blood, but I take a deep breath and remember that I’m the one in charge here.I’m the boss.“Mason. It’s good to see you,” I lie through my teeth. I wish I never had to see him in person again, but Hadley and the Lord seem to have other plans. “Please, havea seat.” I gesture to the chair across the table from me, the one that would leave him facing the wall.
I tried to be considerate, knowing he would need to face the wall instead of the other tables. But there was no way I was going to meet with him alone at his house. Nor was I going to let him come to mine. I could have met with him at work, but that still felt too personal. No, we needed to be on neutral ground, hence, the coffee shop. He’s obviously comfortable coming here since he was here the other day.
“It’s good to see you, too, Karoline.” He sets his sunglasses on the table in front of him. We stare at each other from across the table. I take note of his sharpened cheekbones and the full beard, the same dark color as his hair. His shoulders are broader, and his biceps are…
Nope.We aren’t looking at how his biceps make that thin shirt look like it’s going to pop like a can of Pilsbury biscuits.
Nor are we going to discuss the fact that we are matching and how it low-key thrills me.
I’ll burn this sweater when I get home.
Mason’s eyes, though, throw me into a time traveling machine and take me back to childhood days when we chased each other around with the garden hose and jumped on soapy trampolines. The warm, deep brown—almost-onyx—color of his irises are reminiscent of summer days spent throwing a softball around or sitting under the shade tree while he wrote music and I painted landscape portraits.
Shaking my head, I refocus on the present. No sense in entertaining a past that’s been tainted and tarnished by unrequited love and drunken mistakes. Instead of meeting his eyes, I stare at his forehead. “Hadley Rawls, my boss, says you will be starring alongside Genevieve Rhodes in our marketing campaign for Valentine’s Day. She couldn’t be here today but will be available in two weeks when we begin filming. I havemost of the plans developed, so what I need for you to do is look over them and give your approval.” I toss a packet of papers in front of him, causing his sunglasses to slide off the clear-coated table and onto the floor.
Sorry.
Not.
