Finley runs a hand through his shaggy, light blond hair while leaning back on the arm of the couch with one leg crossed over the other. “I don’t know how you’ll dig your way out of that gargantuan hole, Mason. You seem to only be armed with a kid-size plastic beach shovel if you think confessing on the spot like that is going to win her over.”
I stare at him in disbelief from across the room on the reclining chair. The fireplace crackles in the background, filling the log cabin with enough heat to keep me warm in my basketball shorts and t-shirt. Finley, as if he dresses in nothing less than photo-ready attire, wears black dress slacks with a white button up tucked in. He’s scrapped the tie, however, and the top two buttons hang open on his shirt.
“What do you mean? Surely you have advice for me?”
He scoffs. “You act as if I actually am a Prince of Hearts. You forget that most of the accusations regarding my dating history are falsified for that press photographer scoundrel Brett Farce to ring money out of my family.”
“So you say.” I narrow my eyes. Finley simply shrugs then goes about picking up the book on the floor beside the couch: some nonfiction text about European law. “Before you jump into your book, could you at least help me brainstorm a solution? Quite frankly, I don’t want to wait a week to see her again.”
“Lovestruck fool.” Finley laughs, setting the book down in his lap. “I think you need to give her space and time. You’ve known she’s been here all this time, but she had no idea you have been sleazing about town and lurking in dark corners like a full-fledged stalker just to get a glimpse of her. She needs time to come to grips with the fact that you’re here and now working alongside her.”
I grunt. “I don’t like that solution. I’m not a patient man.”
Finley rolls his eyes. “You’re twenty-four, Mason. And she’s twenty-one. There is no rush.”
“Do you think I should text her what I wanted to say at the café? That I love her?” I scratch my head, and Finley chokes on the water he just sipped.
“Are you insane?”
I shrug. “It might be the only way she’ll hear me out.”
“No, not sufficient. When you put your best foot forward for a lady, you show up. You don’t hide behind a blasted screen.” He mumbles under his breath in Korsan, which sounds like a blend of Swedish and Norwegian.
Throwing my hands up at the clearly insulted prince, I say, “Sorry, sorry. Noted. It was mostly a joke anyway.”
He shakes his head. “I leave for Korsa tomorrow, Mason. You’re on your own. I won’t have time to text you to make sure you’re not doing anything rash or stupid. Get it together. I want to see you get your girl back.”
“I said I’m sorry,” I huff, blowing a strand of hair out of my face. “Again, just joking.”
But how will I get Karoline to trust me enough to hear me out? I came here to Mississippi—to Juniper Grove—with the hopes that she wouldn’t slip away from me again. I reckoned it’d be hard. I figured she wouldn’t trust me, but honestly, I didn’t anticipate the utter hatred she seems to have for me. What I did to her was wrong on all possible levels, but I was newly twenty-two. Naïve. Drunk for the last time. It’s amazing what three years and living on your own can do to a man.
I saw Karoline for the first time again at Braxton’s wedding, and I could see the disdain burning in her eyes as she looked at me from across the sea of people in the backyard of Hadley’s house. She left not long after. It was then that I knew it would be no easy feat to reconcile with her.
“Mason?”
Crawling out of my own head, I nod towards Finley, indicating for him to go ahead.
“Invite her out to do something where it’s just the two of you, though I’d recommend steering clear of any diners that would give her unwanted flashbacks to three years ago. Don’t try to confess your feelings for her but work on reestablishing some sort of friendship. She’s not going to trust you easily, so you need to show up for her, and when she doubts you, which will be inevitable, you need to reassure her with your actions, not with your words, that you are a changed man who has his priorities straight.”
I stare slack-jawed at the man who casually dropped the world’s greatest advice to men everywhere in the middle of this dusty, ambient living room while rain pelts the tin roof. It is the greatest and most obvious advice. “That’s uh,” I chuckle with embarrassment. I should have thought of that. “That’s solid, reasonable counsel.”
“Honestly, I thought of what my little sister, Astrid, would tell me in this precarious situation. She’s Karoline’s age, and quitemature for it. It seems like your Karoline might be as well, despite letting her anger get the better of her.”
My stomach tightens as the urge to defend her comes about. “It’s my fault she’s angry. She has every right to let it out and dish it to me. She’s not to blame for that.”
Finley smiles. “Very well. I’m aware of that. Just making outsider observations. You are indeed a knuckleheaded boy deserving of a woman’s wrath.”
“Don’t you have some packing to do?”
He picks his book up from his lap and opens it. “No. I finished packing earlier today. I have all night available to read this riveting text on law while simultaneously teasing you.”
I strip my socks from my feet and ball them up, flinging them at his face as I stand to grab a cup of water. Finley hurriedly blocks them with his book, and one falls into his glass of water sitting beside the couch.
“While you’re up, please get me a clean glass of water.”
“No can do, Fins.” I open the fridge and pull out the pitcher. “You have all the time in the world, anyway.”
He sighs, then I hear his book snap shut. Regardless of my comment, I pour two glasses of water and meet him in the kitchen to hand one off to him.
