“We’re home. Let’s go,” I bark at my cousin while giving her a harder-than-needed shake. She mumbles and stirs but doesn’t open her eyes. “Come on, Chanel. Let’s get inside and then you can sleep your life away.”
She still doesn’t budge, so I get out, slam my door closed (and feel a tad guilty for taking my anger out on my car), then walk to the passenger side to drag Chanel out of the car.
It works, and she stumbles after me as we make our way to the apartment, 108, which thankfully, does not involve stairs like the restaurant did.
I reach for my keys somewhere inside my little black Kate Spade crossbody purse, find them, then unlock the door.
Chanel immediately crashes on the couch, and even though I’m frustrated with her, I take her heels off and cover her with a blanket. I know she has my best interests at heart, and I also know she wants to see me move on with my life, but she doesn’t understand just how much of a hold that man has had on my heart since I was a teenager.
I’ve never made it past the first few dates with a guy…
I’ve only kissed a man who wasn’t Mason once…
I’ve blocked my heart to the possibility of someone loving me and me loving them…
All because my heart has belonged to Mason Jonathan Kane since I can remember, and he ripped it piece by piece with each day that passed when he didn’t call or text after he left me sitting in a corner booth at Dallas Junction diner to turn into an ancient relic of his past and collect dust.
Chanel wasn’t too far off the mark when she said I still loved him, and if I’ve learned one thing about people, it’s that when they drink, they say what they really mean and speak to how they really feel.
Chapter Three
Mason - Present
Ichoose a tablenear the wall constructed of pristine windows in Books and Beans and sit down in the seat directly facing the afternoon sun (it’s the perfect excuse to keep my sunglasses on while indoors). The small coffee shop-slash-bookstore isn’t crowded, but when your name is as big as mine, you always have to err on the side of caution and security. The press knew I was in Mississippi a couple nights ago toperform as part of a New Year’s Eve lineup hosted at Ole Miss (which I should have just stayed at instead of ditching the rest of the performances to try and track down Karoline before the clock hit midnight on a delusional notion that she’d throw her arms around me and kiss me senseless in the name of missing me). But back to the press, they didn’t know I was hanging around Juniper Grove, as I have been the past few weeks. And thankfully, the owner of this place has instructed her employees not to alert anyone to my presence when I sneak in to visit. I have been hiding pretty well, if I do say so myself.
Speaking of, my security guard, who I typically like to evade, sits a few tables over, sipping the caramel vanilla latte he ordered moments ago. It was a fascinating thing watching a deadly sniper man (retired Marine) sip a sugary latte. A middle-aged woman with a child inside a stroller stands in line behind a short, gray-haired man at the wooden counter to order while two teenage girls whisper and giggle in the middle of one of the five book stacks on the other side of the building. The café specials, which are New Year's related since it’s only the second of January, are on display, written in artistic fonts on a chalkboard by the bakery items. There are no overhead lights in the building, typical of coffee shops these days, so the space is illuminated only by the sunlight filtering in through the five window panels making up the half of the storefront I’m sitting in, the dimmed lights strung across the ceiling, and a few lamps stationed in darker corners where the sunlight does not reach to banish the shadows. All in all, it’s a calming space with its chestnut wooden furniture, plant life, and earthy tones.
“Fancy seeing you here,” a deep voice with the signature Mississippi twang says from behind me. I twist around to see Braxton Rawls, a tall, burly man with dark brown hair and the scruffy start to a beard. If we were animals, he would be a grizzlybear and I’d be a black bear. (Don’t ask me why I think of people as animals. It’s something I’ve done for years.)
I met him in a hotel gym in North Carolina a couple months ago. We instantly clicked, partly because he didn’t recognize who I was to begin with and didn’t go all fan-boy until a few minutes into our short conversation. Furthermore, he had found himself resonating all too well with my viral song “Boyfriend Without Benefits.” Even though I wish I never had to sing that song again, I’m thankful it allowed me to meet Braxton, who has an amazing contractor as a brother-in-law.
Braxton also happened to live in the same town as the love of my life, but that’s a moot point as I’ve learned over the past two weeks that Karoline Wright hates my guts.
As he sits down in the chair to my left, the door opens and in walks my current roommate, Finley Andersson, a tall, slender man with blond, shaggy hair. The cool thing about Finley? He’s a prince to a little island country called Korsa located south of Norway. You get to meet pretty cool people being as famous as I am, but I’ll admit, Finley is the first member of royalty I’ve met.
“Hey, guys,” I nod once to the both of them as Finley sits to my right. “What are y’all doing here at this time of day?” It is past the morning coffee rush, but not quite brunch time yet, which is why I like to stop in around this time during the weekdays.
“I was going to grab a coffee for the wife and run it by the store to surprise her before heading out to work on your house,” Braxton says. “She was complaining this morning that she only had decaf at the store and didn’t have time to make a coffee run.”
Finley jumps in. “I was taking a casual morning stroll down main street when I saw Braxton enter and you sitting here.” He shrugs. “I didn’t want to be left out, so I joined.”
The barista comes to our table and takes our coffee orders—Braxton and I get black drip coffee while Finley orders a fancy-sounding macchiato with special flavoring and milk requests.She delivers the drip coffee in a matter of minutes then goes back to work on Finley’s multi-part order.
“It’s freeing being in such a small town in Mississippi.” Finley grins and leans back in his chair, tossing his hands behind his head in a casual display. “I don’t have to wear sunglasses indoors or style my hair differently.” He reaches over and ruffles the top of my head, which causes some of my thick, neck-length hair to pull from its ponytail holder in its half-up position.
I swat his hand away and gather half my hair to put back into a mid-bun. “Jeez, man. Cut that out.” I don’t typically put my hair in a ponytail holder; it’s usually left to flow freely, but since I’m trying to be inconspicuous, I styled it differently.
Braxton coos, “Awe, you’re such a pretty man.” Thankfully, he keeps his hands to himself. He’s not as touchy-feely as Finley is.
I scowl, but Braxton continues to speak, shifting his attention to Finley while I finish tying off my hair. “You’re going back to Korsa at the end of the week, though, right? ‘Cause that’s what I told Hadley. You know she wants to set you up with Lucy as quickly as possible.”
The waitress brings Finley’s drink. He takes a sip and makes a pleased humming sound. He wiggles his eyebrows after setting his drink down. “Indeed. I’m anxiously awaiting our first date when I return from Korsa in a couple of months.”
“Careful, Prince of Hearts. You’re going to live up to your bad reputation.” I pat his back, and now it’s his turn to scowl. Finley and I get along well, but teasing each other seems to be our go-to method of showing any sort of affection. We’ve lived together in Braxton’s old semi-secluded cabin for a couple weeks now, but the brotherhood between us solidified quickly as we both understand national pressures of being scrutinized constantly under a spotlight. Him even more so than me, to be honest.
Braxton takes a sip of coffee then says, “Oh, thanks again, man, for agreeing to join Hadley’s marketing campaign. That’sall she could talk about on the honeymoon. She’s stoked to finally connect her jewelry brand to her store.”
“Yeah, it’s no problem. I’m excited to help y’all out.” The black coffee has a toasted taste to it, which is pleasing and reminiscent of autumn.
