“You’re not helping,” I whine and plop down on the bed, tugging at a loose string on the bedspread until it unravels and snaps off.
“Babe, I’m sorry,” she hiccups as she tries to simmer down her laughter. “This is fate or destiny or whatever the hell they call it these days knocking on your door.”
My mouth purses to the side. “I don’t follow.”
The last vestiges of her giggles dry up, and Kama gets all serious. “You still love him, and don’t you dare try and lie to me and say you don’t.”
I snap my mouth closed because that’s exactly what I was about to say. “But…”
“But nothing. I know he hurt you. I also know that there are two sides to every story. And if you ever want to move on, you need closure. By some miracle of serendipity, he’s there. You’re there. Now’s your chance to get some answers. No more what ifs and whys.”
She has a point. I haven’t been able to move on from him, no matter how hard I’ve tried. Mason wasthe one. My first love. My only love. And I do have questions. Maybe if I get them, I’ll finally be able to get on with my life and stop existing in the past and the memory of him and what we used to have.
Chapter 6
MASON
I follow Brandon down the short hallway lined with framed family photographs and small watercolors into the modest-sized kitchen. Muted tones of slate blue and dove white cabinetry matched with cream quartzite countertops welcome me as I make a beeline for the stainless-steel refrigerator.
So far from what I’ve been able to see, Aria’s home fits her personality. Warm and welcoming. It makes me eager to find out what she’s been doing since graduating CU. Did she start her freelance editing business she always used to talk about? Whatever career she finally decided to pursue, she’s clearly successful since she could afford to either purchase or lease this house.
“So, you’re reallytheMason McIntyre?” Brandon asks, getting out a flat griddle and large mixing bowl as I rummage the contents of the fridge looking for eggs, butter, and milk.
“In the flesh. Where’s the flour?”
Brandon points to a row of four large glass containers under the left cabinet next to the sink. Each one has a label on it with Aria’s precise cursive writing. I grab the one that saysAll Purpose.
“Vanilla extract and chocolate chips?” I ask next.
Aria always liked her pancakes sweetened with a hint of vanilla.
He walks into a small pantry and comes back out holding both.
“Thanks.”
Brandon leans a hip against the stove and watches me get to work. I eyeball how much flour to tip into the mixing bowl. Mama Mac would cringe if she saw me not using a measuring cup.
“You’re welcome. Now tell me why I shouldn’t drop-kick your ass out of this house for breaking my sister’s heart.”
I look over at him and can’t help the smile that forms. I know he’s Aria’s stepbrother, but right now, with his eyes narrowed on me and his arms crossed over his chest, he looks so much like Aria.
Cracking an egg open, I add it to the mixture in the bowl.
“Trash can?”
Brandon toes open a bottom cabinet where a small trash bin is hidden. I toss the shell and wash my hands.
“How old are you?” I ask, adding vanilla and then milk.
“Almost eighteen. I’ll be a senior at Dearborne High,” he replies, handing me a metal whisk he gets from the drawer next to him.
With deft, quick strokes, I whip the batter.
“Then hopefully you’re old enough to understand that people make mistakes. Ones they deeply regret making, and ones they would do anything to go back and fix.”
He uncrosses his arms and opens the bag of chocolate chips. I pass him the bowl with the whisk propped inside. He dumps a ton of chips into the batter while I turn on the front gas hob to preheat the flat griddle.
“I do,” he says in a way that tells me he has a deep regret of his own.
