But maybe I'm being unfair. Maybe my own feelings are making me read too much into innocent comments. Mason seems like a decent-enough guy on the surface. He's successful, confident, and obviously, there's some interest in Stella. Just because he's not expressing himself the way I would doesn't mean he's bad for her.
“You been living here long?” Mason asks, moving to adjust his weights.
“Almost four years. You?”
“Just hit the one-year mark. Love the location, hate the rent.” He laughs, and it's genuine enough. “But being this close to work makes it worth it. My office is literally a ten-minute walk, which is a miracle in this city.”
“Yeah, the commute thing is huge.”
“Exactly. Plus, the building's got good people. Friendly neighbors, you know? You, Stella.” He adjusts his grip on the bar, then pauses. “She seems nice. Really nice.”
I keep my expression neutral, waiting to see where this is going.
“I just feel like every time I run into her, she's rushing off somewhere. Always seems busy.” He does another rep, his tone carefully casual. “Probably just has a lot going on with work and everything.”
There's something in the way he says it, like he's fishing for information without wanting to seem too interested.
“Maybe you could put in a good word for me?” The request comes out more hesitant than before. “I mean, just so she knows I'm not some weirdo or anything.”
I want to tell him no. That Stella's too good for him, that he should look elsewhere. But then I remember her asking for my help, remember how her face lit up when she talked about wanting to get Mason's attention.
“Sure, I can do that.”
Maybe I'm the problem here. Maybe I'm seeing red flags where there aren't any because the thought of Stella with someone else makes me want to punch something.
“You know, you should just talk to her more,” I say, forcing the words out. “She's actually pretty easy to get along with once you get past the initial shyness.”
“Yeah?” Mason brightens as he towels off his hands. “Actually, there's this trivia thing my office does on Wednesdaynights. Pretty casual, just a bunch of us from work meeting up at this bar near downtown.”
He pauses, like he's working up the courage for something.
“Think she'd be into that?”
Something clicks. This could be perfect for Stella. If she wants Mason's attention, trivia would be right in her wheelhouse. She'd destroy the competition, and he'd see exactly how brilliant she is.
“You should definitely mention it if you get the chance. She's incredible at trivia. Like, scary good.”
“Really?” Mason's interest is immediate and obvious, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. “That could be the perfect icebreaker. Maybe next time I see her in the hallway, I'll ask.”
The enthusiasm in his voice should make me happy. But for some reason, it doesn't.
“Enjoy the rest of your workout. I need to get ready for work.” I exit the gym before Mason can say anything else or before I totally lose my cool and tell him to stay away from her.
When I get back to my apartment, there's a bright yellow Post-it stuck to the coffee maker in Stella's neat handwriting.
Took Mom to the studio for a tour, then dinner after. Made you a sandwich for lunch – it's in the fridge.
You're on your own tonight!
– S
I stare at the note longer than I should, my chest doing something weird at the casual domesticity of it all. She made me lunch. Left me a note. Thought about my day while she was planning hers.
And now, with the advice and tips I shared with Mason, I feel like I just pushed Stella away when I'm starting to feel like I don't want to let her go.
nineteen
. . .
