He laughs, leaning in for another kiss. “I wanna check on something real quick before we eat. Something was up with the paychecks; need to make sure it went through right.”
“Okay.” I nod
He squeezes my waist once before stepping back. “Be right back.”
He disappears into the office. I look toward the oven, timer ticking down, and hope it tastes as good as it smells. Because tonight’s dinner feels like a test. A test on whether or not I have the potential to be a good homemaker or not.
While it bakes, I start cleaning up the explosion I left behind—measuring cups, mixing bowls, cutting boards, and about four spoons I didn’t need to use but somehow did. Mason’s in the office down the hall, door cracked, his low voice drifting out every so often while he talks numbers or emails with his chief.
I hum under my breath, rinsing dishes and stacking them neatly in the rack, wiping down the counters until they shine. Ieven start setting the table, pulling out our mismatched plates and lighting the little candle I bought earlier today.
That’s when I realize the trash is full. Of course it is. I sigh and press the wet paper towels down into it with my hand when I feel a slice.
“Sh—shoot! OW! Holy MACARONI!”
The sound bounces off the walls, and my first instinct is to clamp my hand tighter. It burns—sharp and deep.
“Megan?” Mason’s voice echoes from the office. “What happened?!”
“I cut my finger—ow!” My teeth are clenched, tears stinging my eyes as I fumble for more paper towels by the sink.
Mason’s there before I can turn around. “Let me see, baby. Let me see.”
“No, it hurts.” I whimper, pressing the paper towel tighter, blood blooming through it.
“I know, but I need to see it.” His voice is calm, steady—his cop voice—but the worry in it still makes my stomach twist.
“I can’t look at it,” I say quickly, squeezing my eyes shut. “I’ll pass out.”
“I don’t want you to look,” he says softly. “Just me. Okay? Just let me look.”
He takes my wrist gently, peeling the towel back just enough to peek. “Mm-hmm. Yeah, that’s a good one,” he murmurs under his breath.
Then I look. For some stupid reason I look, and a wave of heat rushes through me—then cold. The floor feels like it’s tilting. The edges of my vision go fuzzy, tunneling in. Mason’s voice sounds far away now, muffled, like he’s talking through water.
“Meg? Hey.”
Everything fades. Then light. Sound. My head pounding. My cheek pressed to something cool.
I blink, disoriented, my vision swimming until Mason’s face finally comes into focus above me. His hand is on my cheek, the other holding my bandaged finger tight.
“Babe,” he says softly.
“I shouldn’t have looked,” I mutter.
“No, you shouldn’t have.” He laughs softly and brushes my hair back, leaning over and kissing my forehead. “You’re okay. I caught you.”
“I know you did.”
“Yeah, but what if I’m not here next time? That scares me, Megan.”
“Yeah. I know,” I mutter, eyes drifting down. Because it’s not like I haven’t thought about that before. I’ve gotten lucky he’s been with me every time.
He exhales, slow and heavy. “I need you to do two things for me,” he says, lifting my chin so I have to meet his eyes. “One, stop hurting yourself—please. And two, if you do, because you’re the clumsiest person I’ve ever met…” His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. “Donotlook at it. Grab something, cover it up, lay down, and you call me.”
I shut my eyes and nod slowly. “I know. I will.”
“’Kay.” His voice is gentle, like the word itself is a promise. He leans in and kisses me again, longer this time, reassuring, before helping me up, slow and careful, one hand behind my back like he’s afraid I’ll tip over if he lets go.
