She was sure the responding cheers of celebration could be heard clear across the orchard.
8
Mason didn’t know what to make of it, but he was having the time of his life. There had been dinner, a little dancing, some damn good cake, everything he and Xeni wanted from tonight. He’d never thought his own wedding could be something he wouldn’t absolutely dread or live to regret.
He sat back in the sturdy folding chair, listening to Maya and Ginny tell another animated story. It was their ritual at least once a week. Sit down, grab a few beers and go on about the good and the absolute worst customer behavior. Diner patrons who sent back their food a record seven times, parents who couldn’t be bothered to follow the rules of the petting zoo and the teenagers. Mary and Joseph, the teenagers, climbing the trees and trying to concuss each other with unripened apples. It was their release at the end of the long day and Maya and Ginny were the best storytellers of the bunch. This time though, they only had a fraction of Mason’s attention. He was listening to Maya and Ginny, but his eyes were on Xeni.
They’d followed through with the terms and conditions of Ms. Sable’s will. There were married now and tomorrow they would each be able to claim their portion of the inheritance. Finally, Mason would be through with his father. He’d dreamt about how relieved he would feel when that moment eventually came. Granted, with what he was bringing home from the cafe, he figured his father would actually be dead before he finished paying off his debt. But that sense of relief, that eventual freedom, had kept him going.
Right now, though… he was trying to focus on the moment. They only had a handful of hours before he stuffed himself back into Mr. Barber’s stuffy office with its poorly placed furniture, where he’d signed off on the solution to all his problems. He wasn’t going to waste that precious time worrying and he wasn’t going to take his eyes off his bride.
Yes, for now she was absolutely his bride, especially after that bone-shaking kiss. He’d meant to keep it tame, A light little peck on the lips., When he saw the emotions on her face, the anger and disappointment, he’d wanted to bring her back to the moment.
He saw the effort she’d put into looking beautiful for the ceremony. For the first time, he’d allowed himself to really look at her body. The way the bright yellow fabric hugged her breasts and her wide hips, and how it did not do a damn thing to conceal her amazing ass. The braids in her hair and the flowers. He even noticed that she’d matched her makeup to the pinks and blues on her flowery dress.
And then Deborah stomped all over the joyful seconds they had tried to pull together. Mason had ironed his shirt, for Christ’s sake, and there was this cranky woman nearly shouting instructions, forcing them to hurry up and move on. They only paused long enough to unspool the baker’s twine Liz suggested they use as rings. He’d gently tied the string in a small bow around Xeni’s finger and he couldn’t miss the way her jaw tensed or the subtle flare of her nostrils.
She was upset and he suddenly felt protective over her, responsible for her. It wouldn’t be good for him to fist fight an elderly ordained member of their community, but he could try and distract Xeni from the way Deborah was fucking up Xeni’s vision for how this bizarre, yet special day was supposed to be.
When he’d felt her tongue against his, he’d figured it worked. And, at least for him, the effects of the kiss hadn’t worn off. Maybe come midnight, he’d come back to himself and remember he was still the single guy working on his cousin’s farm. But for now, they had this moment.
Mason watched Xeni as she opened the cooler and pulled out two beers. She was also caught up in Maya’s story.
“I’m standing there, waiting for his mother to say something or do something then,” Maya paused and glanced at her mother, Bess, who still laughing. Maya lowered her voice a bit. “Then this motherfucker goes ‘okay honey we can touch, but be gentle.’ She hands her two-year-old this heavy ass jar of lavender honey—”
“That I made from scratch. With my own blood, sweat and tears,” Ginny added.
“Gross,” Xeni replied. A burst of laughter sputtered out of Mason. She turned and winked at him as she popped the top on one of the beers. He couldn’t help but smile back.
“Literally so much blood. So much sweat,” Ginny said.
Maya went on. “There are no bodily fluids in any of our products. Anyway, so she hands this damn baby a very heavy, very full jar of honey and he doesn’t just drop it. He looks at it and then smashes it on the floor. What part of ‘please do not let your children touch the breakable jars of honey’ don’t you understand? So Ginny just looks at her and goes…”
“…that’ll be seventeen fifty-nine.”
“The woman looks between us and goes ‘for honey?’ When I tell you I’ve never been so happy to have a White wife.”
“I walked over to the register and rang her up. I didn’t even try to clean things up.”
“So she pays and then—”
There was more to the story, but Mason wasn’t listening. Xeni was coming right for him with a determined look in her eyes. He followed the movement of her curves in that amazing dress and straightened up just in time for her to take a seat on his lap.
“Is this okay?” she asked quietly.
“Absolutely, but hold on.” Mason lifted Xeni just enough to shift his foot. He pulled her closer with a hand on her thick thigh.
That kiss.
Mason knew what was happening. Xeni was hurting and, thanks to her family, she couldn’t even grieve properly because they wouldn’t stop throwing obstacles in her way. He’d felt it in that kiss. They’d both found a way to turn some sort of release valve. Instead of tears, there was that kiss and if Mason was reading things correctly, Xeni was holding on to that feeling, leaning into it. But he wasn’t stupid. It was only for tonight.
Then he nodded toward the beers in her hand.
“Is that for me?”
“Yes.” She handed him an amber lager, then tipped her own bottle back and took a deep pull. He thought she might drain it in one go, but she came up for air and whispered in his ear. “But don’t get used to this. I’m not that type of wife, bringing you cold drinks at the end of the day. Hugging all up on you,” she said as she wiggled a little closer.
“What kind of wife are you?”
