“I know. You warned me. And I know it sounds like some dumb rebound thing—”
“No, it sounds like afunthing. I hope?”
I find myself trying not to smile, but it’s impossible. “It was, actually. He walked me home and spooned me all night. And we kind of made out without really kissing. I wasreallydrunk, and I think I asked him not to kiss me? So there was a lot of just rubbing against each other. And laughing.” By now, my cheeks are hot with the memories. I’m not embarrassed to talk about sex with Sophie. But I’m still floored by how much Ilikethis guy. “He made me laugh a lot. I think I made him laugh, too.”
“Wow. I guess I was wrong. He sounds awesome.”
I scrunch my nose. “I think he really might be.”
“I’m sorry if I sounded cynical yesterday. I just don’t want to see you hurt any more.”
“I know.”
“And we both know you have a real knack for attracting ... well ...”
“The utter douchebags of the world?” I fill in for her.
“I was going to say ‘works in progress,’” she says diplomatically.
“Fixer-uppers who can’t be fixed,” I agree sadly.
“So, if you actually met a great guy, I should eat my words? And maybe this whole week from hell is turning around?”
“Yeah. Maybe.” God, I would love that. Ineedthat. “When I first met him, honestly, he acted like a giant grouch. If I wasn’t stuck here, I probably would’ve just walked out of that bar and never given him a backwards glance.” There’s a warm knot in my chest as I speak. Hope and fear and this impossible thrill that maybe I met an amazing human when I least expected it. It’s making me feel mushy. “But he really stepped up to help me out when I needed it.”
“Then I like him already.”
“I really think you will.”
“So, what’s he like? I want details.” She slurps her slushy, hanging on my next words as I try to find the right ones to sum up Mason Grant.
“Hmm. You know those big, burly, but pretty guys who are half lumberjack and halfGQmodel?”
“Uh, do you?”
“No. Not until last night. But imagine such a guy, and then he turns out to be all sweet, warm teddy bear inside ...” I fade out, because a truck is approaching along Water Street. A black pickup ... with the golden appleSea Haven Ciderylogo on the side.
My insides cartwheel in excitement when I recognize Mason behind the wheel.
“Oh my god. That’s him.” A ridiculous grin spreads across my face as he pulls over in front of my van and parks at the curb.
I get to my feet as Mason climbs out. His eyes cut to mine, and at the grim look on his face, my stomach plummets. My smile fades.
He retrieves something from the back of the truck.
My suitcase.
He stalks over to me and drops it at my feet.
When his eyes lock on mine, they’re heavy and dark. I almost stagger back.
Why is he looking at me like that?
Like I’m . . . the enemy?
“Mason. What happened?” My heart is pounding. Clearly, between leaving me that sweet note this morning and dumping my suitcase at my feet, something happened. Something shitty.
“What happened,” he says gruffly, “is you didn’t tell me that you leased Pier Seven from June.”
