“Why would you want to do that if you don’t even want to be here?”
“For opportunities like these?” I say sarcastically. Then add with pathetic honesty, “Where else could I wander down a moonlit road and run into you?”
Our eyes meet, and I inwardly shiver at the memory: his hot breath on my neck, his rough voice in my ear ...
Promise me this isn’t all.
When he doesn’t say anything and I can no longer take the pressure, I mutter, “If this is about me talking to your family, I swear Layne and Kaylie just came into the smoothie bar—”
“I heard. And I’m not a monster. I’m not going to tell a little girl she can’t have a smoothie just because I don’t like the proprietor of the shop.”
“Right. Thanks,” I say neutrally, trying to just draw breath and ignore the tiny, unexpected arrow that pierces my lungs when he says he doesn’t like me.
It’s fucking deflating, and I hate that he has this effect on me. I know he doesn’t like me. But to hear it out of his mouth hits different.
“Especially not when she tells me your shop is ‘total slay.’” The tiniest hint of amusement seems to flicker at the corner of his mouth. “I think that means cool.”
“I can assure you it does, Grandpa.”
He gives me a look, one eyebrow cocked. “You know I’m her uncle, right?”
I do, of course, but giving him even a moment to question whether I actually think Kaylie might be his granddaughter has me snorting inside.
However, I’m trying to convince myself that antagonizing him won’t help my cause.
I let him off the hook. “Yes, I know you’re her uncle.”
“She’s ten. And I’m thirty-four,” he says defensively.
Which is curious. Why would he care what I think of his age, or anything else?
His left arm is toward me, and a streetlight catches on his bicep. I see the name scripted through his tattoo, which clearly matches theSamanthaone on his right arm.
This one saysChristopher.
I’d love to not say anything about it, but it feels wrong. Too cold. And that’s just not me.
I clear my throat. It’s still kind of sore from the chili shrimp incident. “So ... Samantha and Christopher ... Those were your parents, right?”
I know I’m right. He doesn’t have to say a thing. I can feel it; the sudden shift in the night air around him. The tension in his body.
I take a deep breath and rip off the bandage. “I just heard from some of the locals about what happened to them. I’m so sorry that your family has suffered such a loss. I know you wanted me to stay away from them, but I really like Layne and Kaylie.”
Mason slows his pace as I speak, and I slow along with him. I don’t even look at him. I can’t.
I don’t think I want to see his pain, if it’s there, or his discomfort. And I’m not in the mood to handle his anger, so I hope he’s not mad. I really don’t know if I just upset him or not, but I do know he doesn’t trust me.
So, I offer up something that I think will prove I’m sincere. That this isn’t some trick or a cruelty.
“I lost my father when I was young,” I say quietly, looking off into the night, “like I told you. He left me when I was three. I know it’s totally not the same thing as the loss you experienced, but I’m just saying, I know how it feels to lose a parent too soon. To no longer have them in your life when they should be.”
I can hear Mason breathing next to me, but I still don’t look.
He doesn’t say anything.
The others are really getting ahead of us as we approach Twisted Tree Orchard, and we just keep walking, slowly, side by side.
“It’s not something anyone can really understand,” I go on, “unless you experience it first-hand. And you definitely can’t prepare yourself for it. There was no way I could prepare myself for my own father choosing his next family over me.”
