Page 30 of Untroubled Heart

I shove my hand in my pocket so it can’t get me in trouble, and we walk side by side to the front of a house that looks like the set of a movie where the plot is… a lot of people die.

“Carmen?” I drag out each syllable, lacing it with trepidation.

“I know what you’re thinking!” she says, standing on the raggedy porch that feels a mild breeze away from crumbling.

“I really don’t think you do.” Callie and I come to a stop at the base of the short staircase.

“Okay, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but do you know what you should be thinking?” She places her hands against the balustrade, quickly snatching them back with a grimace.

“Should we call an exterminator or skip straight to a demolition crew?”

Callie chuckles under her breath, and it makes my stomach do a little somersault.

Carmen raises a single unimpressed eyebrow. “That you haven’t liked a single home I’ve shown you in ten months, and it’s time to broaden your horizons.”

She makes her way down the stairs, wobbling slightly on the last one, but lifts her chin higher as if we didn’t all hear the slight squeal she let out, and walks straight up to Callie.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Carmen Perez.”

Callie accepts Carmen’s handshake. “Callie Moore. I’m Mason’s assistant.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Callie.” Carmen heads back up the stairs, wobbling again on the first one. “Maybe you can be the one to help him find what he’s looking for.”

Chapter thirteen

My stomach feels like I’ve just stepped off a rollercoaster with the way it’s flipping and dancing. The warmth of Mason’s palm when he pulled me out of his car that was made for giants—seriously, why is it so high off the ground?—still seeps through the thin layer of my T-shirt. His hands settled on my back and waist, and I could have stayed there until his muscles gave out. That could have been a while, considering how many of them there are. I lost all sense of reason when I walked in on him earlier with his shirt off, the chain resting against his smooth chest, and all. Those. Abs. The whole moment feels like it’s stuck on a torturous loop, one where I’m left dizzy and salivating.

I don’t know who I expected Mason Heart to be, but it’s nothing like the man he’s shown me. How is someone so gorgeous, carefree, and flirty able to be so sweet and thoughtful, too?

The only other men I’ve known to be like that are my brothers. My ex was sweet in the beginning, when it suited him, but he wouldn’t go out of his way to do anything that didn’t serve him.

My dad has always been emotionally unavailable, and now we know he’s a big fucking liar.

After Carmen disappears inside, Mason and I follow. I trail behind, taking in the property. Tall trees crowd the perimeter, with garden beds neatly maintained around the foundation of the home. Before I get a foot on the first step, two hands grip my sides and place me on the second one. My breath hitches, and my hands brace on Mason’s chest.

“There’s something wrong with this first step,” he says, removing his hands once I’m balanced and jumping straight over it to stand beside me. “Make sure you stay close to me while we’re in here. I don’t want you hurting yourself, and frankly, this place looks like it should be condemned.”

All I can do is nod. When he invited me to come see this house, I didn’t realise how close in proximity the activity would actually put us, and I’m wholly unprepared for the way his touch sends shockwaves through my body.

At the top of the steps, there’s a wrap-around porch. “I’ve always loved these in old houses,” I say, spinning in a circle.

“The rotting wood?”

“No.” I laugh. “The wrap-around porch. There’s something so homey and charming about them. It makes me think of sipping iced tea, sitting on a porch swing on a warm summer day, watching kids play, or a cool spring night listening to the crickets chirp.”

The wood has been stained dark, but it’s grown fragile over time, and the house itself is covered in old white shiplap with more dark stain on the window trims and doors. It’s got classic cottage charm mixed with old-money opulence… At least, that’s how it probably looked fifty years ago.

“Is that what you did growing up?” Mason asks.

I shake my head as we move inside the house. The foyer has a high ceiling with an iron dome pendant hanging in the centre, and a formerly grand staircase as the backdrop behind it.

“No. I grew up on the beach, but my childhood best friend had a tyre swing in her front yard, and I remember asking my dad for one for my seventh birthday. I wanted it so bad.”

He grins. “Did you get it?”

I shake my head with a shrug. “He missed my birthday that year.” And each one since. He was conveniently absent for every major event and holiday, and now I know why. He was with his other family. “This is gorgeous, though.”

“Did we walk through the same door? Or did you manage to step into a portal where this place is somewhat habitable?” I laugh as Mason’s eyes cast across the room, full of scepticism.