Never in my life had I ever been so happy to be wrong. More importantly this was the first time in my life I was grateful, happy even, to be wrong. It helped that Trish was the one who’d been right about our efforts at divorce and yeah, it helped even more that the moment she’d attempted to file—which wasn’t all that great, mind you—the lawyers Dallas and his daughter Della McInnis had vanished. Okay maybe not vanished, per se, but they’d become impossible to pin down.

They had no available appointments, wouldn’t even squeeze her in for a five minute consultation and even the newest lawyer in town, Olivia Robichaud, said she didn’t handle divorces, odd considering her specialty was family law.

Maybe it made me a dick to appreciate it so much, but I’d unintentionally fucked up everything, royally so and I had every intention on making it up to her. Somehow.

I’d had three days of stone cold silence to think long and hard about what I’d done and what I needed to do to fix it. Trish, to her credit, hadn’t kicked me out yet, careful not to draw attention from the town busybodies. But she had locked the bedroom door every night before she fell asleep as if I needed a bigger clue that she hated me. I knew she didn’t hate me. She was pissed and yeah, probably hurt too, but if she didn’t have feelings for me, she wouldn’t be hurt.

Twisted logic, but it was all I had at the moment so I decided to run with it. That running began with a quick trip to the grocery store where two older ladies I wasn’t sure I’d met helped me gather ingredients for dinner. I didn’t bother to tell them I had a list because they gave me a few pointers I committed to memory while they added breadcrumbs and bourbon to my shopping cart. “For the homemade barbecue sauce,” the tinier of the little old ladies had said.

“If the girl is with child Edna, she doesn’t need bourbon.”

“Oh pish,” Edna said dismissively, “a few teaspoons won’t hurt a thing. Trust me honey, she’ll appreciate the effort. Not enough men cook these days and definitely not the ones who look like you.” With that final compliment or parting shot, I wasn’t sure, the women had sauntered off with a job well done.

When I returned home, I frowned at the three boxes neatly stacked right inside the door. My stuff, of course. Trish was nowhere to be found so I considered this the hint that I was expected to leave. Mags had always said I was willfully obtuse when it suited me and, in that moment, I conceded she might have a point as I carried each box back upstairs and carefully unpacked it. Making sure to mix it all in with her stuff, just because I could.

With that done, I unpacked the grocery bags and got down to work, mixing up the herbs and spices with the meat, whipping up the barbecue sauce and chopping potatoes for boiling. All movements froze when I heard the door open and waited for her scream and shout, instead I noticed a moment of relief when she spotted the missing boxes. I scrambled back to the counter and dug my hands into the beef and sausage mix, forming it into a perfect loaf just as Trish walked in. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Cooking dinner.”

“Mason,” she began, the irritation in her voice rising. “You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

I nodded because, yeah, I did know. I just chose to ignore it. “I’m cooking dinner like I said. Because of your behavior lately you deserve some of my mediocre meatloaf.” Though it would probably be less mediocre than usual thanks to the two gray haired women in the market.

She frowned at me, hands on her hips like she was ready for battle. It wasn’t a battle though, which she would soon realize. I hoped. And if it was a battle, she’d better be prepared to lose. Or win, I guess. Whatever. The only way this battle would be won was if she was mine. Permanently. “Mason.”

“Trish,” I countered with far less annoyance in my voice. “You’re being a coward.”

She barked out a harsh laugh. “That’s rich coming from the guy who looked like the world might end at the very thought of me being pregnant.” Her blue eyes were wide and wild, angry still at my reaction.

I let a few seconds pass before responding, raking a hand through my hair in an effort to remain calm. “Christ woman, you gave me five seconds to think about it and react. I was just surprised because the whole damn town has been speculating for months and you haven’t said one damn word.” She didn’t look pregnant not now and definitely not naked, and she still hadn’t confirmed it.

“Yeah well, let’s keep it that way then. I don’t have any definitive answers for you but don’t worry, Mason because if I am pregnant, you’re off the hook.”

I sucked in a breath and clenched my fists. I’d dealt with a lot of difficult and terrified clients and never once did I want to put hands on them but right now, I wanted to shake some damn sense into Trish. When I was calm I busied myself pouring the barbecue sauce on top of the meatloaf and shoving it in the oven before I rounded the corner and got in her face. “You don’t get to make that decision, Trish. Besides, it won’t be necessary because I’ve decided that we’re not getting a divorce.” I hadn’t decided any such thing but with the words out of my mouth, I knew they were what I wanted. Exactly what I wanted.

“You can’t just decide that on your own.”

I smiled and placed my hands on her shoulders. “I can and I have, Cupcake. Don’t test me on this.”

“I put your stuff by the door,” she argued helplessly. I hated that she felt that way and that part of the fault was my own, but we were too damn close to something good. Fuck that, something great, and I wasn’t going to let fear get in the way.

“You did and I put it all back where it belongs. We had a fight, Cupcake. Couples fight but one little fight doesn’t mean we break up, or get divorced.”

She flushed at my words and ducked her head. “Not that it matters since once again, we are a town without lawyers.”

Another smile passed my lips and that little frown she shot me was damned adorable. “It seems the town agrees with me.”

“Why, Mason? Why are you doing this?” She sounded pained, like she really had no clue why I was doing all of this.

So I gave her the only response I could. “Because.”

Her pride, or maybe it was fear, wouldn’t let the stubborn woman ask me the follow up question, which sucked because I wanted her to ask. But it was also fine because Trish would find out in due time that I was just as stubborn as her, maybe more. And her reluctance to ask the question meant I’d get a chance to do exactly what Nash and Zeke advised. Show her. In a thousand different ways. “Right,” she grumbled and pulled away from me. “I’m going…I’ll be back.”

Yeah, she was unsettled by this new turn of events and that’s exactly what I wanted her to be. Off-kilter because it meant she couldn’t keep up those damn walls she used to keep herself safe. I finished off dinner, adding butter and chives to the mashed potatoes and pouring more sauce over the meatloaf. “Just in time,” I told Trish with a smile as I put the food on the table.

“Smells good,” she offered up reluctantly, smoothing the pink tank over her slender waist and round hips. She wore tiny cotton shorts that made my mouth water more than the food steaming on the table.

“How’s your, uh, appetite?” After witnessing her at the shop a few days ago, I really did wonder. She was so pale and afraid as she emptied her stomach into the trash bin that I’d been worried at first that maybe something was really wrong.

“Fine for the most part,” she offered up quietly. “Some smells still make me sick but so far these scents are making me nothing but hungry.”

“Good because I got a few pointers and even though I’m not totally sure you deserve it, this meatloaf is probably much better than mediocre.” Her lips twitched in a satisfying smile that I let stay with me as I scooped up potatoes on each plate and then thick slabs of meatloaf. “Now, eat up.”

“Mason, that’s too much,” she insisted, staring at the plate in fear.

“Nonsense, Cupcake, you can take it.” A laugh erupted out of me when she glared at my innuendo.

“Things change.”

“Some things, yes. That? Never.” I let my gaze linger, hot and intense, too intense for her to look away because I needed Trish to see that I was damn serious about her. About us. “Eat what you can but eat like I know you love to, Cupcake.”

“Stop calling me that,” she said but there was zero heat behind her words.

“Never.” I eyed her again, daring her to say whatever was on the tip of her tongue. Wisely, she didn’t and we ate mostly in silence, aside from a few satisfying moans from Trish.

“This is really good, Mason. Not mediocre at all.”

“Thank you, Cupcake. Take some for lunch tomorrow since we know it won’t make you sick.”

She looked surprised and pleased by my words and that sent a rush of heat through my veins because it felt a hell of a lot like progress. Trish ate nearly everything on her plate before retiring to our bedroom, which it still was and as soon as the kitchen was clean and leftovers packed for her, I joined her in our room.

After a quick shower I expected to see my pillow on the floor but it was there beside her so I slid on a pair of boxers and climbed in behind her, wrapping my body around her and holding her tight as she drifted off to sleep. Three days was too damn long without her in my arms and I savored it, spending hours awake just listening to her breathe, reveling in the silky feel of her skin and the soft crush of her waves before finally, sleep pulled me under. “Goodnight Cupcake. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

She said nothing but when I woke up the next morning, Trish was gone.

So were the leftovers.