The football game had been on for two hours, but Mason remembered none of it. He’d eaten half of a frozen pizza, then tossed the rest. He finally settled for snacking on a bowl of pistachio nuts. It wasn’t the best Thanksgiving he’d had, but it also wasn’t the worst.
His mother had been in the hospital the final Thanksgiving of her life. He and his dad had gone to visit her. Mason still remembered sitting on a hard chair in the corner of the tiny hospital room while his mother picked at some limp turkey on her food tray.
“Do you want this, Mason?” she’d asked.
“I’m not hungry,” he’d said. “You can have it.”
“Eat the turkey, son,” his father had said. “Your mother wants you to have it.”
Mason hated it when his dad called him son. It wasn’t an endearment, but more of a power play on words. So Mason took the tray, and with both of his parents watching, he ate the turkey.
Now he couldn’t think of turkey without thinking of his mom’s thin and frail body in that hospital bed. Her blue eyes rimmed in red as she watched him eat. It was as if she knew... knew that she’d leave this life in only a few days’ time.
Mason muted the football game and closed his eyes. This Thanksgiving might have been different if things had worked out with Livvy. He shook his head at the irony. She’d originally invited him to Thanksgiving with her and Felicity, but he’d turned her down. And now here he was... still alone.
Mason was half-asleep when someone knocked on his door. At first he thought he’d dreamed it, but then the knock sounded again. He looked at the rustic wood clock. It was about 8:00 p.m., so not all that late. But still...
He rose, and despite his reluctance to hope, he wondered if it was Livvy. Maybe the dinner with Slade’s family had been a disaster, and she’d come to beg him for another chance. But even as he imagined it, he knew it wouldn’t happen. With or without Slade between the two of them, Mason would be leaving Pine Valley soon.
He opened the door and blinked. “Dawson?”
“Hey, man,” Dawson said, holding up a white bakery box. “Thought I’d come to make some peace. Apologize, you know, food-style.”
Mason didn’t move for a moment. “What are you doing here?”
Dawson moved past him anyway, walking into the cabin uninvited. “Nice place.” He continued to the kitchen.
Mason stared after him.
“Hope you like banana cream pie,” Dawson said. “They were all out of the traditional pumpkin.”
Mason shut the front door, then joined Dawson in the kitchen as he lifted the lid of the box.
Mason recognized the Main Street Café logo. “The café was open tonight?”
“Uh, no,” Dawson said. “Sarah Lynne let me in.”
The twinkle in Dawson’s eyes told Mason that it must have been a personal favor. He moved to the utensil drawer and pulled out a couple of forks. Then he found two plates and set them on the counter.
Dawson shed his long trench coat and settled onto a barstool as if he owned the place.
Mason joined him and dug into the pie. He might hate turkey, but he’d never turn down an offer of pie.
“So . . .” Dawson started. “Sorry about the other night. I mean, I didn’t know that you and Livvy were, uh, together.”
“We’re not together,” Mason said, then took another bite of the pie. The smooth and sweet creaminess was delicious.
Dawson scoffed. “The tension between the two of you in Slade’s condo could have been cut with a dull plastic knife.”
“Livvy’s a great person, but she’s with Slade, and well, I’m not planning on becoming a Pine Valley resident.” Mason took another bite. “Although if they had a bakery like the Main Street Café in San Diego, I’d be in heaven.”
Dawson laughed. “I’m glad you like the pie, but I think you’re selling Pine Valley short.”
Mason met Dawson’s gaze. “Why’s that?”
The man had a sly look on his face, which was dangerous considering he was a lawyer by occupation. “I just think you shouldn’t discredit us quite so fast.”
Mason scooped another forkful of pie but didn’t eat it. “I’m listening.”
“There’s the Christmas Caroling night the week before Christmas,” Dawson said.
Mason raised his brows. “Sounds cold.”
“We wear coats and gloves and hats,” Dawson said. “The Main Street Café serves hot chocolate, and we gather around portable fire pits and sing Christmas songs. Then Santa visits the library and reads The Night Before Christmas to the kids. The librarians hand out candy canes and bookmarks.”
Mason ate more pie.
“The library runs a charity drive in January,” Dawson continued. “To raise money for the women’s shelter and to pay for the book mobile runs to the assisted living center.”
“I’m sensing a theme here; what happens in February in Pine Valley?” Mason said in a dry tone.
“Ah, that’s the best month of all,” Dawson said. “It’s Valentine’s, you know, and the bookshop runs a two-for-one sale. Store patrons are also given the chance to donate their purchases to the library. Cool, huh?”
Mason tried not to smile.
“And if you’re around in March, the snow starts to melt, and the mountain slope behind this cabin will be covered in wildflowers. Makes for some great writing inspiration in your backyard, you know, if you like to soak in the beauty of nature while you follow your muse.”
Mason smirked and rubbed his jaw. “April?”
“April is like the holy grail of the year. It only rains a handful of days, and the library hosts various authors to do a weekend-long literacy event.”
“I’m sure it does, but I think I’ll have met my writing deadline way before then,” Mason said.
“For your current book,” Dawson said with a nod. “But don’t you have to write a book every year?”
Mason rose from the barstool and opened the fridge. He pulled out a half gallon of milk, then he poured two glasses and slid one over to Dawson. “Despite all these distracting events in Pine Valley, there are too many busybodies here who like to get into other people’s business.”
Dawson laughed. “Sometimes that can be an advantage.”
Mason took a drink of his milk. “How so?”
“Let’s just say that when Sarah Lynne was so kindly ringing up this pie for me when the café was closed, she happened to mention she’d been at the hospital visiting her neighbor Mr. Palmer.”
Mason had no idea who Mr. Palmer was or what it had to do with him. “And?”
“She paused outside Mr. Palmer’s door when she heard our Dr. Slade talking to him,” Dawson said. “She didn’t want to interrupt, so she waited. Mr. Palmer asked the good doctor how his Thanksgiving had been.”
Mason wished he hadn’t eaten all that pie. He wasn’t feeling so well.
But Dawson didn’t seem to notice. “Slade said Thanksgiving was perfect, up until his girlfriend dumped him.”
Mason set his milk on the counter, carefully, since he didn’t trust his grip. “You’re kidding.”
Dawson grinned. “Thought that might interest you.” He pushed away from the counter and reached for his coat. “I should run. You can keep the rest of the pie.”
Mason felt like he was in a haze as he watched Dawson shrug into his coat, then stride to the front door.
“See you around, Mason.” Dawson opened the door and disappeared into the night.
Mason stared at the closed front door, realizing he hadn’t even told the guy thanks. For the pie or for the information about Slade getting dumped. Mason didn’t move from his place leaning against the counter for several moments. Then he began to clean up the dishes. He washed the glasses, plates, and forks, then dried them with a dishcloth.
So Livvy had dumped Slade.
It wouldn’t change anything for Mason though. He’d still be finished with his book in a few weeks, and he’d still be returning to San Diego. Livvy would probably start dating another doctor... Or maybe her fantasy had been blown wide enough apart that she’d date someone like Dawson.
Mason dried his hands and put the half-eaten pie into the fridge. What Livvy did or didn’t do was no longer his business. He flipped off the kitchen lights and went back into the great room. Picking up his phone from the coffee table, he checked for any missed calls or texts. Nothing.
He turned on the fireplace, then booted up his laptop. He scrolled back through the last pages he’d typed up. He was glad he’d moved past the handwriting stage. Too slow. The sooner he was done with the book, the better.
The words came slowly, but they were coming, and Mason was startled out of a half-conscious existence when his phone rang. “Hi, Jolene,” he said into the phone.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” she said. “How is everything going?”
“Fine. Ate some pie. Now I’m writing.”
“Really?” The relief in her voice was palpable. “That’s great, Mason. Anything I can help you with?”
“No, I’m good.” Mason paused. “How was your Thanksgiving?”
“Chaotic,” Jolene said with a laugh. “Uncle Bill nearly choked on his food. My aunt dropped the turkey when she was carrying it to the table. Two of my cousins got into a fight about which season of Supernatural is the best. Usual stuff.”
Mason smiled. “Sounds like a fun night.”
“Definitely memorable,” Jolene mused. “Hey, I got an email today from the owner of the cabin. He’s wondering if you’ll still be leaving before Christmas or if you need to extend. He has another person interested in renting during the Christmas season.”
“You can tell him I’ll be out before Christmas,” Mason said.
After hanging up with Jolene, Mason returned to his story. The words came faster now, but his mind was only half in it. Mason wasn’t complaining about his Thanksgiving, and Jolene’s sounded like it was something he could have passed on. But he was sure Livvy considered hers a bust. She hadn’t gone home to her family. As far as he knew, she’d gone with Slade, but then what had happened to make her dump him?
Had she dumped Slade before the dinner? At the dinner? After? The fact that Slade had been at the hospital in the first place might be another clue.
Mason closed his eyes as he wondered what Livvy might be going through right now. Her roommate was out of town. Maybe she was hanging out with her friend Felicity. Or maybe she was alone at home. Mason exhaled. Whatever Livvy was doing, it wasn’t his business. He refocused on the laptop screen.
By 10:00 p.m., he’d written eight more pages, but he was losing his concentration. Sure, he was tired, but he’d pushed through exhaustion plenty of times.
He wondered what Livvy might say if he called her. Just to check up on her. Would she tell him about the breakup? Would she even answer her phone?
There was only one way to find out.