I trudged up the front path, the burden of the day sitting on my shoulders. Sure, I wasn’t a quitter, but I wasn’t exactly the most positive person in the world at the moment.

I’d covered just about every diner in town, every restaurant and bar, and none of them were looking for a chef or a fry cook or anything similar. Slim pickings. The worst part was, I was pretty much sure that the main reason they weren’t looking was because it was me asking.

“You’re just being paranoid because of Louisiana Barbie,” I muttered, and tramped up the front steps.

I was in the mood for a tall glass of cheap wine and something delicious to eat. Food had been the cure for what ailed me since I was a kid, and that had naturally developed into a passion for cooking later on.

I brought out my keys, inserted one into the lock, and lifted my head. A note waited for me, tacked to the wood with my name scrawled across the front.

My heart tha-thumped in my chest. I removed the note slowly, savoring the feel of the paper under my fingertips. Perhaps my day was about to get a little bit better.

I flipped it open, a smile parting my lips.

I’ve been thinking about you for so long, I don’t remember thinking about anything else.

So sue me—this friendship thing is hard.

If you agree, or hell, if you just want to blow off some steam after a long, hard day, come out back to the river.

There’s a special something waiting for you.

Your Secret Admirer

If my heart had been skipping beats before, it was nothing compared to now. What was Mason playing at? It had to be him—I didn’t know anyone else in town who’d do this type of thing.

“There’s only one way to find out,” I muttered and let myself into the house.

I made quick work of taking a shower and throwing on some understated clothes and a dash of mascara, then did as the note had asked and stepped out my back door. Dusk crept across the lawn in lavenders and grays, coloring the last of the day in peace.

The distant flicker of candlelight drew my focus, and I chewed the inside of my cheek.

There, down by the river—hopefully not in alligator range—stood a broad-shouldered man holding something. Below him, a picnic blanket waited with a lantern sitting at its center and tiny candles all around its perimeter.

I restrained the whoop of joy in my gut and strode down the back steps and across the yard, managing not to wring my hands nervously like this was a date. Sure looks like a date.

“Glad you made it,” Mason said, as I halted just off the blanket. He held out a glass of wine, and I accepted it. “I figured you’d need some chill time tonight.”

“Mason, this is—”

“Completely inappropriate and out of the blue? I know, right?” He chuckled, holding out a hand.

I took it, kicked off my flats, and took a step over the little candle boundary to join him on the checked blanket. “I was thinking fire hazard, actually.”

“The candles? We can blow some of them out if it bothers you.” Mason set about putting out candles with two bare fingers. Even that was sexy, goddammit.

I lowered myself to the picnic blanket and cleared my throat. “Thank you for this,” I said, “but you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble. You’re taking the neighborly thing to a whole new level.”

Mason snorted. “You and I both know the neighborly ship sailed long ago.” He sat down beside me, tilted a glass toward mine and the rims chinked together. “I give a shit about you, Becca. About what happens to you, and it seems to me like you’re having a hard time lately. I just wanted to make you feel better.”

You make me feel so much more than better. So much more.

“Thanks,” I said and looked out at the river, taking a sip of my wine. “News sure travels fast in Stoneport. How’d you know I was having a rough day?”

“Patients, people, that kind of thing. If it’s worth talking about in Stoneport, it’s already been spread around and reworded a million times.” He set down his glass and rubbed one massive hand over the other. “The job hunt’s not going so well?”

Under any other circumstance, the question would’ve seemed intrusive, but Mason was so well meaning, so sweet, and being such a good…friend that it didn’t bother me. I nodded and swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s OK,” I said, “I’ll figure something out. Starrs don’t quit. That’s the sibling motto, you know?” Kieran had hated it whenever I said that. Maybe he’d been threatened by it.

“Nice. Look, I want to help you out here,” Mason said and took my hand. He stroked those thick fingers over mine, drawing goosebumps wherever he touched. “I’ve got an opportunity for you that might help you out. The receptionist at work is going on maternity leave in a few weeks, and we need someone to stand in for her. You can start tomorrow if you like, learn the ropes, and earn some money on the side while you wait for something to open up here. Pay’s relatively good.”

I stared at him, stunned, and drew my hand out of his grip. “Mason, I don’t know if that would be a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“You’re offering me this while we’re sitting on a checked blanket surrounded by candlelight, under the stars, drinking wine. I mean, this is more than a friendly move, if you know what I mean, and after the other day…” Don’t think about the other day. Don’t think about jumping him right now.

“I get that,” Mason said. “But this is a solution. So, no harm, no foul.”

“There’s potential for a lot of foul. I just—I don’t think it would be right. I’ve got some experience with this kind of thing.”

“How so?” He scooched around on the blanket, looking at me full-on, one arm resting on his raised knee. The scent of his cologne was too much—not overpowering, per se, just too much for me to handle, right now.

“I—fuck.”

“If you insist.” He cracked a smile, and I swatted him on the arm.

“This is difficult for me to talk about, but—well, shit. OK. Before I came to Stoneport, I was engaged,” I said and swallowed hard. My pulse raced. I was actually telling this damn story. I’d sworn I never would, that I’d keep it buried, no matter what my therapist had said. It made me feel weak and dumb, every part of it.

“Go on,” Mason said, though his smile had vanished. His eyes flashed by the light of our lantern. Was he jealous?

“I was engaged,” I repeated. “His name was Kieran, and he was a chef. A sous chef in our restaurant. Things were great for a while, and then, all of a sudden, they weren’t so great anymore. Kieran was—he was vocal in his disapproval of things I did. Gaslighting, I think they call it. Manipulation. He tried making me feel small, which goes against everything I believe about myself, and I didn’t put up with it. That led to a lot of fights.”

Mason nodded, silent. I had his full attention, and it soothed me, strangely.

“It came to a head the weekend after I’d been out of town attending a conference—culinary management stuff, you know. Bunch of restaurateurs get together and rub shoulders, network. So, I came home and found him in bed with someone else.”

“Last straw,” Mason growled.

“Exactly. So, I kicked him out of the house.” I inhaled sharply. You can do it. It was months ago. You can do it. “This part is really tough for me to talk about. I hate, hate, hate seeming weak, so excuse me if my voice quivers or something embarrassing like that.”

He reached out and took my hand, squeezed it gently. Warmth pulsed through me, a mixture of arousal and comfort. A mix I hadn’t felt before. “I got you,” Mason said.

“A few weeks later, I was in the restaurant,” I said and gulped again. “I’d already been to see my lawyer about the equitable division of the restaurant and how to go about that. See, things were complicated. When we first opened it, I was low on cash, and Kieran floated the capital. He did the business side of things, sorted out insurance, opened the bank account, and so on and so forth. As it happened, the restaurant was registered in his name and his alone. Sole proprietor.”

“What? How?” Mason frowned, still holding my hand. “Surely you signed papers jointly to open it.”

“I did,” I replied. “I just never signed them at a bank or in front of anyone else. Kieran brought the copies to me, I read through them, carefully, and signed them. I trusted him, and I can only assume that he screwed me by trashing the documents and doing it all himself.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I was determined to fight it out in court. I poured blood, sweat, and tears into that restaurant. The menu was totally unique, and I was proud of it.” I squeezed his hand tightly. “As I said, a few weeks after the whole cheating incident, I was in the kitchen after work, whipping up something for myself before I headed home. It was quiet, I was alone. A fire started in the building. I was trapped. Firefighters saved me.”

“Jesus Christ.”

I fought back memories of what’d happened. “So. So, it turned out that the fire had been arson. Someone had set it. I don’t know if the insurance ever paid out, but if they did, I naturally didn’t get any part of it. And I had nothing left. The restaurant was damaged beyond repair. Kieran refused to fix it or to talk about steps forward for the business. Worse, a lot of the people I’d rubbed shoulders with in the past thought I’d set the fire to claim insurance. It didn’t matter that there was no evidence to suggest I’d done it. My life in New York was pretty much over.”

“So you moved down here,” Mason said.

“The opportunity presented itself, and I took it.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Wow, it feels kinds nice, actually, having spoken about that. I haven’t with anyone except my therapist back in NYC. It feels good. Thank you.”

He let go of my hand, and, a second later, firm arms wrapped around me. He dragged me into his lap and positioned me on it, straddling him, then enveloped me in a bear hug, pressing his nose to my ear and inhaling. “You’re the strongest woman I know,” he said.

I swallowed the emotion clogging my throat. It wouldn’t go down. Tears threatened, but I held them back. I wasn’t weepy. I wasn’t.

Mason cupped my face in both hands and drew me back from him. Our gazes met, and he searched mine, then trailed his over my face, down to my lips, to my ears, my nose, my cheeks, and back up to my eyes. “Let me help you. You’re strong, angelface, but I’m stronger, and I’ll make sure that you never have to experience that type of shit again.”

“Don’t make me any promises,” I said.

“All I’m promising you is a job. Tomorrow morning. Show up dressed in those tight little pants and that cute blouse.” He drew me closer and brushed a kiss across my lips. Fire sprouted through my center and I clung to him. Finally, he broke the kiss, brushed the hair back from my face, stroking my cheek as he did. “I’d better head out. If I don’t, it’s going to be damn difficult to keep my focus at work tomorrow.”

Mason kissed me once more on the cheek then lifted me and set me aside on the blanket. “There’s food too, if you’re hungry,” he said, his voice choked. The outline of his dick pressing against his jeans was plain by the lantern light. “I’ll carry the picnic basket up to the house for you and clean up the rest of this stuff. You go inside and relax.”

“I can help,” I said and rose.

“Fuck it, Becca, I know you can, but if you stay, I’m going to strip you and fuck you under the stars. Go.”

I stood, staring at him, flushed from head to toe, my pussy pounding out the beat of my heart.

Mason cast me one last, hard glance. “Go. Now.”

I turned my back on him and hurried up to the house, barely clinging to the last vestiges of my control.