Chapter Fifteen
“Wake up, old man,” Mason said, kicking the slippers sticking out from under the shiny black GTO.
“I’m not asleep.” Mac slid out from under the car, clutching a sparkling clean crescent wrench.
“We all know you come out here to get away from Mom and nap. I’m not in the mood to argue.” Mason stalked to the fridge, pulled out two beers, and handed one to his father once he righted himself.
“I have to go somewhere. Ever since she retired and started taking care of Rianna, it’s nothing but work in there.” Mac jammed his thumb toward the house. “You don’t have kids, so you don’t know.”
And at this rate he never would. “Dad, they’re shopping. No one is in the house.”
Mac raised his beer. “But they’ll be back.” The old man smiled, a lone dimple appearing in his left cheek.
Mason took a long draw from his beer and got down to business. “Did Mom tell you what she said to Hannah?”
Mac took a swallow and reached across his workbench, finding a pot of wax and a rag. “Why don’t you ask your mother?”
Mason leaned his elbows on the workbench and watched his father begin to polish what could only be dust from the fender. “She’s not here, and you are. And don’t bother telling me to wait for her. I’m asking you.”
Mac peered at the paint on the fender as if it held the meaning of life. “MJ doesn’t think Hannah knows you very well.”
Neither did Hannah, but he disagreed. “She didn’t know your marital history, but she obviously knows me better than Mom. What did she say exactly?”
“Hannah won’t tell you?” Mac replaced the wax and grabbed a few cotton swabs.
“She won’t tell me what Mom said to upset her.” Not that he’d asked. And now he couldn’t. He had to give her some breathing room, even if it killed him.
“MJ means well, son. She’s just worried you’re taking things more seriously than Hannah is. She simply said that if Hannah wasn’t in love with you, she should tell you.”
Mason lowered his eyes and shook his head. Hannah barely trusted her instincts as it was, to openly have them challenged must have been a real blow. No wonder she’d been so upset.
“So did she?” Mac asked as he wiped a cotton swab across an immaculate wheel.
“Hannah loves me, Dad. I’m not worried about that.” And he wasn’t, though he realized for the first time she hadn’t said it back, hadn’t said it at all.
“So now what?” Mac turned his attention to the headlamp.
Mason shrugged. “Now I wait for her to figure out what she wants.”
“This girl of yours sure spooks easy. She’ll have to get used to MJ. The woman won’t put on kid gloves for anyone.”
“She’ll be fine once she realizes she can trust herself. I just have to be patient.”
Mac turned to look at him and arched an eyebrow. “Can you do that?”
He wasn’t so sure. Last night, he had wanted to throw her to the floor and illustrate the difference between having sex and making love. Prove his point and move on with the conversation. But one look in her pale eyes, and he’d known he had to tread carefully. She needed to choose him for herself even more than he needed to be chosen.
“I’m giving her a week.”
…
He wasn’t imagining it. Someone was definitely moving around downstairs in Hannah’s apartment. He sat up on the bed and listened closer. At first he thought he’d been dreaming, hallucinating a reason to go downstairs and apologize, though he’d meant every word he’d said. But then he looked at the clock and realized there was no way she’d be home.
His bare feet slipped onto the floor in silence. He’d changed to sweatpants and a T-shirt when he’d come back from his volunteer shift this morning. Not that his mind had slowed enough for him to sleep.
His breath caught as he heard something again. A door slamming maybe? He checked the clock again. It was only three in the afternoon, the earliest she’d be home was eight, though ten was more likely. And Kate was still in Klamath Falls.
Maybe she was sick, a cold, the flu, or just feeling awful about the ugliness that had gone on between them. He walked to the kitchen and opened a cupboard to grab her jasmine tea and the cocoa mix she liked but then stopped. She needed some reason to come back upstairs.
On his way out the door, he spied the tiny black box sitting on a stack of magazines on the coffee table. His palms were suddenly damp. Hannah might not know what she wanted, but Mason was sure. Maybe if she knew how serious he was about them. He shoved the box in his pocket and tried to pretend he hadn’t broken out in a cold sweat.
He crept out of his apartment and down the stairs. He wished he had a key. Then he could just walk in and surprise her, or the burglar. He rapped softly on the door and listened, but no response came.
What if it wasn’t Hannah moving about? He slowly twisted the knob until it caught. Locked. With all the fireproofing tape he’d jammed in the doorframe, it would hurt like hell to break it in. Plus, that would really piss her off. He let out an angry huff of breath and settled for spooking the cat burglar out a window. He’d wait for Hannah to come home and scope the place out then.
He beat the door with the side of his fist. “Hannah! Kate!” Maybe it was that jerk of a brother-in-law. “Whoever is in there, open the door!” He’d like to get a few swings at that guy.
He listened as footsteps approached. He thought about covering the peephole with his thumb but crossed his arms across his chest instead. The door swung open, and Mason cringed.
Hannah’s father leveled his gaze. “I wish I could say it’s nice to see you again, Mason, but given the circumstances I’m sure you’ll understand. What are you doing banging on my daughter’s door?”
Mason wished he’d spent more time schmoozing her father and less time charming her mother. “I live right upstairs, and I heard you moving around. Kate is out of town, and Hannah won’t be home until at least eight. I thought someone might have broken in.”
“You routinely listen to the happenings in Hannah’s apartment?”
Mason reminded himself her father had every right to be concerned. “No, sir. I’ve just been on edge because of the cards and the incident in the parking lot.”
The older man narrowed his gaze. “The cards you’re sending her.”
Mason fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I didn’t drop the cards. They upset me more than Hannah anyway. She’s convinced it’s just a neighbor playing a prank.”
“But you disagree?”
“I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Me, either.” The older man stepped out of the doorway and motioned Mason inside. “Call me John. I’d offer you something to drink, but her fridge is pretty bare.”
“That’s good. It means she’s eating something that doesn’t come out of a vending machine. She’s almost finished the oranges I left.”
Her father watched intently as Mason checked the citrus and tossed a soft one in the garbage.
“You don’t mind doing her grocery shopping?”
Damn, here it comes. “I like cooking, she likes eating. It works out great.”
“Hannah always hated cooking. She was always more interested in my business magazines than her mother’s recipe books.”
Mason smiled. He could see that. “Hannah told me she used to wake up early just to talk to you about business.”
“She remembers that?” The man’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “She was so little. That stopped when she was about ten and I started staying in town during the week.” John shook his head. “She’s such a smart girl. I don’t know how she got stuck working at a mall.”
Mason took a deep breath. Yes, this is definitely where she got it. “She manages a multimillion-dollar department store. It takes a lot of intelligence to juggle all she does. She has to manage the staff, the freight, the merchandising, the sales volume, and a million other things I only pretend to understand.”
John knit his brows together. Mason hoped he finally realized how hard Hannah worked. “We have reservations at Chez Nous for dinner on Hannah’s birthday. You should come.”
Mason nodded, unsure what to say. When they’d played twenty questions, Hannah had gone on and on about how she hated it. “French food?”
John nodded. “My wife read a write-up in one of her magazines.”
Mason bit his lip and then decided to risk it. It was Hannah’s birthday after all. “Hannah doesn’t like French food. She likes spicy ethnic or comfort food.”
The older man raised an eyebrow. “We went to a French restaurant last year for her birthday.”
“Did she eat?” Mason was willing to bet a year’s salary on the answer. Hannah thought a chef was trying to hide something if he covered food in a heavy sauce or decorated the plate.
John shook his head. “Actually, she said she wasn’t feeling well, and Kate took her home early.”
Mason nodded as both men fought smiles. “I have an idea of what she’d like, but there is something I need to talk to you about first.”
…
No tea. Hannah slammed the cupboard door with all the strength she could muster after eight hours of sleep in the last three days. She closed tonight so she didn’t have to be at work for another hour and a half. All she wanted was to sit and sip a nice cup of tea before she got ready. And even that was too much to ask.
She plopped her butt on the couch. A dozen kinds of tea were tucked away in one of Mason’s cupboards upstairs. She still had a key. He’d given it to her when he’d asked her to stay. Just last week. And she’d memorized his schedule, knew she had at least an hour until his shift ended.
The entire procedure would probably take all of ninety seconds. She could even leave his key on the counter. The thought sat in her belly like lead. It would be easier to give it back than have him ask for it. But giving it back would be an opportunity to talk to him, to talk him into giving them another shot.
She’d been pushing him away from the moment they’d met. Only he was stronger, pulling her closer each time. Until she’d finally pushed so hard he had no choice but to let go.
Everything about the way he made her feel terrified her. You were supposed to fall in love slowly, to ease into it. But Mason McNally had hit her full force from the first second. Even when she’d thought he was all wrong.
She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d dropped her off on Thanksgiving. They’d both worked the next day, so it was easy to write off the silence. And she had no idea what to say or do.
He was right. It was much easier for her to communicate with him when they were naked, when she felt his response. Her eyes felt heavy, full of tears. But she wasn’t going to cry about this again. Not when there was still hope. Her birthday was tomorrow. Maybe he’d let her apologize then.
Hannah pushed off the couch and propelled herself into the bathroom. She’d feel better after a shower. She went through her morning routine on autopilot. She shouldered her bag, locked the door, and set off for the coffee shop, focusing on the reward. Piping-hot tea and a fresh bagel.
She intended to take her breakfast with her and hop the train to work. Once she was at the store, she’d have no time for this self-indulgent pity party. But she recognized the writing group at their perch in the corner and decided to take a seat in the velvet armchair. Five minutes to eat her bagel and lose herself in someone else’s problems.
“They won’t stop having sex.”
Hannah cringed at the overheard comment from the perky brunette she’d met before. Once she’d slept with Mason, he’d become like a drug. She just couldn’t get her fill of him.
“I set out to write romance, but I’ve ended up with erotica.”
“Maybe it’s erotic romance.”
Hannah made a mental note to Google erotic romance later and shoved a chunk of bagel in her mouth to keep herself from asking for recommendations.
“What I have is a hefty pile of sludge and smut. Not publishable. But it got my word count to fifty thousand before midnight. A National Novel Writing Month winner. I finished a novel, and that’s what’s important.”
Hannah smiled and leaned back in the overstuffed chair. She was proud of these ladies for seeing something through to completion. It took dedication not to run scared when things got too tough.
“I want us all to keep in touch, even though the project is over. My address and phone number are in the cards this time. I want to know how everyone fares editing their work.” There was a collective gasp from the group. Hannah stuffed her cheeks with the last of her bagel to keep herself from turning around. Enough snooping.
“You’re so naughty.” Hannah recognized the brunette’s voice. “I love that about you. Silk stockings by the chimney. Too funny.”
“This one is good, but I still like the Santa-hat one the best. Or the man wearing it.” Hannah’s heart stalled in her chest. She knew that card. She tried to chew, to swallow. But her mouth had gone dry, turning the bagel to glue in her mouth.
“I thought the handcuffed Christmas tree was the best. Shackled to the season.”
Oh God. The same cards. Hannah swigged some tea into her mouth to help get the paste down. Even with the bagel stuck in her mouth, the tea scalded her tongue.
“I’m glad you liked them,” the older woman carrying her dog in a papoose said. “I have one last errand to run. Same time next year?”
Hannah almost choked, but she swallowed the brick and rose from her chair just in time to see the woman walk out the door. Hannah followed, trying to think of just what to do, what to say when she caught up with her. The woman looked about as menacing as a fruit fly.
Hannah halted her pursuit as she watched the woman punch the code and enter a building, her building. Would she drop another card? Hannah wanted to catch her red-handed. Ask her just what she thought she was doing.
Hannah stomped up to the door, punched the code, and marched up the stairs. One flight, two. The woman was fast.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Hannah called out as a red envelope fluttered to the ground in front of her door.
“I was just…oh, you’re the one.”
“Yes, I’m the one who’s been getting your anonymous cards.” Hannah stepped closer and snatched the envelope.
“You? You’re living with him already? That was quick. Not that I blame you.”
“Excuse me?”
“The fireman.”
“Firefighter. Firemen are the guys who load coal on trains.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Hannah shook her head, finding her indignation again. “Why do you think we live together? Forget it, I don’t want to know. Why have you been leaving those cards?”
“The cards? I pass them out to everyone I know. I got them for research. I’m a novelist, you see, and my story is about a greeting-card writer and a photographer.”
Hannah narrowed her eyes, weighing the woman’s animated words. She seemed excited, like she had nothing in the world to hide.
“I modeled one of the characters after the fireman, er, firefighter. I recognized him from the building when he came into the coffee shop. He inspired me. When I saw him later that day, I watched him check his mail.”
“Wait a minute, you live here?” Hannah felt anxious and relieved at the same time. Knowing where the woman lived could help Mason’s brother investigate, just to make sure nothing funny was going on.
“Yes, on the first floor. I thought I’d slip a card under the door. But now his door seems to be stuck.”
“My door. I live here.” She stopped short of telling the woman Mason lived upstairs. She looked innocuous, but she was a bit obsessed.
“Oh, how coincidental.”
Hannah put her hands on her hips. “My entire family thinks he’s terrorizing me.”
The woman arched a bushy eyebrow. “Oh, I’ll have to work that in during the rewrite.”
“Hannah?” That familiar flutter in her stomach started up. How she’d missed that. “What’s going on?”
She turned to face him. He was just getting home from work, his duffle in hand. Her mouth watered at the sight. Mason’s expression was hopeful behind his tired eyes.
“I got another card.” She waved the red envelope in the air. “Actually, they’re for you.”
His expression fell. “What? Is there a message this time?” Mason glanced past her at the older woman.
“I haven’t opened it. I know who’s dropping them.”
His eyes widened. “You do?”
She’d figured it out all by herself. No one needed to fix it for her. She smiled and nodded.
“Hello, I’m Margaret. We met at the coffee shop.”
Mason nodded, his brows scrunching. “You dropped the cards? To make it look like I was stalking her?”
Her thin lips twisted in response. “No, of course not. I wanted to make you think you had an admirer, turn the tables a bit. I dropped a card or two on my way back from the write-ins. I was hoping for inspiration. But I got the apartment wrong.” She let out a sigh and stroked the head of her dog. “I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble.”
“I think you should go.” Mason stepped aside on the stairs. The woman nodded and slinked away, still smiling.
Hannah watched every step, listening intently so she could hear the door open and close at the bottom of the stairs. Should she be worried about Margaret? Was she stalking Mason or just lonely?
She turned to face him, still standing on the step below her. Eye to eye, just like at his parent’s house. How did she rewind what had happened and get them back to that moment, before everything had gone wrong? To hell with what people thought, she should have kissed him then like she’d wanted to.
Now, she wasn’t going anywhere. And neither was Mason, until she kissed him. Kissing is what they should always be doing, not worrying about besting their siblings’ relationship milestones. She licked her lips in anticipation.
Mason’s eyes darkened as if he read her mind. He shook his head. “You have to work, and we need to talk first.”
She played with the buttons on the front of his shirt. She had something she needed him to know, only she didn’t have the words. To hell with it. She fisted the front of his shirt and pulled him close. She kissed him hard and deep, letting her tongue massage his into understanding. She’d been drawn to him from the first time she saw him. Just like this. Her entire world had shifted the first time he’d kissed her. Something in her knew him, always had and always would. She was learning to listen to her instincts, she wondered if he heard it, too.
“Hannah.” He pulled her from him by the shoulders. “You’re going to be late for work.”
“But I just—”
“Just solved your stalker mystery. Congratulations.” Mason picked up his duffle again.
“Your stalker, technically.” Hannah reached for him, holding on to his jacket to keep some kind of connection. There had to be some way to make him see, to feel what she felt. How her soul had latched on to his that first time and would never ever let go. “Mason, please. I miss you.”
“I know the feeling.” His eyes were the same beautiful middle-of-the-ocean blue, but there was something different now, as if the light had gone out of them.
The hollow ache in her chest tightened, squeezing as she tried to breathe. In trying to keep her heart safe, she’d torn at his. She set her hand on his chest, needing to heal what she’d hurt. Her throat ached, too thick to do anything but whisper. “I’m sorry about Thanksgiving. I don’t know why I keep pushing you away when you’re the only place I want to be.”
Mason met her gaze and held it. She hoped he could read her thoughts, see all the ways they were good together. Her phone buzzed incessantly in her pocket, breaking the connection.
“Is that your time-for-work alarm?” He almost grinned, but not quite.
She checked her phone as another text from the store announced its arrival with a buzz. It didn’t look like anyone was dead or on fire, so she shoved it back in her pocket.
“It’s okay. You should go to work.”
“No, this is more important. You are more important.”
“I know, but this isn’t a conversation for a hallway. We’ll talk after you get off.”
She nodded, tension squeezing her shoulders. Hopefully, in the next few hours she could come up with a way for tonight to include as little conversation as possible.