LAST NIGHT AFTER MASON AND I showered, he handed me one of his tee shirts to put on. Then he guided us to the deck just outside his bedroom, where we sat side by side, staring out at the lake. The night air was chilly, but I felt nothing but warmth from his presence.
Neither of us had much to say, but we never lost physical contact. My hand held in his and the memory of how we’d spent the hours before were enough to keep our minds distracted.
Later, I woke in Mason’s arms. The bedroom was dark.
He’d been sleeping when I crawled from his bed, reached to the floor to grab the shirt he gave me earlier and slid it on. I made my way to the bathroom, and as I’d hoped, he had an extra, unopened toothbrush in the cabinet under his sink.
I didn’t take time to reason why a gorgeous, single man, living alone, would have to have extra toothbrushes laying around. I chose to believe he was taking hygienic precaution. My heart sank for knowing better. I wasn’t the first woman to sleep in his bed. I took solace in knowing I was the first he loved there, though.
Once I finished cleaning up, I leaned into the bathroom basin. I was startled but surprised at my reflection.
The mirror told me what I didn’t need confirmed—I looked happy.
For the first time since Mason left this sleepy, nowhere place, there was nothing but selfish elation.
Of course, I’d been overjoyed the day each of my children were born. But this happiness was different.
For once, in a very long time, this happiness was mine. Just as I told him the truth when I got here. Mason had been mine, long before my life’s choices led me to where I am.
Being with him, I’d been reminded of the person I used to be.
With Mason, I’m not a Katherine Dyer, an obedient wife and caring mother.
I’m Katie Morris—a grown, carefree woman—having truly tasted life as an adult for the first time. A fun, smart, free spirit. As selfish and ridiculous as the notion may seem to others, I’m thankful for the reminder.
I’ve missed me.
As I stood in his room, watching him sleep, I took time to appreciate how beautiful, natural even, sleeping next to Mason had been.
How he’d held me when he slept, so tightly in his hold, as if he was afraid I’d be gone when he woke.
How when I’d manage so much as an inch of space between us, his arm would reach out in aimless search before hooking his hand around my waist, pulling me back in the spot where he felt I belonged—as close to him as I could be.
A place I decided years ago I wanted to be.
Mason and I need to have the tainted conversation, which keeps our adulterous affair as honest as one can be. I don’t know what comes after my marriage ends. With the guise of happy all but torn away from the girls, my priority stays on them.
“Something’s on your mind, baby,” Mason observes. “Talk to me.”
He’s sitting across the table, bare chested and sleepy-eyed. His hair is disheveled and his jaw has three days’ growth. But his contemplation is knowing.
Clearing my throat, I set my coffee cup down.
“Last night,” he starts, his voice coarse. “I won’t—”
“Last night was beautiful,” I give, not wanting our time together marred with empty excuses or apologies. “So beautiful.”
“Beautiful isn’t enough,” he returns, locking his gaze with mine and demanding an answer to his unasked question.
Am I staying?
“No,” I relay the truth. “Beautiful isn’t enough.”
“You’re not stayin’ with me,” he quietly surmises.
Shaking my head, my eyes sting with tears I manage to beat back. “I don’t know what I’m doing yet.”
I’ve thought about it. Thousands of times over the rocky years in my marriage, in fact. I imagined picking up the girls from school and going in search for him.
I’ve wondered what a life with Mason would bring for not only me, but them.
Somewhere I’ve always known if given the chance to know Mason as I do, Averie would adore him. And she does.
I also always knew, with the guarded walls she so carefully erected around her, Amelia would be a challenge. But eventually, I’d hope she’d see I was happy and come to be that for me.
“You’re thinking about Averie and Amelia,” he guesses. “As you should be.”
“Them, of course. But—”
“I can’t promise I’d be worth it,” he tells me, reaching over the table and placing only the tips of my fingers in his palm. “Breaking them from Thomas.”
I sit back and give Mason what I realized a long time ago. “Thomas broke all of us when he slept with Grace the first time.”
“I know that. Fuck, I always knew,” he agrees. “But you being who you are, it took longer to get there.”
“Being who I am?”
“Single-minded. Stubborn. Hard-headed…”
“Maybe you should stop talking.”
Back to subject, Mason says, “You loved me once.”
“I still do,” I assure.
His hand squeezes mine as he brings his coffee to his lips. I adjust in my chair, shifting to enjoy the view of him in a way I never have. His arms thick, the cords of his neck strained, the veins in his hands vast, and the broad chest I slept against last night hard.
Finally, all of this is mine for the taking, yet somehow I don’t know where to start.
“So, what now?” I question.
Mason smiles, twisted and cruel. “I’d like to date you,” he tells me.
Never expecting this solution, I laugh. “You’d like to date me?”
Mason’s expression is serious. He searches my eyes and my smile falls.
“I’m going to take you out. Hold your hand across the table. I’ll pay for your dinner. Then I’m going to drive you home. I’m going to kiss you goodnight, then you’re going to agree to let me do that all again.”
“You want to date me,” I whisper to myself.
To be honest, I’m surprised. I thought being as he’s always been, Mason would be set to move me in his home before the divorce had been filed. I figured he’d have the girls nestled in their own rooms, doing this with or without their consent.
“I’m not sure I should say yes,” I tease. “You’re so much older than me. And don’t date, remember?”
Mason relaxes. Another smile, this one sinister. “You don’t want to date, fine. I’ll drive us to an open field. I’ll park, lay you out in the back. Then I’ll give you beer and fuck you ‘til you ache. And this time we’ll do it in daylight, so I don’t miss the look on your face when I come inside you.”
That sounds perfect.
“You don’t have a truck,” I prompt.
Mason misses nothing. He leans across the small table until he’s so close I smell the soap he used in the shower last night.
“Finish your coffee, baby,” he requests. “For now, it’ll be fun to improvise.”