Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
It’s not until after I pull away that I realize I might be making a horrible mistake. I don’t know what he wants to talk about, but I know that if he suggests some kind of fuck-buddy arrangement, I’m going to lose it.
Closure, I remind myself. That’s all he wants out of this.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
3
Mason’s fire-ravaged house was right on the beach, but the area he’s staying in right now is on a cliff above the ocean. The place next to his temporary home is massive, takes up half the block, and is damn near the size of a small hotel. I don’t have a great view of it due to the wall that runs the length of the property, but what I can see is pure luxury. I make a mental note to ask if it’s an ultra-exclusive club or something.
Pulling up to the gate at the address Mason gave me, I input the code. After the wrought iron swings open, I pull up the drive and park in front of a beautiful Spanish-style home. Uncomfortable with the idea of letting myself into a house I’ve never been in, I decide to stay in the car until Mason gets here. Taking my phone out of the holder on my dash, I shoot a text off to Carly.
I’m going to beat you silly.
When she doesn’t answer, I send another.
You can ignore me, but don’t kid yourself. I’m going to find you.
Giving up on hearing from her, I pull up the Woody Puzzle app and start a game. I’ve just started playing when Mason texts me.
Don’t sit in the driveway. Go inside.
Rolling my eyes, I text back. How do you know I’m not inside right now?
His answer comes thirty seconds later. Because I know you. Don’t sit in the car playing games on your phone. Go in.
I mutter something about frustrating men as I slide my phone into my purse and get out of the car. After entering the code at the door, I enter the house and look around. It’s a really nice, but pretty empty, place. I walk through the living room and the kitchen, noting the scant amount of brand-new furniture. There’s a dark gray leather sectional, a coffee table, and a large flat-screen in the living room. In the kitchen the furniture consists of four stools at the island. There’s a built-in banquet-style table in front of the kitchen window, but other than that, the place is a blank canvas.
Something about the kitchen space seems familiar, but I can’t put my finger on why that is since I know I’ve never been here before. Shrugging off the thought, I set my purse on the counter and take a seat on one of the stools to wait for Mason. The calm I’ve been trying to project is gone the moment I hear him come through the door.
When we sat at the island to eat, he seemed to realize that I needed a minute. The conversation during our meal is innocuous but cordial. It doesn’t matter, though—with every breath, I’m aware that the clock is ticking down to the talk he’s so insistent we have. I’m not uncomfortable with him physically, but the intensity of his stare grows more extreme with each passing minute, which makes me nervous. If I weren’t starving, I probably wouldn’t eat a thing.
Once we’re finished, he grabs our trash and then wipes off the counter. After I push in our stools, he gestures toward the back of the house.
“The yard is the best part of the house. Let’s talk out there.”
We walk from the kitchen and through a beautiful sunroom to get into the yard. Once we’re back there, I see what Mason meant. A dozen strands of Edison-style outdoor lights start from a spot a few feet above the elevated outdoor patio and run straight through to the wall at the rear of the yard. The lights give the space an almost magical quality. Stepping down from the patio, I’m taken by how inviting it all is. A pool rounds the area out, and the fountains that run along the back wall of the pool provide beautiful ambient noise.
Mason guides me to a small outdoor seating area made up of four chairs around a fire feature. As I take a seat, he turns the handle for the gas and then pulls a stick lighter from the side of the pit to light it. Once he’s finished, he sits in the chair to my right. My nerves come roaring back full force when he turns to face me and our eyes meet.
“I wish you’d been honest with me about why you broke things off.”
I wait for a follow-up, but he says nothing else.
“I thought I was?” I say, like it’s a question.