Page 9 of Shattered Promise

I shouldn’t notice that. But I do. And when I glance away, it’s not because I’m embarrassed—it’s becauseJesus Christ, that shouldn’t be so hot.

What is going on with me?

I need to get laid. Or maybe just touched. I read a romance novel once where the heroine didn’t realize she was touch-starved until she started cataloguing every time the hero so much as grazed her hand. I didn’t get it at the time. But I think I do now.

“How long are you in town for?” he asks, voice lower now. Intimate.

I shake my head. “Just the weekend. I fly back tonight.”

His jaw ticks—barely—but I catch it anyway. Something twists low in my stomach, uncertain and sharp-edged.

“I’ve been making more of an effort, though,” I add, shifting the plastic lid on my drink. “Coming home more often, seeing the family. They’re all paired off now, married or close enough, and I don’t know…” I exhale. “I guess I don’t want to miss anything.”

Mason nods slowly, something unreadable settling behind his eyes. “Yeah. I get that.”

His voice has softened again, and it makes my heart squeeze in a way that has nothing to do with nostalgia. I realize I haven’t asked the one thing I meant to.

“How’s Theo?” I ask. “I was hoping to see him. He’s kind of a celebrity in my camera roll now, thanks to you.”

Mason’s whole face shifts—brighter, warmer. “He’s with my mom today. She’s squeezing in every last minute before she heads to Crestwood. It’s Callum's final regular season game, and if they make it through regionals, they've got a shot at the Frozen Four.”

I hum under my breath. “Hockey, right? Any games near here?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. Different district. But he’s got a shot at regionals this year, so she’s doing the full hockey-mom Airbnb circuit.”

There’s a pause. It's not awkward, but charged. The kind that feels like something unsaid is floating in the space between us.

“Well, if you ever need someone to hang with Theo . . .” My voice trails off as I realize how that sounds. Too eager. I resist the urge to wince.

Mason glances down at me, smile barely-there and hard to read. “From Seattle?”

I blink once, flustered.Damn that dimple.“Right. Yeah. I mean, if I’m in town.”

His expression doesn’t shift, but something behind his eyes does. He doesn’t say yes. But he doesn’t say no either.

“Will I see you at my parents’ tonight?” I ask after a beat.

He shakes his head, gaze flicking to the specials chalkboard behind the counter. “Dinner plans with my mom. Figured I’d give her one more quiet night before she’s sleeping on hockey arena benches.”

“Right.”

I hook my thumb over my shoulder, retreat already in motion. “Anyway, I better get to Fiction & Folklore. Francesca’s waiting for me. Something about a book club.”

“Of course.” His voice is quiet now. A little rough. His gaze skims my face again, like he’s memorizing me. “It was really good to see you, Abby.”

“Yeah.” My voice is soft too. “You too.”

I take a slow step backward, a small smile pulling at my mouth. “See you around, Mason.”

His mouth opens like he might say something. But he doesn’t.

We don’t say goodbye. We never really do.

But when I glance back, just before I reach the door, he’s still standing there. Watching me like he almost said something.

And didn’t.

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