Page 2 of Love, Clumsily (Fur Real Love #2)
The first time I spotted Mason after the Great Pasta Salad Disaster, I assumed it was coincidence.
I mean, Pine Haven isn’t exactly a metropolis—it has one main street, three restaurants if you count the gas station that sells questionable hot dogs, and a population that could fit comfortably in a medium-sized movie theater.
So when I walked into The Daily Grind, the town’s only coffee shop, and saw him hunched over a table in the corner, I wasn’t particularly surprised. What did surprise me was his reaction when he noticed me.
His eyes widened to comic proportions. He jerked in his seat so violently that his enormous forearm sent his coffee cup flying, splashing dark liquid across the table and directly onto the laptop of the woman sitting nearby.
The ensuing chaos—Mason’s profuse apologies, the woman’s irritation, his clumsy attempts to help that only made things worse—was both painful and hilarious to watch.
I ordered my coffee and left quickly, feeling his eyes burning into my back the entire time.
The second time was at the local grocery store.
I was contemplating the merits of different pasta shapes (my culinary range is limited but specific) when I sensed someone nearby.
Turning, I found Mason frozen in the middle of the aisle, clutching a basket containing nothing but an alarming amount of meat and what appeared to be five gallons of milk.
“Hi,” I said, because what else do you say to your human bulldozer acquaintance?
“Hi,” he replied, his deep voice almost a whisper. He shuffled his feet and adjusted his grip on the basket, muscles flexing beneath his too-tight henley. “How’s your… um… are you okay? After I…?” He made a vague crashing motion with his free hand.
“My dignity is bruised, but I’ll live,” I said, the corner of my mouth quirking up.
He laughed—a rich, warm sound that did inexplicable things to my insides—and then abruptly stopped, like he’d surprised himself.
“I’m really sorry about your lunch,” he said, taking a half-step closer before seeming to think better of it. “I’m not usually so…” He gestured at himself.
“Bulldozer-like?” I supplied helpfully.
His cheeks colored slightly. “I was going to say clumsy, but yeah, that works too.”
We stood in awkward silence, the sexual tension thick enough to spread on toast. At least, it felt like sexual tension to me—maybe he was just deeply uncomfortable and plotting his escape.
“Well, I should let you get back to your…” He glanced at my basket. “Pasta decision.”
“And I shouldn’t keep you from your… carnivorous needs,” I replied, nodding at his basket of what now appeared to be exclusively protein.
Another one of those surprised laughs burst from him. “It’s not all for me,” he said, then immediately looked like he regretted it.
“Feeding a small army? Or just meal prepping very enthusiastically?”
“Something like that,” he mumbled, then took a step backward. “I’ll see you around, Julian Parker.”
The way he said my name—like he was tasting it—sent a shiver down my spine.
It wasn’t until he’d disappeared around the corner that I realized I’d never actually told him my surname during our bench collision. Which meant he’d either asked around town about me, or he had an eerily good memory for the names of people he accidentally assaulted with his body.
The third time was the charm. I was walking along the nature trail that wound behind my cabin, enjoying the early evening air and the sounds of the forest, when I rounded a bend and nearly walked straight into a solid wall of muscle.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” I said, steadying myself on a nearby tree. “My health insurance doesn’t cover repeated collision injuries.”
Mason was dressed in running clothes—shorts that displayed thighs like tree trunks and a sweat-dampened t-shirt that clung to every defined muscle of his torso. His dark hair was damp at the temples, and a light sheen of sweat made his skin glow in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.
Christ, he’s beautiful, I thought, suddenly very aware of my own worn jeans and casual button-up.
“I swear I’m not following you,” he blurted, then winced. “That sounded exactly like something a stalker would say.”
I laughed. “Are you always this smooth?”
“Only around you, apparently.” His honesty was disarming. “I usually have at least basic coordination and social skills.”
“I find that hard to believe,” I teased, leaning against the tree and crossing my arms. “So far I’ve seen you tackle an innocent bystander, cause a coffee tsunami, and now accost hikers on woodland paths.”
Instead of being offended, he smiled—a genuine, breathtaking smile that transformed his whole face. “When you put it that way, I sound like a menace to society.”
“The most attractive menace I’ve ever encountered,” I said before I could stop myself.
His eyes widened, and for a split second, I could have sworn they flashed gold in the sunlight. Must have been a trick of the light.
“I—you—” He stopped, took a deep breath. “Would you maybe want to have dinner with me? To make up for the pasta salad? And the almost-collision just now? And my general… me-ness?”
The hopeful look on his face was so endearing that even if I hadn’t already been intensely attracted to him, I would have said yes just to avoid disappointing him.
“I’d like that,” I said. “Though to be clear, I’m saying yes because I want to have dinner with you, not because you owe me for any collateral damage.”
The smile that spread across his face was like watching the sun come out. “Tonight? I mean, if you’re free? There’s a decent place in town—Sullivan’s—unless you’d prefer something else? Or another night? Or never mind, this is probably too—”
“Mason,” I interrupted his spiral gently. “Sullivan’s sounds perfect. Tonight sounds perfect. Seven o’clock?”
He nodded, seeming almost dazed by his own success. “Seven. Yes. I’ll be there. I’ll try not to knock over any tables.”
“I’d appreciate that,” I said, pushing off from the tree. As I moved past him to continue my walk, I caught that scent again—earthy and wild, with something underneath I couldn’t identify. “See you tonight.”
I felt his eyes on me as I walked away and resisted the urge to put a little extra sway in my step. Barely.