Page 39 of Making It Burn

By the time I finished eating, the diner had filled up a bit—post-church crowd, families with kids, couples reading the Sunday paper.Normal people living normal lives, untangled from workplace complications and midnight panic attacks.

I paid my bill, left Cheri a generous tip, and headed back out into the cold.

My phone stayed silent the entire walk home.

Back in my apartment, I stood in my kitchen, looking at that perfectly organized spice rack, and let myself think about it.Really think about it.

Mason was right.

We worked together.We were on the same case—a massive, career-defining case.Getting involved, letting whatever this thing was between us actually become something — that was risky.It could blow up the case, our working relationship, and possibly our careers.

And Mason was already so tightly wound, so controlled, so determined to do everything perfectly.Adding a relationship—especially one that started with drunken kisses in gay bars—that was just asking for disaster.

I pulled out my phone and typed a message: You were right.Last night was a mistake.Let’s just focus on the case.

My finger hovered over send.

I thought about Cheri, about counting blessings.About the fact that I’d moved across the country to live authentically, and to build a life that felt real instead of performative.

I thought about how Mason had kissed me—like he’d been waiting his whole life to let go, just for a moment.

I deleted the message.

But I didn’t type a new one.

Instead, I tossed my phone on the couch and stood there, caught between wanting to respect Mason’s panic and wanting to fight for something that had felt, for those few perfect minutes, absolutely right.

“Damn it,” I whispered to my empty apartment.

Mason was probably right.We should just focus on the case, keep things professional, and pretend last night never happened.

But God, I wished things were different.

I wished we didn’t work together, or that the universe had better timing.

I wished I could stop replaying that kiss, stop feeling the ghost of his hands on my back, stop hearing the way he’d breathed my name like it meant something.

My phone buzzed.

I lunged for it, heart pounding.

It was my mom asking if I’d remembered to send my cousin a birthday card.

I dropped the phone back onto the couch and headed to my bedroom.

Maybe we’d talk about it, and figure out how to move forward.Or maybe Mason would just pretend it never happened, and I’d have to figure out how to work side-by-side with him, despite the memory of his kiss.

I climbed back into bed, even though it was barely two in the afternoon, and pulled the covers over my head.Tomorrow.I’d figure it out tomorrow.But today?Today I was allowed to feel like shit about the fact that I’d finally found someone who made me feel something real, and he’d literally run away from me.

Count your blessings, Cheri had said.

I was trying.But right now, all I could count was the number of hours until I had to face Mason again.

ChapterEight

Mason

Iwoke up with cottonmouth, a splitting headache, and the phantom sensation of Beau’s lips on my mouth.