Page 11 of Raised On It (Between the Pines #1)

Mason

I told Miles I couldn’t spend the day with him because I had to write, and even though it really was my plan for the day, it was a lie.

That kiss on the porch scared the bejesus out of me.

He says all the right things.

He looks at me in a way that makes me weak in the knees.

His kiss…well, I’m still feeling it this morning.

His rough hands couldn’t have been gentler, holding me as if I were precious.

I’ve had plenty of kisses in my life, but none have ever felt like they were taking my breath away while filling me with everything I’ll ever need to survive this crazy roller coaster of life.

It was a moment unlike any other before it.

It was perfect yet too much all at once.

I can still feel every touch.

Earlier in the evening, hearing him talk about the redhead in Pendleton brought up a flash flood of Grant’s cheating ways, but they had vanished by the time we hit the dance floor.

So why did they have to come rushing back on the porch? Why did I pull back from the most romantic encounter I’ve ever experienced?

Because it felt too good? Too right?

Because it scared the hell out of me.

I could feel my heart breaking already.

I know how I felt when things ended with Grant, so the moment my lips touched his, I knew immediately how things would feel at the end if I fell for Miles. I already know my ending with him would hurt so much worse than the pain my ex had inflicted on me.

Even though staying in to write today was a lame excuse not to accept his offer, I really did intend to work. But that was before he kissed me. Okay, technically, I kissed him, but I’ve been rattled ever since.

After staring at my computer for far too long, it’s time to wave my white flag and accept the fact that I am getting nowhere, and I need to get out of the house.

I may live on the “other side” of town, but the heart of Eastlyn is only a mile or so away, so I grab my camera and my bag and head out into the hot August sun to find some inspiration.

The first business on my end of town is a quaint little antique shop and as I snap my first picture of the awning I decide I’m not just taking pictures outside today, I’m going to go into every place I haven’t been to yet.

I spend the next hour and a half stopping into every business on Main Street. The entire time, I picture Miles growing up in this idyllic town with his idyllic family and lifelong group of friends who are just as close to him as his family.

I can see him running around causing havoc all over town.

With every picture I take, I see Miles .

The steps of the Eastlyn Community Church at the end of Main Street.

The striped pole outside Mel’s Barber Shop.

The wooden benches in front of The General Store.

The Eastlyn Brewing Company is represented everywhere you look.

The iconic green and white logo, featuring a dock with two empty Adirondack chairs facing a lake is featured in the windows of The Verdict, The Jury Room, The General Store, Ken’s Pizzeria, and just about every other business in town in some way, shape, or form.

The town is proud, as they should be.

The focal point of town is the courthouse. For such a small town, the courthouse is much bigger than I would have expected. But it does house all the government offices with the police station right next door. Fittingly, there is a donut shop next to the police station called Holding Cell Donuts.

I’m sure Miles has eaten his share of donuts from the Holding Cell, but I can’t help but wonder if the town playboy has also spent time in an actual holding cell at the police station.

I know he’s eaten plenty at the diner across the street and had his fair share of beer at the bar on the other corner of the street, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he rounded out his time spent with all four corners of Main and 3rd by spending a night or two with the Eastlyn P.D.

I find it hard to believe his charm works on everyone he meets.

With every picture I take, my decision to come to Eastlyn is reaffirmed.

This quaint little town feels like it was pulled right out of my imagination.

It’s exactly what I was thinking of when the idea for my latest romance series came to my mind.

Only the man at the center of my story wasn’t a blond farm boy who looks good in backward baseball caps and kisses like a lothario.

I think I’ll be scrapping my small-town judge idea and change directions when it comes to the hero of my story.

Feeling inspired, I pop into The Jury Room, and funnily enough, I get seated at the same booth where Miles and I had lunch.

Pulling my journal out of my bag, I begin spilling words onto the page like a woman possessed.

Snacking on my fries while burning through the pages of my outline, I’m excited to get back home to my laptop.

Too excited to wait for the check.

Dropping a twenty to cover my five-dollar snack, I have a new spring in my step when I leave the diner. I’m anxious to get home and get to work. When the words come, there isn’t anything I can do, I have to write!

The moment I walk through the door, I change into my customary all-night writing uniform of leggings and an oversized sweater. Thank goodness Katie has air conditioning because Eastern Oregon is an oven in the summer, and there’s no way my writing attire would work if not.

I plot. I drink wine. I outline. I drink more wine.

I write all night long, finally calling it quits around four o’clock in the morning, so when I hear a lawn mower at ten o’clock, I’m far from pleased.

Especially when it sounds like it’s coming from right out in front of the house.

Please tell me Katie doesn’t have a landscaper she forgot to tell me about.

Pausing long enough to make sure I’m fully dressed, I march to the front of the house and nearly blind myself when I rip back the curtain and the blazing summer sun attempts to burn my corneas and leave me blind.

Even with my hand above my eyes to block some of the daylight assaulting my vision, it’s of no use. I can’t see who the hell is on my lawn.

I close my eyes for a few seconds, hoping to bring them to life, and when I open them again, I let out a scream that would wake the dead. Miles Montgomery is so close to the window; the glass is the only thing keeping us apart.

Standing on the other side of the glass waving and smiling like an idiot is my resident handyman .

“Did I wake you up, Sleeping Beauty?”

He’s yelling through the window, but I can hear him just fine since he’s pressing his face to the glass like a child.

“Didn’t you mow two days ago?”

“Not mowing, edging. Didn’t have everything I needed the other day, so I thought I’d come back and finish up. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“If only.”

“Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you,” he continues to yell.

“You really don’t need to do all this,” I yell back at him through the window like a fool. “You were only supposed to fix a board on the back porch. Do you ever work?”

“Damn, Mason, I didn’t think it was possible, but you actually look more beautiful right now than you did when I left you the other night.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, the mess on top of my head and the smeared makeup under my eyes reflect back at me in the window.

I’ve never looked worse.

I. Could. Die.

“Nice try, Miles. It was a long night. I know I look terrible, so you don’t have to be mean.”

“Mason, you have no idea what you…” He trails off, not finishing his sentence.

Frustrated, he flips his baseball cap around and wipes his hand over his face.

“Listen, I’m just gonna get back to it. Sorry I woke you up…but it was totally worth it.”

And there it is.

That smile and those stupid dimples.

I was so busy trying to ignore him the first night I met him that I somehow missed the dimples, but standing here in the bright as hell morning light, I can’t take my eyes off them.

Well, until he moves, distracting me, and when I glance up at his eyes, even through the window, I can see the gold flecks dancing with satisfaction in his copper-colored eyes because he knows his words and that beautiful face of his have caught me off guard.

“See ya later, Mase.”

He walks away and hits me with another blow when I get a look at his ass in those jeans.

I’ve always appreciated a nice denim-covered ass, but I have never seen a pair of jeans filled out quite like his.

His jeans, his dimples, his eyes, and most certainly, his backward baseball cap have all been featured in my journal on numerous occasions.

I always have two journals on me. One for my current work in progress and one that I spew all my thoughts about life into. I guess it would be considered a diary, but I call it a journal.

Because I’m a grown-up.

Like a girl whose first crush finally acknowledged her existence, I practically skip to the bathroom to turn on the shower. I’m acting all aflutter because the hot guy in town thinks I’m pretty.

Maybe I’m not so grown up after all.

Let’s be real, it feels like more than a playground crush.

I can honestly say that for the first time in my life, I am hot and bothered and bouncing out of my skin wondering what in the world he was going to say when he stopped himself. It’s killing me not to know.

As I begin to step into the shower, I see myself in the mirror and laugh at how bad I look. Actually, I look like I was up all night having sex.

Complimenting me in my current state takes charm to a level even I’ve never experienced.

Come to think of it, maybe he needs glasses?

Either way, here’s hoping the shower calms me down enough to act my age, and more importantly, I stay in long enough for him to be gone when I get out .