Page 10 of Scary In Love

Jenna

Mason is waiting outside Happy Crow Coffee the next morning, with a takeout cup in each hand.

It was wishful thinking to hope nobody had noticed me talking to him outside work yesterday. Elsie, Roland, and Joyce love spying on people from the windows, but they love gossiping even more, and I was bombarded with questions about Mason all day.

Obviously, I didn’t answer them, but they raised plenty of my own. I’d assumed some events company had hired him, but now I know he owns the Miller house, I’m even more intrigued.

I’m not a morning person, and he caught me off guard yesterday, but I was still replaying our conversation as I fell asleep.

It’s colder today, but he looks cute as hell in black jeans and a green turtleneck underneath a black wool coat. Very dark academia. A bright smile spreads across his face when he spots me and hands one cup over.

“Pumpkin spice latte, right? If you prefer something else, I’ll go back in.”

“Are you stalking me, Mason? That’s only hot in dark romance, not in real life.”

His laugh is genuine, but dies abruptly. “God no. I just wanted to see you again, and you mentioned you get coffee here before work and I…”

For a man who seems so self-assured when I watched him banter with customers at the haunt, he sure gets flustered easily. It’s kind of charming.

His nose wrinkles, and he rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve overstepped, haven’t I?”

“It’s fine,” I tell him, and sighs in relief.

“Still not scaring you off?”

“Takes a lot more than a free coffee to scare me.” I let that first sweet sip warm my mouth, grateful for the extra cinnamon they add here. “And pumpkin spice is correct. I’ve tried every place in town, and this one makes the best ones.”

“Good intel. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Are you walking me to work again?”

“Would that be okay?”

“Sure.”

An older couple walks towards us, and we step aside to make space on the narrow pavement. Mason loops his arm around my shoulder without thinking. My gut instinct is to pull away before anyone sees, but I fight against it. Who cares what people think?

Knowing he saved me a few minutes by ordering my drink, I walk more slowly and answer his questions about life in Crowmorne.

Every shop we pass has a crow in a costume in the window, part of a town-wide treasure trail for the local kids. Some have made more effort than others, though it’s a little too family-friendly for my tastes.

“You guys go big on the spooky stuff here,” he says, and my coffee goes down the wrong way.

“You’d think with a name like Crowmorne, everyone would be a spooky fucker, but for years I’ve been the only creep in town. This is all the Miller effect. You’ve been very good for business. ”

I tell him how the extra attention on the house has brought in more money, how pleased our pubs and restaurants are to have more customers during the week.

“You must know everyone,” he says.

The noise I make is deeply sarcastic. “Pretty much, and that’s not a good thing.”

“How so?”

“It’s hard to explain,” I deflect, not wanting to dig up years of trauma about not fitting in here. “Where did you grow up?”

“South London,” he tells me. “My mum died when I was three, so it was just me and my dad. Then he died too, not long after my nineteenth birthday. Mum had cancer, Dad had his demons, drank his way to his own cancer.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”

Many of our residents have had cancer over the years, but no matter how much you work with it, it doesn’t make it any less shit.

“It’s okay,” he shrugs, clearly not wanting to get into his baggage either. “I’ve been bouncing around London ever since, taking acting jobs, some improv stuff. The small-town, everyone-knows-everyone vibe isn’t something I’ve ever really experienced.”

“Well, you’re the talk of the town here.”

“Am I really?”

“Oh yes, and not just local businesses. My residents want to know all about you. A few asked if I’d take them up to the house for a visit, but I wouldn’t want to be responsible for sending them to an early grave. Speaking of which, I should probably say goodbye here.”

I duck out from underneath his arm before we get to my house, keeping my back to my neighbour’s hedge. I don’t need Mum or Dad spotting us either.

“Why? ”

“Your fan club will be waiting to get paparazzi shots through the window.” He laughs, his eyebrows shooting up. “Don’t let it go to your head. They’re a feral bunch, and we don’t get new men in Crowmorne very often.”

“Are you still talking to the guy from last week?”

“Wimpy Peter?” I laugh. “Literally haven’t heard from him.”

“So, back on the apps?”

Oh my God, just ask me out already.

I keep the thought to myself, but I really wish he would.

“I don’t think so. The dating pool is small, and the men around here are much too young, much too old, or extremely—”

“Vanilla?” he interrupts, surprising me with his boldness.

“I’m not vanilla shaming,” I tell him. “If that’s your kink, it’s fine.”

“But it’s not yours, is it?”

No, it definitely isn’t.

There isn’t time to get into that conversation right now, but his casual observation has my heart racing. Mason’s eyes dip to my mouth, then back up again. We’re clearly both thinking about something dirty.

“I know you need to go to work, but I wanted to ask you something.”

Ask me out .

Ask me out .

Ask me out .

“I have your number from your first aid paperwork, but I can’t use it for non-work purposes without your permission.”

A thin squeak escapes my lips as I fight the biggest smile. “And what would those non-work purposes be? ”

He taps my cup with his, stepping closer, crowding my body with his. “Maybe I’m not content with ten minutes of flirting over morning coffee.”

“Oh, we’re flirting, are we?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to assume your intentions, but I most definitely am.”

“Then yes, you can use my number.”

“Great,” he says, stepping back. “And I’ll see you tomorrow night in the Tavern.”