Page 20 of Shattered Promise (Avalon Falls #4)

ABBY

It’s a slow Saturday morning, the kind of start that’s so lazy and gentle, it feels like a deliberate rebellion against my normal day.

I’m barefoot on the porch, wrapped in a sweatshirt-soft tee that falls to mid-thigh and a pair of cotton sleep shorts that have seen better days.

My thick socks are pulled up to my calves, which feels silly considering we're rapidly approaching summer, but the floors in this place are no joke before noon, and I learned that lesson on day one.

The last of my canned espresso sits sweating in my hand, half-empty and already going warm, but I sip it anyway. I’m not ready to go inside. Not yet.

My phone is facedown on the coffee table inside.

I’m pretending not to care about my unread work emails, or how long it’s going to take me to catch up at work, or the unanswered texts from Beth asking if I want to play at The Blue Door, or the pool of anxiety that somehow keeps growing the longer I try to ignore everything.

The breeze is gentle, curling through the trees and setting off the wind chime I found shoved in the back of the linen closet a few days ago. I hung it on a hook by the porch beam, and now it sings with every gust like it’s the cabin's soundtrack.

When I inherited the cabin, I kept the same property management company Nana Jo always used. At the time it felt easy, like one more thing I didn’t have to figure out. But now, sitting here with the early sun on my legs and birdsong spilling through the branches, I realize how lucky I got.

The place could’ve been falling apart. The plumbing could’ve been shot, the fridge moldy, the roof caved in. I flew across the country on a barely-formed impulse and landed in a place I hadn’t seen since I was a child.

It should’ve been a disaster. But instead—somehow—it feels like a sanctuary.

Being out here makes me feel like I’ve been let in on a secret. Like the world forgot this place existed, and I get to borrow it for a little while before anyone realizes it’s missing. It feels like waking up in the middle of a dream and realizing it’s one you don’t want to end.

I close my eyes and let the warmth sink into my skin.

I’m already dreading the moment I have to go into town again.

The groceries I picked up on the way in—during that pit stop turned landmine of an encounter with Jake—are hanging in there, but just barely.

I’ve got maybe three more meals in me before I’m down to half a bag of pasta and two protein shakes.

At least my bruise is barely visible under a thick layer of makeup. I think the trick will be getting an Uber to come here to get me and then take me thirty minutes away to get some more groceries.

I hear it before I see anything. The unmistakable sound of a car approaching.

A minute later, Mason’s truck idles in front of my cabin.

The driver’s side window is down, and Mason’s elbow hangs casually from the edge.

His sunglasses hide his eyes but not the grin that takes over his face, wide and wolfish and so at home in this morning sun it makes my chest hurt a little.

In the back seat, Theo’s car seat is visible—so are his little feet kicking in the air.

“Hop in, Trouble,” Mason calls, voice warm and too awake for the hour. “Field trip.”

He waits, engine humming, like this is the most natural thing in the world—showing up without warning and expecting you to follow. I can’t help it, I laugh.

“Does this sort of thing normally work for you?” I call out, draining the last of my now-lukewarm coffee.

His smile grows, and that goddamn dimple flashes me. That sort of thing shouldn’t make my knees feel a little weak, but God help me, it does.

“Dunno. It’s the first time I’ve tried it, so you’ll have to let me know.”

My laughter fades as worry creeps in. My brows sink a little. “What kind of field trip? I’ve still got this happening.” I gesture to my fading bruise.

“You look good, Trouble. It’s barely even visible anymore. Besides, we’re going incognito on this field trip. Theo even brought his hat.” He holds up a floppy blue bucket hat with embroidered dinosaurs on it.

I’m pretending like my cheeks aren’t warm from the casual compliment. “Where is it?”

“Ninety minutes away in Chestnut Hollow. I’ve timed it perfectly so Theo can take an epic car nap on the drive. So go get dressed or wear that.” He taps the steering wheel to an invisible rhythm, sunglasses glinting, like this is already settled.

“I’m in my pajamas, Mason,” I deadpan.

He turns his head to fully look at me, and I just know his gaze is raking over me behind those dark lenses. Unsurprisingly, I don’t hate it.

“Pajamas, no pajamas, I’ll take you however you want to come.”

The way he says it sounds more intimate than I’m sure he meant it. But the meaning is lost on my traitorous body, my pulse jumping in my throat, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.

He lets the moment linger, like he’s giving the statement room to breathe.

Is he . . . is he flirting with me?

No, surely not. He’s drawn our line in the sand pretty firmly, and it’s not one he’s ever going to cross. And I won’t either. Not after what happened the last time I catapulted over that line and landed in his bed. The reminder is the splash of cold water I needed.

I should say no. I should tell him I have to start to catch up on work, or I’m tired, or that I’d rather not be seen in public until I can go more than one day without feeling like everyone is watching me.

“What about this?” he calls, holding up a coffee. “Does this help?”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop my automatic grin. “Are you bribing me with iced coffee?”

He smirks, and the affect is devastating. “Nah, Trouble, I’m incentivizing you with an iced shaken espresso.”

“You don’t play fair, Mason.”

“I prefer to think of it as a strategy,” he says with a chuckle.

I’m already standing up, the chair scraping softly against the porch as I move, the sleeve of my shirt falling off my shoulder in a way that feels both accidental and slightly performative. “Give me five minutes,” I call, barely keeping the smile out of my voice, “and I’ll be ready.”

He salutes me with my coffee, and I duck inside my cabin.

The screen door bangs softly behind me, and I shed my socks and shorts for a sundress that’s a little wrinkled but clean.

It’s yellow, a little too bright for my mood, but I pull it on and swipe some mascara over my lashes even though I don’t plan to take off my sunglasses.

I run a brush through my hair, not bothering to tame the waves, and dab concealer over my bruise.

I’m locking my cabin and opening the passenger door six minutes later and the first thing I notice is the overwhelming smell of Mason. Cedar and ocean and something uniquely him .

Theo’s already babbling in the backseat, an eager string of noises that makes Mason’s head turn with a quick, involuntary smile. I hop into the passenger seat, get on my knees, and pivot so I can see Theo behind me.

“How’s my favorite buddy this morning?”

Theo lights up the second he sees me, his whole face cracking into that gummy, open-mouthed smile that makes my heart do something inconvenient in my chest. His big blue eyes go wide with delight, and in the next breath, his chubby little hands shoot out—straight for my hair.

“Whoa, okay, buddy,” I laugh, catching one of his fists before he can get a solid grip. “We talked about this. Hair is not for pulling.”

Mason grunts next from the driver’s seat.

Theo kicks his feet, his fist tight around locks of my hair, and babbling something that sounds vaguely like ba-ba-ba . It’s adorable. Completely, devastatingly adorable.

“Hey, easy there, heartbreaker,” I say softly, brushing my hand over his little fist and gently prying my hair free from his grip. I twist back around with a grin and settle into the seat.

Without a word, Mason reaches across me, his bicep brushing against my breasts as he grabs the seatbelt.

His knuckles graze the curve of my hip as he reaches for the buckle—slow, practiced, unhurried.

The click echoes in the cab, and for a second, I swear he leaves his hand there just a moment longer than necessary.

He does it like it’s nothing, like this is a perfectly normal thing to do for a grown woman who is not your girlfriend, not your wife, not even your sister.

He presses the iced espresso into my palm, condensation slick against both our hands as our fingers brush for a second too long.

A bribe, a peace offering, maybe even a reward for playing along.

My throat goes dry. His eyes flick to mine for half a beat—just long enough to feel like something—and then he’s pulling away.

I clear my throat, trying not to look at the way his forearm flexes as he returns both hands to the wheel. “You know I’m capable of buckling myself in, right?”

He shrugs, mouth twisting into a grin that’s all mischief. “My car, my rules.”

I roll my eyes, but it’s pointless. A smile’s already curled at the edge of my mouth. It's a silly saying he and Beau started toting when they were sixteen and just started racing. I haven't heard it in years though.

“This coffee better be magic,” I murmur, taking a sip. Damn him, it is .

He gives me a knowing look. “Told you. Strategy.”

The truck rumbles forward, gravel crunching beneath the tires, and we head out toward the highway—toward Chestnut Hollow and whatever the hell this morning is about to turn into.

Twenty minutes later, it’s suspiciously quiet in the backseat. I tuck my legs under me and sip the coffee slowly, letting the sweetness settle on my tongue. I should probably have more food and less caffeine, but honestly, this is too good to not drink it.