Page 1 of Take Me (Cherry Blossom Lake #5)

Mason

I fling open my sister’s front door and catch a fierce blast of estrogen right in the face.

Wait. That’s not estrogen. It’s blueberry coffee cake.

“Hello?” I stomp through the foyer, following voices. All of them female, so I got that part right. “Is everyone dressed?”

“It’s my idiot twin,” I hear Lucy tell someone. “Throw your bras so he’ll find us quicker.”

“Like a bra trail of breadcrumbs?” That sounds like Cassidy, my big brother’s bride-to-be. “I thought Mason had a girlfriend.”

“They’re not exclusive,” says my oversharing sister. “Annabelle doesn’t like labels.”

My gut does an unpleasant roll, but I slap on a smile and head for the dining room.

Erika Gentry looks up first, a fan of blond hair falling over her eyes as she deadpans her reply. “I’ve got a shop rag to toss instead of the bra.” She’s the lead mechanic at my brother’s garage, so it’s probably true. “Looks like red panties, except for the oil stain.”

“Ladies.” I cruise through the room, cataloging faces at the table. Lucy’s parked next to Cassidy, who’s beside Erika. Across from her sits Lucy’s sister-in-law, Samantha.

Sam’s wearing a shirt that says Haven Creek Farm and Wildlife Rescue, holding hands with her fiancée, Maxine. Max scrolls her phone, forehead scrunched in concentration. Both women look edgy, like someone set down a pint of amber liquid and they’re not sure if it’s beer or?—

“Piss,” Maxine growls, looking up from her phone. “That’s what damaged the whole shipment.”

“Actual urine?” Sam looks concerned. “How does a crate full of wedding stuff get covered in pee?”

Max shrugs. “Apparently they traveled on the same barge as a pair of pileated gibbons headed for the Portland Zoo.” Her brow scrunches some more as she keeps scrolling. “They offered to replace everything, but that’s pointless with the wedding in a week.”

“That’s a pisser.” My jackass quip earns me a jab to the gut from Lucy. Good thing I’ve got abs of steel. Grabbing a fork, I get to work carving a thick hunk of coffee cake. “Is Harper ready to go?”

My twin hands me a plate. “Piano lesson ran late. Peter’s picking her up and grabbing her friends on the way.”

“Cool.” One less stop for me. I’ve got time for a snack before taking my niece and her pals to the soft opening of Cherry Blossom Lake’s cool new kombucha bar.

Snagging a seat next to Maxine and Sam, I give their dilemma my full focus. “Exotic monkeys peed on your wedding decorations? Isn’t that a bad omen?”

Sam sits up straight in her chair. “Pileated gibbons mate for life,” reports our resident wildlife expert. “Maybe it’s a good omen.”

“Huh.” Gotta admire her attitude. “Maybe I’ll ask a pileated gibbon to pee on me.”

My sister snorts. “You’d deserve it.”

Stabbing a thick bite of coffee cake, I stuff it in my mouth. It’s spongy and sweet and packed with fresh berries, just like our mom used to make. My sister must use the same recipe.

“It’s Mom’s,” Luce says, doing her creepy-ass twin mind reading thing. “Thanks again, by the way.”

“For being so handsome your friends forget all their problems?” I wink at Maxine, who rolls her eyes. “No sweat.”

That gets me an eyeroll from Lucy, too. “For taking Harper to the kombucha place. She’s been talking about it all week.”

“Sure thing.” My fourteen-year-old niece is the coolest damn human I know. “How many friends did she invite again?”

“Three.” Lucy winces. “You sure that’s okay?”

“Of course.” The kid’s growing up, and her super-cool uncle can’t be her whole world forever. I’m okay with being relegated to the bench. Really.

Mostly. “The more, the merrier,” I insist.

“Okay, so back to the decorations.” Cassidy’s keeping us all on task. “Did everything get ruined?”

“Just about.” Sam sighs. “The centerpieces are goners. Same with the custom koozies we bought as wedding favors.”

My sister makes a sound like someone stepped on her toe. “Those were adorable. Sam showed me the design—a cute script that says, ‘Mrs. and Mrs.’ with Max and Sam’s engagement photo on the back.”

“Maybe I can help.” All eyes swing to me as I stuff a fat forkful of cake in my face.

“I buy koozies all the time for the brewery.” I’m talking while I chew, but who cares?

Half these women saw me in my underwear at the Cherry Blossom Lake strip show last week.

What? It was for charity. “Let me see if I can get a rush job on a custom koozie order.”

“Really?” Sam looks hopeful. “That would be great.”

“How many do you need?” My distributor owes me a favor anyway.

“About three hundred. Blush pink, if possible.” Sam nibbles her bottom lip. “We’re not in a position to be picky, though.”

“No prob.” I shove more cake in my mouth. It’s nice to feel helpful, given the crap week I’ve had. “Send me the design files if you’ve got ‘em.”

“Thank you.” Max sets down her phone and pinches the bridge of her nose. “This pee thing is just icing on an awful cake. We found out last night we’re not getting the etched crystal glasses for our first toast. Some mix-up with the order.”

Sam’s hopeful smile wobbles. “I know it’s a total first-world problem, but I loved those glasses.” One shoulder lifts in a limp little shrug. “They said, ‘I’m hers,’ with cute cupid arrows pointing at each other.”

“We ordered them etched with our names,” Max says. “We planned to use them for all our future anniversaries.”

The side door bursts open, and Zoe Brooks flies through. Zoe Cornish , I guess, since she recently tied the knot in Jamaica. She looks tanned and relaxed, and I don’t feel the least bit envious of all the dopey, happy couple pheromones floating around. Nope.

Not one bit.

I’m perfectly fine filling my mouth with cake, feeling happy for my friends getting hitched while I’m here surrounded by women I don’t even date.

“Good news.” Zoe slings herself into an open chair. “Cal called the guy who etched our glassware at the pub. He’ll do two custom glasses by Friday.”

“Really?” Sam’s eyes fill with tears. “That’s amazing, Zo. Thank you.”

“You guys are the best.” Maxine’s tearing up, too. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Please,” Lucy says, squeezing Sam’s hand. “It’s what friends are for.”

“Vulvarines,” says Zoe. “It’s what Vulvarines are for.”

“Can I be a Vulvarine?” I’m not even sure what that is. “I like vulvas and secret clubs.”

“No.” They all shout at once, but they’re smiling now.

It’s a gift. My gift to the world, making everyone laugh when they’re bummed. I go back to my cake, enjoying the thick crust of cinnamon on top. Erika hands me a pale-yellow napkin cinched with a polka-dot ring.

“No shop rag?” I ask, sliding the ring off the fabric.

She snorts. “We use cloth napkins for lady time .” The way she says it cracks me up. “We’re fucking ladies here.”

Can’t let that one go. “Who’s fucking ladies?”

Maxine and Sam raise their hands, and everyone snickers. Hey, look at that—we got everyone laughing again.

Mission accomplished.

Maxine draws a steadying breath. “Okay, so we still need to deal with the candles.”

I spear another wedge of coffee cake. “What candles?”

Erika picks up a glass jar wrapped in a rustic pink label. “There’s a typo.”

I squint at the loopy black script. “ Two rides are better than one ?”

“It’s missing a B to spell brides .” Erika sets down the candle. “I suggested switching to a car theme. We could slap on some stickers for Spencer-King Auto.”

“Perfect.” I point with my fork, flinging a cake-speckled blueberry at her. “Great idea.”

Erika flicks back the berry, splatting the side of my face. “Thanks.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “She was kidding .”

I’m not sure she was, but that’s fine. Erika’s humor is right up my alley. She’s a great girl—the best—and funny as hell. We’ve been buddies since third grade, and she beats me at pool on a regular basis.

My sister snatches a pen off the table. “We’re fixing the candles. Make yourself useful, Mason.” She tosses the pen at my head. “Your calligraphy’s better than mine.”

I catch the pen in one hand, masculinity unthreatened. “She’s right,” I agree. “I am the best.”

Lucy snorts. “Modest, too.”

“Why be modest when you can be awesome?” I uncap the pen and study the angled brass tip.

It’s the kind with the changeable ink cartridge.

I’m not kidding about the calligraphy skills.

Those cool chalkboard signs at my brewery that spell out the specials?

That’s my handiwork, thank you very much.

I have my own set of fancy-ass chalk paints and everything.

“Are you okay?” Zoe touches my arm with concern in her eyes. “I heard about Annabelle.”

Aaaaand…there goes my masculinity.

“Wait, what?” My sister looks startled. “What about Annabelle?”

Fuck.

Me.

“Oh, shit.” Zoe pales. “I’m sorry, Mason. I didn’t know it wasn’t public.”

“It’s fine.” That’s a small fucking town for you. “It’s no big deal. We’re not dating anymore.” I study the candle, mulling the best way to turn rides into brides . That’s better than seeing the pity in their eyes. “Didn’t even register on my radar.”

“Who called it off?” my twin demands.

“Does it matter?” Of course it does. “She did. It’s not a problem.” This is fine. I’m fine . “We weren’t ever dating seriously, you know? Never exclusive.”

Here’s the godawful truth: All these months I’ve dated Annabelle Hanlon, I’ve spun myself silly to make it official. To call her my girlfriend and not just some girl I’ve been seeing.

Belle wasn’t up for commitment.

But hey, I’m over it. No biggie, right?

Erika stares at the side of my head without speaking. I feel her watching me, those pebbly gray eyes drilling right through my skull.

“Mason.” Lucy grabs my hand holding the candle, forcing me to look at her. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“Completely.”

“You seem upset.”

“Not even a tiny bit.”

Stupid twintuition.

Feeling itchy and anxious, I drop the calligraphy pen and get up to hunt for some milk in the fridge. “It’s always been casual with Annabelle. Both of us date other people. Lots of other people.”