Page 33 of Take Me (Cherry Blossom Lake #5)

Mason

T hings feel normal in the days that follow my brother’s wedding. Jake and Cass won’t leave for their honeymoon until after Lucy and Peter get hitched.

Parker and Noah and Dad are still here, so the whole Spencer-King clan spends more time together than we have in years.

Even my parents—whose divorce became final last year—seem happy to have the whole clan together.

We work as a team to do all the crafty shit required for the next Spencer-King wedding.

There are dinners at Lucy’s, with everyone chipping in food.

Mom makes huge batches of soup, crockpots brimming with split pea and corn chowder and chicken with wild rice.

Parker shows up with piles of smoked salmon, while Kaleb contributes kale salad and Jake makes his legendary cornbread.

We all eat together around Lucy’s big table, wielding glue guns and chalk paint, along with our forks.

Erika’s working long hours at the garage, since Kaleb’s taking time off for family.

She comes home exhausted each night, which gives me a chance to offer my services.

I’ve got mad massage skills and a penchant for foot rubs, which my fake girlfriend seems to enjoy.

I swear they’re not meant to be foreplay, but we somehow wind up naked most nights anyway.

Some mornings as well, and even one memorable lunch when she came home with dog treats for Scrumpy.

Suffice it to say, biscuits weren’t the only treat on the menu. God, my girlfriend is great with her hands.

Fake girlfriend.

I keep forgetting, though clearly she hasn’t. Based on our pillow talk the other night, she’s counting the days to our breakup. I’m on borrowed time, and I know it. Each time I touch her, I’m aware that we’re one more step closer to the split that will break me in two.

Our friendship feels solid, but something inside me craves more. Like now that the genie is out of his bottle, he might not be happy to squeeze his fat ass back inside.

“Tell her, you idiot.” That’s my sister with the heartfelt advice. She’s sipping a beer at my bar while Harper is at her piano lesson.

“Tell who what?” I wipe down a puddle of ketchup with a rag, pretending I don’t have a clue what she means.

“Tell Erika you want to be more than just friends who have sex.” She points at Parker, who’s holding a pint glass on the stool to her left. “You saw them at Jake’s wedding. Tell him it’s pretty damn obvious they’re in love.”

The word love pings something inside me. It’s an odd mix of terror and joy that leaves me a little bit queasy.

Parker’s shaking his head as he wisely deploys the youngest kid trump card. “I’m staying out of this,” our kid brother mutters. “She’s a cool chick, though.”

“See?” Lucy turns back to me. “You just need to tell Erika how you feel. What’s the worst that can happen?”

I keep wiping the bar, ignoring the tug in my chest. “Uh, let’s see. She could laugh in my face.” That’s not even close to the worst that can happen. “She could look at me with pity and say she doesn’t have the same feelings.”

“That doesn’t seem likely.” Lucy considers me. “I know it’s scary. You guys have been friends a long time.”

She has no idea just how scary it is. “Erika was part of my life before Mom went off the deep end. I was in hers before her parents’ accident. We’ve been through both our moms’ funerals together—Grandma and Grandpa’s, too.”

Lucy’s eyes shimmer, but she nods like she gets it. “I remember. She read the sweetest poem at Grandma’s service.”

“It’s not just the sad stuff, either. She helped me open Big One’s when everyone else said a town this tiny couldn’t support a brewery.

” Our mom—from the grave, though not really—was the only other person convinced I could do it.

“I cheered Erika on the whole time she went through mechanic school, and we’ve supported each other through heartbreaks and different relationships.

If I fuck that up by making things awkward with feelings—” I shake my head, not willing to consider what that would look like. “I couldn’t stand it if I lost her.”

My voice breaks on that last bit. If Kaleb or Jake were here, they might say I’m being a pussy.

Parker looks up from his beer. “Don’t be a pussy.”

“Gee, thanks.” So much for my sensitive brother.

“I mean it.” He spins his pint glass on the bar, looking thoughtful. “Nobody knows more about hiding important truths than a guy who spent his formative years assigned the wrong goddamn gender. It’s hard as hell to man up and say how you feel.”

“Shit.” He’s right. When he puts it that way, I am being kind of a wimp. “What if it ruins our friendship forever?”

Parker gives me a dead-eyed look. “Your friendship was strong enough to get you through shit like our mom coming back from the dead and Erika dating a douchebag who didn’t deserve her. You really think something like sharing your feelings could kill it?”

“You’re already sleeping together,” Lucy chimes in. “You’re halfway to dating for real.”

They make a fair point. “I’ll consider it.”

I decide not to tank the good vibes by telling them Erika’s plotting our breakup already. Maybe they’re right. It might not hurt to ask her some questions. Maybe not “wanna be my girlfriend for real?” but there must be a casual way of broaching the subject.

“Gotta go.” Lucy tips back the last of her beer and gathers her keys. “Thanks again for doing the place cards.”

“No sweat. You feeling good about the rest of the wedding stuff?”

“Actually, yeah.” My twin sounds surprised. “Thanks to all the family teamwork, we’re way ahead of where I thought we’d be at this point.”

“Spencer-King power.” Parker balls up his hand for a fist-bump. “We rule.”

“Yeah, we do.” She knocks her knuckles against his, then gives him an audible smooch on the cheek. “Thanks again for all the crab legs.”

Parker grunts proudly. “The best wedding gift is a freezer full of king crab. Saw that on the Martha Stewart website.”

She laughs and leans over the bar to hug me. “Think about what we said, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” I’m not in a hurry. “Maybe after your wedding.”

“Maybe at my wedding!” She grins. “How fucking cool would it be if you got down on one knee at the reception and?—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” How did we get from telling Erika I might want to date for real to proposing ? “Are you insane?”

Even Parker looks mystified. “The last thing I’d want at my wedding is someone else stealing the show.”

“It wouldn’t be stealing,” Lucy counters. “It’s enhancing . Besides, this isn’t my first rodeo. Another engagement would make this wedding so much more memorable, plus you know how Peter loves a grand gesture.”

“Go away,” I mutter as the door bangs open at the front of the bar. “I’m not getting engaged.”

Afternoon light makes the brewery entrance too bright at this time of day.

Even through soupy-thick rainclouds, the sunlight’s too harsh to see well.

I squint at the door to see Annabelle come through shaking an umbrella.

She’s windswept and pink-cheeked, looking lost for a woman who’s been here six-million times.

My twin does a fine job of disguising her surprise. “Annabelle, hey. What brings you here at—” She glances at her watch. “Two-thirty on a Wednesday?”

“Nice, Luce,” Parker mutters. “Way to make her feel like a boozehound.”

“Oh, I—I wasn’t here for beer.” Annabelle blushes, and I feel kinda bad.

“Don’t judge the woman for loving my tots.” That wasn’t supposed to sound dirty. “Nothing takes the edge off a cloudy day like a pile of potatoey goodness.”

Annabelle hugs Lucy, shooting a grateful look over my twin’s shoulder. “Can you make them the Cajun ones? And a pint of your housemade ginger ale, please.”

“Coming right up.” I key in the order as she slides onto the stool beside Parker. “Who’s getting engaged?”

“Huh?” I glance at Parker, and he shrugs.

Annabelle dabs the rainwater off her face with a napkin. “Right as I walked in, you said something about getting engaged.” She gives me a sheepish smile. “Thought maybe you’re popping the question to Erika.”

“Oh—nope. Not proposing.” Hell, this is awkward.

My kid brother comes to my rescue. “I am,” he says, fishing a hand in his pocket. “Wanna see the ring?”

“Ooooh, yes, please.” She shrugs off her coat, and I catch a bright flash on her left ring finger.

Is that?—?

Did Neil?—?

“God, that’s gorgeous.” She peers in the box Parker shows her. “Is that one of your grandmother’s diamonds in the middle?”

Parker looks proud as he hands her the box for a closer look. “Yep.”

Naturally, Annabelle knows the whole story. How my grandmother left us a broach with a stone for each Spencer-King son to use when he found the person he wanted to marry. Kaleb and Jake have used theirs, and it’s Parker’s turn next.

“It’s stunning, and so personal,” Annabelle says.

“Thanks.” Parker points at the setting. “That’s Alaska jade around the band. I had it custom made in Ketchikan, since Callie grew up there. It’s where we met.”

“So amazing.” She hands back the box as I pick up a pint glass from the dish rack and dry it. “You plan to live in Alaska after you get married?” she asks Parker.

“Yep.” He stuffs the box in his pocket and knocks back the last of his beer. “Assuming she says yes.”

“She’ll say yes.” I have no doubt about that. “Any idiot could watch you two at Jake’s wedding and know you belong together. You’re a great guy, and it’s obvious Calliope loves the shit out of you.”

Parker stares at me, one edge of his mouth ticking up. “Huh.” Slapping a twenty on the bar, he stands up and shrugs on his coat. “Weird how other people can pick up on shit like that.”

He throws us a wave as he shuffles off, hitching his collar against the rain. I pivot to pour Annabelle’s ginger ale, wishing Parker would move back to town. I know that’s not possible, since his heart’s in Alaska, and so is his work. But a guy can still dream.