Page 36 of Take Me (Cherry Blossom Lake #5)
Erika
“ M ore wine?” Hazel holds out the bottle.
“No, thanks.” I’d love more, but I don’t want to risk getting weepy. “You’re sure you aren’t mad that I lied about Mason?”
She tops off her glass, and I’m glad she takes her time answering. “Mad’s not the right word. Am I a tiny bit hurt you didn’t tell me? Sure. But I understand. He’s my cousin, you’re my friend, he’s your friend—it’s awkward, I get it.”
“Sorry.” The moment I got here, I spilled the whole fake-dating story. I was sniffling and crying, holding my suitcase and sobbing like a baby on her doorstep. As soon as she hugged me, all my secrets spilled out.
Even the ones I haven’t told anyone.
“I fell in love with that big idiot,” I sniffle. “How stupid is that?”
“Not stupid at all.”
I snort and wipe snot on my sleeve. “It’s insane to fall for a man who’s in love with somebody else. I knew from the start that he still had feelings for Annabelle.”
“Really?” Hazel tilts her head. “I never saw that.”
“Please.” How could she miss it? “He’s nuts about her, Haze.”
She points to my phone, which rests on the table between us. “According to his texts, he’s not interested in getting back with her.”
“He’s just being kind.” I sniffle again. “Anyone who watched him mooning over her for the last year would know those feelings don’t just go away.”
She’s sipping her wine, looking thoughtful. “Why does everyone do that?”
“Do what?”
“Say things like that. ‘They look so happy together,’ or ‘Anyone with eyes could see he’s nuts about her.’ Nobody really knows what goes on between two people. Watching and guessing and judging by appearances just seems like a recipe for misunderstanding.”
She might have a point there, but still. “I’ve been his best friend since we were kids. I know how he gets when he’s in love.”
“Mmhm.” She takes another sip of wine. “Far be it from me to judge, and Lord knows it’s been several millennia since my last relationship. But from where I stand, he seems nuts about you .”
“That’s just Mason being Mason. He’s a born performer.” He’s so good I almost believed it myself. “Trust me, he was totally different with her. All gushy and gaga and totally smitten.”
“That sounds like a stomach bug.” She sets down her wineglass. “What if you tried being honest? Just put it all out there, let him know how you feel?”
“Remember the last time I did that?” I don’t need to remind her. “I told Neil I wanted to get married by the end of the year. He told me he wanted to break up by the end of the dance.”
“Not a great precedent, I’ll admit.” She frowns as her doorbell rings. “Fifty bucks says that’s my cousin.”
“I’m not taking that bet.” But I’m taking what’s left of my wine and hiding like a coward in the kitchen. “Please tell him I don’t want to talk right now?”
“Are you sure?” Hazel looks troubled. “I really think you should talk to him.”
“I just—I can’t.”
The bell rings again, but Hazel doesn’t move. “Isn’t this the part in a romance novel where everyone rolls their eyes at the heroine because she doesn’t just have the tough conversation with the hero and clear things up?”
God, she’s so kind. Misguided, but kind.
“Do I look like a romance novel heroine to you?” I stop her before she can answer.
“And Mason’s no hero—well, not my hero.” Tears clog my throat as the bell rings again.
“Please,” I whisper. “If I talk to him, I’ll cry, and the very worst thing in the world would be pity right now.
I can handle being ditched for the girl he’s meant to be with, but if I have to face him and see sympathy in his eyes?—”
“Fine. Go hide.” Hazel tips her chin toward the kitchen. “But I still want to be on the record as saying you should talk to the man.”
“I will, I promise.” Eventually. “I just need a few days for things not to feel so raw.”
“All right.”
“Thanks, Haze. You’re a good friend.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she goes to the door anyway. I duck into the kitchen, straining to hear from my hiding spot. I catch the creak of the door and the muffled sound of Mason pleading his case.
“I saw her truck in the driveway, so I know she’s here.” He sounds so desperate I almost cave. “I just want to talk to her for a few minutes. That’s all.”
“She’s indisposed at the moment,” Hazel says primly, holding her ground.
“Does that mean she’s pooping? Because that doesn’t take very long. We’ve shared a bathroom for a few weeks now, so?—”
“Mason, go home.” She’s friendly, but firm. “When a woman needs space, your best bet is to give it to her.”
“Okay, yeah, you’re right. Totally get it.” Then he starts shouting. “Erika Gentry, I’m not interested in Annabelle! Please come talk to me about?—”
“Good night, Mason.” The door clicks shut, and Hazel’s footsteps follow her into the kitchen.
She finds me crumpled on her floor, crying into my empty wineglass. She sits down beside me on the cold tile—designer trousers and all—and starts petting my hair. “You’re sure you don’t want to hear him out?”
Sniffling, I wipe my nose on a sleeve. “It was just a few weeks ago he was convinced Annabelle was the love of his life. He used to lie on my couch moaning about how much he loved her and wanted to be exclusive. He talked about proposing, for God’s sake. Weeks ago , Hazel.”
“I hear you, I get it.” She circles her palm on my back. “He’s not allowed to change his mind?”
“What seems more likely to you? That Mason spent twenty-six years never once seeing me as anything other than a platonic friend, and suddenly, in a matter of weeks, he’s head over heels in love with me?
” I crack up, since the whole idea is laughable.
I’m crying, too, so there’s more snot involved.
“Or is it more likely he got caught up in all that great sex we’ve been having?
That he just got confused once we crossed that line, but the lust will wear off and he’ll go back to being in love with Annabelle? ”
Hazel stops rubbing my back. “Did your feelings change?”
“Sure, but that’s different.” Because here’s the big secret I’ve never told anyone. “Look, I have to admit something.”
“Okay.” She sounds guarded, unsure, and I think about how many secrets her own father kept from her.
I speed up my confession so her wheels don’t start spinning. “Deep, deep, deep down inside—we’re talking really deep.”
“Okay.”
“Someplace deeper than that, there’s a teeny, tiny, minuscule part of me that always loved Mason like that.
” Oh my God, I just said it. “But he always loved girly girls. Sure, they did cool stuff like leading the debate team in high school or doctoring injured animals. He always had great taste. Hell, I’d date those women if I swung that way. ”
“All right.” She’s perfectly composed, not laughing at me even a little.
“But all of those women,” I continue. “Every single one of them knew how to dress for a wedding. They knew what to do with an eyeliner pencil, or how to toss their hair just right so the sunlight hits it. Me, I know how to make fart noises with a fist in my armpit. And I can change a CV joint faster than most men can take a piss. I know who I am, and I know who I’m not, and I like myself a lot—I really do.
” At least I’ve got that at the end of the day.
“But I’m not the kind of girl who winds up with Mason Spencer-King.
That’s not how this romance novel goes.”
“You really believe that?”
“I do. With my whole heart, I do.”
For the first time all night, Hazel says nothing. She just rubs my back, sitting with me on her cold kitchen floor.
It’s the moment I know I’ve made the right choice. That I’m doing what’s best for Mason and me.
I just wish it didn’t hurt so much.
I spend a few days licking my wounds at Hazel’s house. I still go to work, grateful I don’t have to see Kaleb. He’s taking time off to spend it with family who arrived for the weddings. I’m braced for Mason to show up at the garage, insisting we talk things through.
That’s the last thing I want, but I still feel sad when he gives me the space I’ve requested. He’s a good guy, a smart guy who knows when to leave things alone. But isn’t the fact that he doesn’t come see me just one more sign I’ve made the right call?
On Friday I go to my dad’s place for dinner. It’s the night before Peter and Lucy get married, but she’s skipping rehearsal traditions. No fancy dinner, and no practice walk down the aisle. When I asked what she needed from me as a bridesmaid, she shrugged.
“Put on the purple dress,” she said. “Show up Saturday at noon.”
“Mom.” Harper rolled her eyes. “It’s ultra-violet, not purple.”
“Right.” Lucy ruffled her daughter’s hair. “Put on the ultra-violet dress, show up at noon on Saturday, and do whatever my mother says. That’s about it.”
Over dinner, my dad quizzes me about the wedding. “They expecting a pretty big crowd?”
“Two hundred, I think.” That sounds like a lot. “The Spencer-King family keeps growing with all the kids pairing off, plus Peter has lots of law school friends.”
“I think it’s great how Lucy’s got Sarah Lou organizing things.” He takes a sip of his soda and I remember my dad grew up with Mason’s mom. “That’s gotta feel good, having her kid trust her like that.”
“I guess so.” I twirl my fork through a lake of linguine. “I think she felt bad she didn’t make it to Lucy’s first wedding. She’s making up for lost time.”
“That’s nice. Big responsibility.”
“Yeah.” I manage a weak smile. “Harper’s doing a lot of the decision-making, working with her grandma. I think Peter and Lucy like letting those two generations have most of the say so they can step back and enjoy.”
My father chuckles and digs into his spinach salad. “That Harper’s a spitfire, huh?”
“She told me at the bridesmaid brunch last week that when she hears her mom swear, she immediately gets the urge to punch Nazis.”
“Good one.” My dad looks thoughtful. “Must be learning World War II history in school?”