Page 4 of Take Me (Cherry Blossom Lake #5)

Grinning, he picks up another small glass from the tray. This one looks suspiciously like urine. “I really think you’d like the pear one,” he insists, setting it in front of me.

I nudge it right back. “I’m good.” I take another sip of water. “You’re serious about pretending we’re dating for Sam and Maxine’s wedding?”

“It makes sense, right? It’ll keep people from doing the ‘poor baby’ thing all night.”

I groan at the thought of their pity. “I guess.”

“Besides, it’s believable. People see us playing pool together all the time.”

“Playing pool, yes. Not playing the part of two lovers who’ve been launching the meat missile together.”

He looks bemused. “You should probably make a point of looking more sexually satisfied. How are your swooning skills?”

“Not nearly as strong as my crotch-punching skills.”

Mason laughs. “It shouldn’t be tough to pull off. We just hold hands a few times and feed each other little sausages from the buffet. Maybe play cornhole together or something.”

I stare at him. “That’s your idea of what dating looks like?”

Mason shrugs. “Worked with Annabelle.” The good-natured grin melts off his face. “Shit.”

“Sorry.” I know how much he liked Annabelle. “You doing okay?”

“I’m great.” He rallies his trademark grin, but I see how his right cheek keeps twitching. “I really think you should give the pear kombucha a chance.”

For fuck’s sake. “And I really think you’re bullshitting me about not being burnt up over Annabelle.” I don’t say it with pity. Just straightforward friendship and a little tough love. “Make you a deal. I’ll drink the stupid kombucha if you tell me honestly—for real , Mason—what’s up.”

He stares into my eyes, which he’s done about six-billion times. I don’t know why my breath catches, but it takes effort not to glance away.

“Fine.” Sighing, he glances at Harper. The kids are still horsing around, giggling and talking about the upcoming dance.

The girls bat their lashes and laugh just a little too loudly.

Mason’s gaze swings back to mine. “It sucks, okay? I’m pretty damn bummed that she doesn’t want to hang out with me anymore. ”

At first I’m not sure who he means. “Harper or Annabelle?”

He laughs, but it’s brittle. “Both, I guess. I meant Annabelle, though.”

“You mean it wasn’t one of those ‘let’s stay friends’ breakups like I got?” For the record, I don’t want to be friends with Neil. I wanted to marry the asshole, not play darts like we’re pals.

“Nah, Annabelle wants to be friends.” Mason doesn’t sound cheered by that. “She’s already called a couple times, wanting to hang out.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I’m kinda dodging her calls,” he admits. “I’m not ready for that. Still feels too shitty, you know?”

“Yeah.” I’ve fielded a few calls from Neil, wanting to sit down and chat. Thanks, but no thanks. “Did Annabelle give you a reason?”

“Just said there wasn’t enough spark.” He grunts and stares down at his drink. “Not to toot my own horn, but there were sparks. Sometimes two or three sets of sparks, or even a full-on bonfire when we’d?—”

“Too much detail.” I shove back the thought of my best pal’s sex life, though it doesn’t surprise me. Mason’s always been good at everything. “Want to know why Neil dumped me?”

“Because he’s a dickhead.” He declares it as a fact. “You said it had to do with getting engaged?”

“That was the gist.” I never gave Mason the full story. It felt too raw at the time, too shameful. “We’d been talking for years about tying the knot. He planned to get out of the Navy and take a job with Dorrington Construction so he wouldn’t be deployed all the time.”

“That’s what he wanted, right?”

“He said he did.” But maybe I didn’t read between the lines. “A few weeks before we split, he asked me what kind of ring I wanted. I said I’d like something plain. I work with my hands, you know?”

“Obviously.”

“But Neil didn’t like that answer. He kept talking about princess cut diamonds versus Asscher or oval, whatever the fuck that means.

He’d done research on tension settings for diamonds instead of prong or pavé—said that would be better for me.

” Like I had any clue what those were. “It turned into this big fight. I ended up raising my voice and saying, ‘I just want a simple goddamn rose gold band like my mother wore.’”

“That’s fair.”

I thought so. “Neil didn’t like that.” At the time, I didn’t get how upset he was. “He really wanted me to have a fancy ring. So here I am, blathering to him about venues and dates, while he’s secretly stewing for weeks about what I should wear on my finger.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.” Something pinches in my gut, but I keep going with the story.

“Things kinda blew up at Zoe’s reception.

We were out on the dance floor, and I worked up the courage to say what I wanted.

Laid it all out there and said, ‘I don’t care about rings or venues or anything else but you.

I love you, and we should just get married.

Have a sweet, simple ceremony and start our lives together before the end of the year.

’ I guess Neil took it as an ultimatum.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” Mason already knows the rest of the story. “He broke up with me instead.”

“That sucks.”

“Yep.” I like that he’s not giving me sympathy eyes or some bullshit pat on the arm.

Mason swirls a finger through some spilled kombucha on the bar. “I think Annabelle has a boyfriend already.”

“No kidding?”

He shrugs. “She said she’s been seeing someone she’s really into.”

That sounds like a bitchy thing to tell a guy who’s clearly still in love with her. “That was fast.”

“It’s not like she cheated. We were never exclusive.”

“Still.” I hate seeing my friend in pain. “Whoever he is, I hate him already.”

Mason laughs. “I don’t hold it against Belle, you know? She’s still a cool girl.”

“I get it.” I hate how my gut twists. “I kinda still miss Neil.”

“We’re pathetic.” Releasing a breath, he points to the kombucha in front of me. “Drink up, buttercup. Kombucha makes everything better.”

“Are you their marketing spokesman or something?” I grumble a little but pick up the glass.

This time I try sipping instead of shooting it.

The flavor of vinegar and sea brine fills my mouth, and I cough.

“Ugh.” I search for a place I can spit it, but I don’t have the heart to torment the aloe plant on the end of the bar. “It tastes like motor oil.”

“You’ve tasted?—”

“I’m a mechanic,” I grumble. “It’s a job hazard sometimes, okay?”

Mason frowns. “I really thought you’d like that one.”

“Maybe you’re not such a great judge of what I like.” For some reason it comes out snappish. I start to apologize, but Mason just laughs.

“Remember that time I tried to fix you up with Greg Riley?”

“I’ve been trying to forget.” I nod thanks to the waiter who sets down my Coke, but my focus stays locked on Mason. “He had onion rings for dinner and tried to kiss me.” I hold up a hand when he starts to argue. “With tongue .”

“Okay, but?—”

“He still had half an onion slice in his mouth at the time.”

Mason groans and sips his kombucha. “I promise not to kiss you with onion in my mouth at Maxine and Sam’s wedding.”

“Thank you for that.” It had never occurred to me I might have to kiss Mason as part of this ruse. “Thanks for what you did back at Lucy’s house. I know I’ve been flipping you shit about it, but that was good thinking.”

“No problem.” He glances at Harper, who must sense her uncle watching her. She hops out of her chair and lopes over to join us. “Uncle Mason, can I go home with Ryan Cole?”

Mason snorts. “Tell me you didn’t just ask if I’d hand you over to some testosterone-drunk teenage punk wearing his baseball cap backwards.”

“At least it’s an OSU Beavers cap,” I point out. “Could’ve been the Ducks.”

Harper sighs the fraught sigh of teenage girls everywhere. “Everyone else is going. It’ll be a big group. Please?”

The grumpy-ass uncle beside me growls. “If everyone else jumped off a fucking building, would you?—?”

“Yes.” Harper crosses her arms. “Because of your swearing, I would not only jump off a building, but cross the street without looking to buy lima beans I could stick up my nose.”

I snicker and dive into my cheese sticks. “You can only blame yourself, Uncle Mason.”

He flips me the bird, but does it behind his arm like we used to in school when the teachers would turn their backs.

Harper doesn’t miss the gesture. The kid doesn’t miss much. Clapping her hands, she lifts them in an urgent plea. “Please? Mom knows his mom, and she says he’s a good kid.”

“Unless your mom says it to me , along with the words, ‘I’m okay with you sending my child to hang with some teenage lothario,’ you’re going home with me.”

Huffing a breath, Harper goes back to her friends. Mason shakes his head and leans over to grab one of my cheese sticks. “Last week, she tried to get Peter to buy her a strapless dress for Jake and Cassidy’s wedding.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Chewing a cheese stick, I channel my inner feminist. “A young woman should be able to wear whatever makes her comfortable, without having her body sexualized.”

“It was fire-engine red and hit just below her ass, with mesh cutouts on the sides.”

Oh. “Not wedding appropriate?”

“Not unless my brother and his fiancée have changed their theme to Vampire Hookers.”

I snicker and stuff one more cheese stick in my mouth as another thought occurs to me. “Were you planning to take Annabelle to Jake and Cass’s wedding, too?”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “Same with Lucy and Peter’s ceremony the weekend after that. Guess I’ve got a little while to figure it out.”

He’s a groomsman in both, so maybe a plus-one doesn’t matter as much. “I’ve been planning to fly solo with girlfriends, for what it’s worth,” I tell him. “Hazel’s not taking a date, and neither is Shanice from the library.”

“A wedding date wolfpack. I like it.”

“I still can’t believe your siblings planned their weddings so close together.”