I put on my glasses again and stared at the flowers Mason had given me. They were so beautiful, and I didn’t even know where he’d found them at this time of year. I’d always liked daisies—and lavender, for that matter.
“I think, at the end of the day, I want someone who leaves. Someone who goes back to his place so I can relax properly.” If I got lucky, Mason could be that person. The ink on his divorce hadn’t dried yet. “I don’t think Mason will protest. I sincerely doubt he’s looking for anything serious, but we apparently do have this weird chemistry between us.”
“Oh, so you’ve noticed it now, too?” Sharon smiled wryly.
I chuckled and reached for the honey on the condiment tray at the center of the island. “I have half a mind to open the door in PJs and a wax strip above my lip. Then he’ll see how sexy aging truly is.” I shook my head and ignored her mirth. “Seriously. I gave William my best years—physically, at least. Now, every part of me requires more maintenance than my first car did.”
Sharon grinned a little and took a sip of her coffee. “I don’t know, I love that part of marriage. Jim and I have teamed up against our enemy—the kids. He makes sure I don’t have a stray hair on my chin that the boys can point out and laugh at, and I interrupt to give him a rest whenever he does anything strenuous with them.”
It sounded lovely. Enough so that her words caused a pang of loss in my chest. Or perhaps it was wistfulness, because William and I hadn’t been that kind of team.
I touched my chin absently. Those little hairs were there sometimes.
“This is my nemesis, though.” Sharon held up her arm and touched the soft flesh under her bicep. “No amount of exercise will remove this damn flab.”
I felt her pain. For me, it was the mommy pooch. “Unlike me, you look good in a bikini,” I said. “I have to wear Spanx if I want to put on anything remotely formfitting.”
She shook her head. “Men don’t care about that, especially with your tits and ass.”
“Oh, these?” I pushed mine up to demonstrate where they’d once been.
She laughed and waved me off. “Listen to us, complaining like grumpy old men.”
I snickered, holding up my mug. “At least we have our health, or some such bullshit.”
“That’s the spirit!” She clinked her mug to mine and took a sip.
I sighed and followed suit, then checked the clock on the microwave. Mason was due in an hour. For now, I was good on maintenance. I’d showered, shaved, trimmed, plucked, waxed, and exfoliated.
“You shouldn’t wear that tonight, though,” she advised.
I glanced down at myself, then up again. What was wrong with my clothes? Regular jeans and a shirt. “What? No. I’m not going to get into some ridiculously uncomfortable outfit just so—”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” she interrupted in a singsong voice. “I think you were onto something before. Be you. Let him see you in your natural habitat—and at home, you wear sweats and a cute top. Save the dirty lingerie for special occasions.”
I made a noise in protest. I’d rather put on lingerie than the clothes I’d wear when I was alone. “Sharon, he’s a nice man. He hasn’t done anything to deserve seeing me in a top where my tits are all over the place.”
She pursed her lips. “I’m not sure you know what a man would consider a reward.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Ask him.” She jutted her chin at me. “I dare you. Right now, text him and ask what he’d prefer.”
“Oh, okay.” I had no problems with that, and I picked up my phone, saying aloud what I texted him. “‘Mason, should I wear a thong or sweatpants?’ There. Sent. Twenty bucks he’ll say thong, and there goes my comfort. I’ll be making out with the hottest man on earth with a scrap of lace riding up my ass. Thanks a lot.”
She was so sure I was wrong. “He’s a smart man. He’ll say sweats. Thong would be too honest.”
Actually, we were both wrong. I blinked when Mason’s response popped up.
No preference. It’s going to end up on the floor, regardless.
I pressed my lips together as a sluggish wave of heat rolled through me.
Sharon looked pleased as punch. “I think my work here is done. You go slip into something that’s actually comfortable, and I’m gonna go slip out the door.”
I went with neither. Sweatpants weren’t merely comfortable; they practically told guests to fuck off, and I hadn’t sunk that low. I also happened to be one of those who gave a crap, and I liked to please people. To an extent. A pair of cotton shorts would do. They ended right below my ass, and they were comfy. My legs didn’t look awful either. Lastly, a loose tee to hide the tummy.
If only I could skip the bra…
Blah. I was a sorry sack of laziness. I already felt bad for Mason.
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
My stomach tightened with nerves.
I padded down the stairs when he rang the doorbell, and I pulled my hair into a high ponytail on the way.
I opened the door and instantly beamed. He stood there with his charming fucking smile, a Yankees hoodie to go with his jeans, and he held up a tub of Ben & Jerry’s vanilla ice cream.
It was a thousand times better than one of his sexy suits.
“Hi.”
He didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he stepped inside and immediately leaned down to kiss me. A firm kiss, then a slow, softer kiss, a deeper one where he teased my tongue with his and rendered me breathless, followed by gentle, unhurried pecks that made me sigh like a girl with a crush.
“Stunning,” he murmured.
“It would be rude of me to call you a liar.”
He smiled into another tongue-teasing kiss. “Not to mention you’d be wrong.”
I shivered at his skill and eased away, pinching my lips together. He was oh-so dangerous. And I wondered where else he’d be good with that tongue of his. After closing the door, I offered to take the ice cream.
He gave it to me before shedding his hoodie and shoes.
“Coffee, beer, soda…?” I asked.
“Coffee sounds good.”
I led the way into the kitchen, and he took a short detour to peer into the living room before joining me.
“I like what you’ve done with the place, Lis. You’re welcome to put your expertise to use across the street soon.”
I chuckled and brought out a new mug for him. “I assume your house looks much the same.”
“Far from it, actually.” He sat down on one of the stools. “I have to redo the kitchen and one of the bedrooms upstairs.”
“Oh? I’m sorry. But you can move in right away, can’t you?”
He nodded. “Partly why I bought it. I get the keys on Tuesday, and then I can get Tristan and Katie settled in after next weekend.”
I was suddenly even happier that he was here, because I had so many questions. “I thought they just moved to Vancouver—or Victoria?”
“Vancouver,” he confirmed. “They’ll go back after the baby’s born, but it’ll be easier for them to get dual citizenship for the child if she’s born in the US.”