I have to think about it for a moment. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got a black skirt I keep around for funerals.”
I step onto the porch and turn to lock my front door. When I turn back, Mason is staring at my hair like there’s a big stink bug crawling around in it. I drop my keys into my handbag and self-consciously pat my bun. “What?”
“Nothing.”
I examine his expression. “Really? Because that’s a whole lot of nothing.”
He shifts his weight from foot to foot, flexing his hands open and closed like he doesn’t know what to do with them. I get the sense he’s refraining from saying something with a gargantuan effort of will.
“Oh.” I laugh. “Let me guess: you like buns as much as you like the color pink. Fortunately for me, you don’t get a say in the matter. We ready to go?”
When he doesn’t say anything and only stands there staring at me, I look past him to the car. When Mason turns his head to follow my gaze, Dick’s smirk vanishes, replaced by a frown.
“Is everything okay?”
Mason turns back to me, scowling. “Yep.”
I sigh, folding my arms over my chest. “Remember that thing I said about honesty?”
He blows out an aggravated breath and drags a hand through his hair.
Apparently he found a comb, because today his unruly tresses are tamed, pushed back from his temples in glossy dark waves. He shaved, too, and is wearing a crisp button-down white dress shirt with his jeans. It’s even tucked in.
The beast almost looks human.
“We kinda got into an argument on the way over. It’s no biggie. Forget about it.”
He turns around and stalks away, stomping down the porch steps and out to the driveway. He throws open the back door of the car, climbs in, and slams the door shut.
I stand on the porch with my arms folded across my chest until he throws the door open again and climbs back out. Standing there, he hollers across the yard, “You coming?”
I shake my head.
He hollers, “What’s the problem?”
I don’t move, except to crook my finger.
He heaves an exasperated breath and stalks back toward me, until he’s on the porch in front of me again, six-and-a-half feet of bristling, ill-mannered male, waiting for me to speak with the impatience of a child.
In a calm tone, I say, “A gentleman escorts a lady to the car and helps her in before he gets in himself.”
When he opens his mouth, I cut him off before he can shout some kind of obscenity at me. “I realize this isn’t a date. However, as your dating coach, it behooves me to point out that any woman of quality won’t be charmed by your expectation that she tag along behind you like a dog. Let’s start over, shall we?”
He spends a while grinding his teeth, until it becomes apparent the urge to murder me has passed and he can speak again.
“Sorry. I’m not used to… I don’t normally have to…” He takes a breath, then blurts, “I’m not a gentleman, all right? I’m more like a friggin’ wolf!”
No truer words were ever spoken.
“A gentleman is a wolf, just a patient one. Having manners doesn’t mean you’re neutered, it simply means you’ve mastered your inner animal. It means you choose when to let him off the leash. And thank you for the apology and for not cursing. I appreciate it.”
Mason blinks at me. Once. Slowly. Then he says, “If gentlemen are wolves, does that mean ladies are bunny rabbits?”
I burst out laughing. “Don’t be silly! A true lady is the most ferocious creature you’ll ever meet.”
He stares at me, his expression indecipherable. “I’m beginning to get that.”
After I give Dick the address, the ride to our destination is spent in silence. One of those unnerving silences that isn’t really quiet at all, but crowded with unspoken words and violent emotions all flapping wildly like Hitchcock movie birds in the air around your head.
Dick glances at me in the rearview mirror so many times that I finally raise my brows and send him a questioning gaze. His response is a wink. Then he turns his attention back to the road and arranges his face into a scowl.
For his part, Mason stares out the window like the passing view is personally offensive to him and he wants to leap from the car and strangle every chirping bird and blooming tree.
By the time we pull to a stop in the parking lot, I’m craving something strong to drink.
Looking out the windshield, Mason does a double take. “Wait.” He looks at me in horror. “We’re not going in there are we?”
“Why, will you burst into flames if the shadow of the cross falls on you?”
“You never said anything about going to church! I don’t do church!”
In the driver’s seat, Dick coughs. It sounds suspiciously like a stifled laugh.
I stay calm in the face of Mason’s impending meltdown. “One doesn’t do church. It’s not a sporting event. One attends mass to cultivate a healthy spirituality, give thanks for the many blessings of life, commune with neighbors, and worship God.”
He says flatly, “I don’t believe in God.”
“I hate to break it to you, Egozilla, but God isn’t like Tinkerbell. He doesn’t need you to believe in him to exist. Now get your cantankerous behind out of this car and follow me.”
I open the door and step out, then lean back in and look at Mason, who’s glaring at me in icy outrage. I smile. “If it will make you feel better, we’ll go get brunch after the service and you can shout at me over your crispy bacon about how much you hated it.”
He grimaces. “What if someone sees me?”
I say drily, “Yes, it would be truly awful to be seen attending a church service. I’m sure your reputation would never recover.”
Though it was sarcastic, the mention of his reputation does the trick. Shaking his head, he mutters something under his breath. Then he bursts from of the car as if it spit him out and starts striding toward the entrance, not looking back.
Here we go again.
I call out, “Oh, Mason?”
He stops dead in his tracks, scrubs his hands over his face, then swings around to stalk back toward me. “Sorry,” he says gruffly when he reaches my side. “Habit.”
“That’s all right. I’ve got my share of bad habits, too.”
Surprised, he lifts his brows. “Oh yeah? Name one.”
I know I can’t tell him about my hopeless addiction to collecting Harry Potter memorabilia, or that I can’t eat a bag of M&Ms without first sorting them into separate colors and counting them, or that all the food items in my pantry have to be aligned in perfect rows by size and color with all their labels facing out or I can’t sleep, because he’ll tease me ruthlessly.
So I decide on something a little less out there.
“Netflix. I’m a serious binge watcher.”
Something that could be a distant relative to a smile crosses his face. Looking down at me with his lids half lowered, he says, “But how else would you fill all those lonely, celibate nights spent with your cats?”
Ouch.
I lift my chin and sniff. “You’re not half as funny as you think you are. And by the way, I never said I was celibate.” I sail past him, heading toward the front steps of the church, where a small crowd is milling, waiting for the service to begin.