“How did you get away?”
“I went to use the bathroom.”
“That was forty-five minutes ago.”
“I know.” I smirked. “I figured you could look after them until their cabs all showed up.”
“Thanks for that,” he said dryly, leaning right back in the chair. “Like I haven’t looked after a child and a poop-happy puppy all day already.”
“You come to the madhouse; you’re responsible for the madhouse.” I shrugged and put my pencil on top of the pad.
“What are you drawing?”
“Whatever comes out of the pencil. Just letting it run free.”
He leaned over and turned the pad so he could see. “Flower garden?”
I shrugged. “Probably. There aren’t any squirrels, though, wonky-eyed or otherwise.”
He met my eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. “Shame. Your squirrels are the best squirrels.”
I pursed my lips and grabbed the sketchbook, closing the cover over it. Partly to protect the drawing, but also to protect me. My sketches were such a part of me that were so personal, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to open that part to him yet.
I mostly didn’t want him to flip through the pages and see everything I’d drawn. Not because there was anything I wanted to hide, but because, well… I just didn’t want him to see them.
“Are they always that crazy at book club?” Mason nodded toward the house. “It seems like the books are just an excuse to get drunk and talk shit.”
“That’s exactly what they are.” I fought a smile. “Like eighty-year-olds need an excuse to get drunk and talk shit. When I’m eighty, I’ll do that just because I’m eighty and I’m allowed. Hell, I do that now, and I’m twenty-six.”
“I don’t think you should need an excuse to get drunk and talk shit.”
“I agree with you. Lord knows I did it enough six years ago.”
A little darkness flashed in his eyes, and guilt immediately pinged inside of me. There was no way I could move on if I kept throwing the past back at him. He’d already apologized for hurting me, and going on about it just made me a huge bitch.
“Mason, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
He shrugged one shoulder and looked out at the dark backyard. “You’re allowed to feel the way you do, Immy, and you don’t have to apologize to me for it.”
“No, but I do have to apologize to you for being a raging bitch.” I scooted forward on the chair. “It happened. You apologized. You want to be friends, and we do have to get along, especially if Grandma is gonna keep sending me over with baked goods.”
A smile ghosted across his face, and he turned his head back so he could peer at me out of the corner of his eye. “She’s going to keep sending you over with baked goods until one of us gets engaged.”
“The horror. I might have to move.”
“That would solve the issue. Or you could get married.”
“I don’t know. That’s expensive.”
“And moving house isn’t?”
“I don’t mean financially expensive—although it is. Emotionally expensive. Didn’t you hear Francesca earlier? She doesn’t have a future mother-in-law; she has a future monster-in-law.”
He tilted his head to the side. “You’re right. I’ve met the woman and I can tell you she’s a micromanager to the extreme. She wants to control the entire wedding, and I don’t know how long Fran can handle that.”
“You’re close, aren’t you? You and Fran.”
“Does that freak you out?”
“Why would it freak you out? How close you are is none of my business.”
“Why did you ask then?”
“Because I’m nosy as hell.”
He laughed and swung his feet up onto the table, crossing his legs at the ankles. He relaxed right back in the chair and rolled his head side to side before he focused on me. “She’s like my little sister now, honestly. I still wonder how we dated as long as we did before it all went to shit. I think we just got along so well that breaking up didn’t really occur to us. Then we found out she was pregnant and thought we’d try again. We even lived together then because we thought it would be easier, but our relationship hadn’t changed at all.
“Now, it’s just normal for us. It means Maya’s happy and it makes everything run much smoother. If she wants to go on vacation like she just did, I’m cool with changing my schedule. If I get wrapped up in a case and need to skip a Saturday to work or something, we add the day on later in the year.”
“I think it’s great, especially for Maya. She’s obviously a well-adjusted kid and that’s down to both of you.”
“What does hating her mom achieve?” His lips tugged to one side. “Lots of fighting and bickering back and forth? How does that help anyone? All our lives are easier because we get along, and in twenty years, Maya will look back and while she won’t have memories of us being together as one family, she’ll have a whole host of memories of two families that were always there for her no matter what. Even if we get married to other people and have more kids, she’ll always be important.”
“Do you think about that? Getting married and having more kids?”
“Why? Are you offering?”
I threw my pencil at him.
He laughed, tossing it back. “Sure I do, but moving closer to her has been my priority for the last year or so. I work a lot and when I’m not working, I have her. I don’t have time to date much.”
“Don’t tell Grandma. She’ll start trying to hook you up with people.”
“You mean all the baked goods aren’t her doing that with us?”
“Oh, it is her trying to push us together. But if you don’t tell her it’s not working, I won’t either, and you’ll keep getting your steady stream of cakes and shit.”
“I’ll take the cakes, but you can keep the shit.”
“You’re not funny, Mason.”
“I thought that was witty.”
“You thought wrong.”
He laughed and stretched his hands above his head, making his t-shirt rise up and show a glimpse of his toned, tanned stomach.
That I was totally not looking at, okay?
Okay.
I yanked my gaze away and looked over at his house. The last thing I needed was for him to catch me ogling his goddamn stomach. There was no way of talking my way out of that one, was there?
Ugh.
Being a restrained woman was so much hard work.
Neither of us spoke for a few minutes. We just sat together, listening to the sound of crickets chirping in the bushes that lined the back of the yard, in the dark.
It was nice. Not the thing I’d imagined us doing, but I felt like that was somewhat better than what I had thought we’d do.
Argue.
There was something comfortable about being in Mason’s presence again. Just sitting here with him with nothing more than silence between us was more enjoyable than I expected.
There was comfort in familiarity, I guess.
Could he still be that familiar after six years?
The way it felt to sit here with him… Yes. He could. And he was.