“Oh, Mason, this is—”
He interrupts me with a searing kiss that has been all day in the making, his hands on my face and his tongue claiming my mouth. It’s the kind of kiss that should be a prelude to tearing off our clothes and having hot, sweaty, gasping sex. But he pulls away abruptly, leaving me breathless.
“I’ll be right back,” he says. “Open your present.”
“Wait. What? Where are you going?”
“Just … open your present.”
Mason disappears into the dark, leaving me alone in the clearing. I approach the bed, pick up the gift, and tug on the twine bow. It falls away and the paper follows. Inside the box is lingerie—a moss-green lace cami with buttons and a pair of matching high-waisted briefs with a lace panel on the front. The fabric is soft, but substantial. Expensive. Tasteful, yet incredibly sexy. Nothing I would ever dream of buying for myself, but exactly what I would choose if given the option. Exactly what someone would choose for me if they were paying attention. I remove my clothes and put on the lingerie. I have no mirror to see myself, but when Mason emerges from the woods, the hunger in his eyes tells me everything I need to know.
“Where did you go?” I ask.
“Nowhere.” His hand covers the lace across my breast and he grazes his lips against the side of my neck. “Just wanted to let you put this on so I could take it off.”
August
CHAPTER 22
Saudade
Portuguese
“deep, soul-rending sadness, flavored with longing and melancholy”
I would have never guessed that Ohio in August could be as sweltering as Florida, but on a dripping Saturday near the middle of the month, it’s too hot to work. Even the construction noises on the second-to-last cabin sound like they’re happening in slow motion. Mason locks up the brewhouse. We change into our bathing suits, pack a fast picnic, and take the golf cart to the beach. Leaving Maisie at Avery’s house makes me feel slightly guilty, but once the lake water hits my sticky skin, it’s easy enough to push the feeling away.
We float on our backs for a long time, then spread out towels on the sand and bake in the sun until we start sweating again. Literal rinse and repeat. We eat salami sandwiches and drink red wine straight from the bottle because we forgot to bring glasses. When we get tired from the sun and the wine, we head to the house, where we make love and fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon.
I wake to the sound of rain drumming out a melody on the roof. Mason is still asleep as I get out of bed, pull on a tank top and shorts, and go downstairs to make sure the rain isn’t coming in through the open windows. I’m standing at the front screen door, listening to thunder rumble across the sky, when the stairs creak and Mason comes up, wrapping his arms around me from behind and kissing the back of my neck. His voice is gravelly from sleep as he says, “Hey, you.”
“Hi.” I lean my head back against his shoulder. “Thanks for a perfect day.”
“I’ve got plenty more where this one came from.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yep.”
He goes quiet, and we stand there watching the rain overflow the eaves and cascade to the ground like a waterfall. Raindrops fall on a set of bamboo wind chimes hanging at the corner of the porch, making it clatter softly.
“Hey, Rachel?” Mason says as lightning crackles in the distance.
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
The first time I said those words to Brian, it should have been a red flag that our relationship was going nowhere. There were moments when he was tender and sweet, and I believed with a Maisie-like devotion that someday he would say it back. He never did. And then I rushed, headlong and foolish, into a relationship with a guy who said I love you too fast, but I was so desperate for it to be true that I swallowed the lie. The voice of experience in my head whispers maybe it’s too soon. But the calm in the center of my heart knows that when Mason Brown says those words, he means them.
“I love you too.”
“I know it’s complicated because Maisie has a father and I … have days when I’m not sure I can do that again,” he says. “But she’s an amazing kid and I love her, too.”
“Piper is irreplaceable, and you don’t have to be anything to Maisie other than yourself.”
When Mason kisses me, I can almost taste the bitter mixed in with the sweet. And that’s okay. Sometimes life is like that.
“I’m tempted to take you back upstairs,” he says. “But it looks like the rain is starting to let up and one of us needs to go get Maisie.”
“Rock-paper-scissors?”
“You’re on.”
Mason throws rock. I throw scissors.
“Ugh. Fine,” I say. “When I leave, order a pizza, and Maisie and I will pick it up on our way home.”
“You got it.”
* * *
The rain has slowed to a misty drizzle when I turn my car into the driveway with Maisie and a hot pizza in the back. I stop for a second to get out and check the mail. Maisie complains that she needs to use the bathroom, so I unbuckle her from her car seat and let her run to the house by herself. I open the mailbox to a small avalanche of coupon flyers, credit card offers, and legitimate bills. Among them is an envelope addressed to me from a Fort Lauderdale law firm—and it looks official.
I tear it open. Inside is a letter informing me that Brian has established legal paternity and filed a motion for equal time-sharing and parental responsibility of Maisie. A court-ordered mediation date has been set for September 28.
Suddenly everything clicks into focus. Brian’s upgraded life goals. His evasive behavior. The well-chosen birthday gift with mermaid wrapping paper. That weird fucking video chat on the Fourth of July. And all of it points to this custody challenge.
For the first time in months, my heart rate skyrockets, and the surge of pain in my chest feels like a heart attack. I inhale huge breaths, but my lungs feel starved of air. My hands tremble so violently, I drop all the mail onto the wet grass. I sink to my knees and spread out, trying to calm myself, but the only thing I can think about is Maisie being taken from me. The letter says equal, but I can’t wrap my brain around how that would work unless … Brian is trying to force me to return to Florida. Making me give up my dreams. This island. This life. Everything I wished for. Fresh panic spirals through me as I think about leaving Mason behind, and the calming techniques I’ve always used are failing.
Mason finds me sobbing in the grass, my hair and clothes soaked through to the skin. He helps me to my feet. Leaving the car running in the driveway, the driver’s door hanging open, the pizza growing cold on the back seat, and the mail scattered on the lawn, he walks me to the house. He doesn’t know what set me off and I’m too distraught to tell him. He simply rubs my back in slow circles and speaks to me in a low, calm voice. “Hey, I’ve got you. I’m here.”
By the time we reach the house, my panic has settled into a sense of impending dread. I let him lead me upstairs to the bathroom and wait as he turns on the hot water in the shower. He sends Maisie to fetch my pajamas from the bedroom.
“Listen,” he says, touching my chin so I look at him. “Whatever this is, it will be okay.”