Page 96 of Untroubled Heart

“Okay, text me later.”

We hang up, and I step off my chair to sit on Mason’s lap.

“You are so incredibly generous,” I say, looping my arms around his neck. “With one of the kindest hearts I have ever known.”

His hands rub back and forth up my arm. “My plan is working then—make you think I’m so sweet that you just can’t live without me.”

“It’s totally working.” I chuckle, then touch my forehead to his. “You are sweet.”

“Should we see what Florence and Greyson are up to?” he asks, and I lean back, snatching another letter from the open tin that lives on the porch table whenever we’re here.

I settle against Mason’s chest as I unfold the worn paper.

My dearest Florence,

A week has passed since I’ve seen your beautiful face, since the sound of your voice has settled my soul, and the lavender soap that clings to your skin has infiltrated my lungs. My prayers are all that keep me warm in the dark nights that reside with your absence, that my efforts are not unavailing.

Come morning, the answers I seek will be fulfilled.

I shall hold your heart even if time has granted me no kindness, and I am destined to remain in the shadows with my affection.

Fate will deliver what was always meant to be. Your happiness from daybreak to nightfall is all that will grant me solace in the end.

Inescapably yours, Greyson.

“I wonder what he was doing.” I refold the letter, my brows crinkling in thought. “How was he trying to be worthy of her? Surely if he asked, she’d tell him she loved him exactly how he was.”

Mason is silent as he stares at the letter in my hands.

“Maybe he was scared.” His gaze flicks to mine, his fingers pressing into the skin at my waist. “He thought he was going to lose her if he didn’t do more.”

Mason’s green and blue eyes look tired, almost troubled, before he looks past me to the garden. I run a hand through his hair, pushing back the pieces that always gather over his blue eye, and I feel his chest inflate as soon as I make contact.

“Whatever it was, I hope it worked.”

Chapter thirty-five

“Okay, which one of you heathens didn’t refill the toilet paper?” Beth’s standing in the doorway of the formal dining room, hands braced on her hips. “I’ve been shouting out for five minutes.”

Her eyes scan over each of us before landing on me.

I clutch my chest with a gasp. “Why are you looking at me?”

“You’re the only one here who hasn’t been fully domesticated yet.”

I look around at each member of my family, who erupt in various degrees of laughter, from Lex’s polite chuckle to Gram’s roaring bellow—rude. Mum and Callie are the only ones who make any sort of effort not to laugh at my expense.

“Queenie?” Grandpa pops his head into the dining room, looking at my grandmother as she places a bowl of pavlova in the centre of the table. “Do we have more toilet paper? It’s not in the hallway cupboard where it normally is.”

I turn to my sister, who’s now seated on the other side of Callie, sporting red cheeks. “Haaaaa!”

“Well, don’t gloat, Mason.” She huffs. “It’s unbecoming.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “I think someone owes someone else an apology.”

“You’re absolutely right. When I see them, I’ll be sure to let them know.”

This is the first time I’m bringing Callie to our family’s Sunday dinner. It’s a tradition we’ve held for longer than I can remember.