Page 52 of Letting Go at 40

“Take the bath. The pizza will take an hour to bake. I have some phone calls to make. Take your time.”

“You aren’t leaving?” My throat catches on the possibility.

“And miss out on this celebration? Not a chance.” He winks at me before tipping his head toward my room.

“Can I open this?” I reach for the package, pretty and pink.

“Uh . . . not yet. Later. After dinner.”

The sheepish grin on his face and secrecy of the present has me curious but I follow his instructions. I leave the present on the counter and take a bath but I’m too anxious, fidgety actually, knowing he’s in my kitchen making me a birthday pizza.

Mason will remove his suit coat, roll his sleeves above his elbows and look too sexy for his own good, so I decide to take extra care with myself, dressing in a casual summery dress while pulling my hair from the messy knot I had it in. I apply a fresh layer of lipstick in a light shade and comb my fingers through my hair. When I return to the kitchen, a glass of red wine awaits me on the counter.

Mason set the island and he points at a stool. “Sit.”

When the pizza is ready, I moan at the deliciousness. Mason chuckles and the next hour passes with us sharing past birthdays from our childhoods.

“I wanted a dog. Instead, they gave me a car.”

“You poor spoiled bastard,” I tease.

Mason huffs. “Something like that.” He reaches for his wine, polishing off his second glass.

“So, cake?” he asks.

“I’m so full.” The truth hurts my stomach even more. He went through so much trouble to get both treats for me, but I can’t eat another bite.

“Save it for the kids, then.” He stands and takes our plates over to the sink.

“Leave those. I’ll do them later.”

He ignores me and rinses the dishes, setting them in the dishwasher before boxing up the remainder of the pizza.

“That isn’t going to last long with two constantly hungry teens,” I quip about Calvin and Bryce. “Mila should be home soon. Maybe she can sneak a piece before them.”

“Maybe.” Mason stares at me. “And on that note, I should probably leave.”

“You aren’t staying?” I don’t know why I just assumed he’d spend the night.

He lowers his head a second, eyes aimed at the ground. “That’s probably not a good idea.” When he glances back up at me, his eyes are a deep mystifying blue.

“Okay,” I whisper, taking his meaning. He doesn’t want to make tonight longer than it’s already been. He’s already done so much.

“Present?” I point at the bright pink box that has been taunting me.

“Later,” he repeats. “After I leave. And alone,” he warns.

“So mysterious,” I tease.

“Okay.” Mason claps his hands. “One last thing.” His tone serious, he rounds the island again and walks up to me. I spin on my stool to face him.

Only when his hands cup my face, my breathing ratchets upward. My heart begins to hammer. Then he’s kissing me. It’s only lips on lips. No tongue. No teeth. Just soft and sweet, tender and telling.

A birthday kiss.

A wish for many more.

And maybe more kisses.