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As for the skunk …
On the way to use the bathroom in the woods at night, I spotted a skunk. A typical person might run away. But I’ve never been typical. So … I tried to pet the skunk.
Yes. I did that. I’ll own it.
In my defense, skunks actually are adorable. Who knew?
Cuteness aside, they are NOT fans of people petting them.
Hence, the spray. It would have been worse, but Chase jumped in front of the skunk. Not to save me. Nope. To keepHarperfrom getting sprayed.
And THAT’s love, folks.
It may not be a standard grand gesture, but it was as real as any act of love I’ve ever seen.
“Chels,” Mason prompts, bringing my attention back to him. “Explain.”
My shoulders slump. I might as well tell him some version of the story and get the humiliation over with.
“You know I went camping, right?”
Mason nods, still staring at me with his golden-brown eyes. I love his eyes. And if it wouldn’t be creepy or immediately alert him to my massive crush on him, I’d spend more time every day staring at them.
He blinks, and I realize I AM staring. Then he glances down at my shoes, his—or, rather,John’s—Christmas gift.
“Right. Of course you knew I was camping.” I sigh. “The TLDR version is that I tried to pet a skunk. They’re much cuter than you’d think,” I add quickly, seeing his features shift. It’s subtle, but I’ve had years to study Mason’s expressions. I could write theField Guide to Mason Brandt’sface. His current expression is amused disbelief.
“You think skunks are cute?” he asks.
“I didn’t until I saw one up close. And I definitely don’tnow. But for a brief moment in time, before the spray—yes. I thought skunks were, in fact, cute. Clearly, I have a judgment problem.”
About men, about skunks—maybe about LIFE.
Look, I’m a simple woman. I want to stop being ghosted after first dates. I want to find a man who adores me, have kids, and stay home with them instead of working in a classroom full of other people’s kids like I do now.
And I want to stop pining after the man I compare every other man to—the one currently watching me from across the room like he’s not sure how to respond.
Mason is always frustratingly polite, always irritatingly kind to me. But he keeps a professional distance between us, like we’re coworkers with a no-fraternizing policy.
In this metaphorical workplace scenario, my brother is the boss. Even while in Spain, his presence looms large between Mason and me. It feels like at any moment, John might pop his head over the top of our cubicle to make sure we’re not watching YouTube during work time.
But I want to stop imagining John between us. Because my brotherisn’there. For once, he can’t show up unannounced to ask about our TPS reports. I thought—hoped—maybe his absence would allow something else to grow between me and Mason.
No such luck.
Yet.
Even now, when I KNOW I should probably give up, my little optimist heart keeps steadily beating to the rhythm of Mason’s name.
Which is, as a word with equal emphasis on both syllables, a very good name to set my heart’s rhythm.
“What’s a TLDR?” Mason asks.
I stare at the sweet, innocent man who obviously doesn’t spend enough time online. “TLDR—too long; didn’t read? Like the short summary version as opposed to the whole story.”
I halfway expect him to ask me why I used the term when no one’s reading, but instead, a slow smile breaks across his face, stunning me into a frozen state.
TLDR: his smile is amazing.
