AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I wonder suddenly, and with a sharp pang in my chest, if Mason has ever decorated a tree before. We never thought to invite him to the tree decorating night with mom, which was usually just the two of us, maybe John if I begged. From what I’ve gathered about Mason’s mother, I’d bet money she never put up a tree. Not even when he was little.
Mason doesn’t say much about his home life or his childhood, but he’s said enough to give me an understanding that it wasn’t normal or good. Not a tree decorating kind of home. Which makes my chest constrict even more that he’s gone to so much trouble now.
“Hey.” I touch his arm, tugging his hand away from his face until his eyes meet mine. I offer him a soft smile. “This is perfect. We don’t need lights. Or we can add them later. Not a big deal. Okay?”
He looks like he’s going to argue, and I shift my expression to what I hope is mock ferocity. I probably look like a chihuahua with tiny dog syndrome snarling up at a Rottweiler.
“Okay?” I demand, shaking his arm.
Mason finally chuckles. “Okay.”
“Great. Now get to work, big guy. I don’t care what goes where. Let’s just have fun with it.”
And we do. Mason and I fall into an easy rhythm like we’ve decorated dozens of trees. He puts the ornaments on the top half of the tree, and I get the bottom. In the background, Gretchen Weiners tries to make fetch happen, and Cady does her plastic sabotage. I don’t miss the way Mason snickers. I know he’s seen the movie at least once—I made both him and John watch it years ago—but I wasn’t sure if Mason liked it.
Clearly, he’s a man with good taste.
We’re almost to the last box when Mason stops and clears his throat. “Can you finish up? I’ve got a surprise.”
“I love surprises!”
“I know.” He smiles. “I’m going to be in the kitchen. Try not to peek.”
“Mason, the kitchen is literally part of this room. That’s the definition of an open concept apartment. How can I not peek?”
He only shrugs, not offering me an answer. But because Idolove surprises, I try to keep my back turned, focused on the tree andMean Girls. Though it’s impossible not to hear things and try to guess.
Okay, he’s lighting the gas stove … he’s cooking something? I remember then that his text said he’d have something sweet. And he did use the mixer earlier. Maybe he’s making some kind of dessert?
The scent of something sweet—cinnamon and chocolate?—permeates the apartment, even overpowering the smell of the Christmas tree. And, of course, spaghetti skunk.
I’m about to explode from curiosity—which might not kill cats but definitely could kill me—when Mason says, “Close your eyes, Chels.”
I stack the empty ornament box on the coffee table and then close my eyes, covering them with my hands for good measure.
“I deserve a medal for not peeking,” I tell him.
“I’m not sure about a medal, but I think there might be a Boy Scout badge for that.” His voice is closer now, and anticipation hums through me like I’ve been plugged directly into a socket.
“Can I look yet?”
“Not yet,” he says in a low voice, now in front of me. I didn’t even hear him move. He may be a giant, but he’s got ninja skills.
I shift, pressing my fingers harder over my eyes as I wonder how fast a heart can beat before it explodes. “Are you making me wait extra long just to torture me?”
“Maybe.”
“Mason!”
He chuckles, and the sound unfurls a ribbon of longing in my belly. This is absolute torture. But the very best kind. I both want it to go on forever and want it to end RIGHT THIS SECOND.
“Okay, fine,” he says. “You can open your eyes.”
I drop my hands, blinking my eyes open to see Mason holding out a big mug of hot cocoa. With whipped cream and marshmallowsanda candy cane, which makes it look completely festive. And like something pulled straight off one of my Pinterest boards.
“You made me fancy hot cocoa,” I whisper.
“I did. Not as good as your mom’s, but I did my best.” He raises his brows. “Are you … going to take it?”
