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“It’s too pretty,” I whisper, clenching my fists at my sides.
The smile he gives me now is cocky, a look I’ve rarely seen on Mason. My heart takes off in a sprint. “It tastes better than it looks. It’s homemade. The whipped cream is your mom’s recipe and I stopped by to pick up some of her homemade marshmallows. What are you doing?”
What I’m doing is pulling out my phone to take a picture. Because I need to remember this moment forever. Mason doesn’t love having his picture taken, but he sighs and lets me take a whole bunch before finally saying, “It’s going to be cold chocolate if you don’t drink it.”
I set my phone on the table and finally take the mug, beaming at him as I do. “Thank you. This is amazing.”
“It’s a small thing,” he says.
I shake my head. “It’shuge.”
And it is. Exactly the kind of huge small gesture Sam talked about. Guys don’t just buy Christmas trees and make homemade hot cocoa and whipped cream and marshmallows forfriends. Or their best friend’s younger sisters. Or their roommates.
When I take the mug, I shamelessly let my fingertips brush over his. Frankly, I’d like to set down the mug of cocoa and tackle the man, but I’ll settle for this tiny touch. For now.
I sink onto the couch and take a sip. It’s heavenly. Best hot cocoa on the planet. Am I partial to Mason as a hot cocoa chef? Yes. But truly, it’s amazing.
Now that I don’t have to avert my eyes from the kitchen, I can see a fancy can of chocolate next to the saucepan where he heated the milk. I can’t read the label from here but it’s probably the kind with a name like Midnight Music or Dark Chocolate River of Your Soul.
I almost jump out of my skin when Mason sits down beside me with his own mug. Mason NEVER sits next to me. He always keeps a safe half-room distance. He has for years. If I choose a couch, he’s in a chair. Barring other seating options, he makes sure there’s a cushion between us. If I’m on one side of the table, he’s on the other.
Is this another sign? I try not to get too excited but still find myself bouncing in place. Mason has been thoughtful. He’s gone out of his way to do grand tiny things for me. Not just general things, but specific things he knows I like.
And now—he’s sitting beside me.
I think Sam would agree—these things mean something. But do they mean what I WANT them to mean?
“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” I tell him. “But this is delicious. Amazing. The best hot cocoa ever. Even better than Mom’s. You can’t tell her.”
“I won’t. And it was no trouble,” Mason says.
I make a show of looking in the kitchen, where the counters are littered with all the various things he used to make my food. “Are you kidding? It’s a lot of trouble. You already did way more than enough. I’d have been happy with Swiss Miss and Cool Whip.”
“I know you would have,” Mason says. “But maybe you deserve more than that.”
His dark eyes meet mine and hold. I swear, I’m having some kind of out-of-body experience. I hope he picked up some defibrillator paddles along with the heavy whipping cream, because he’s going to need them if he keeps looking at me like that.
He looks almost like … he wants to kiss me.
Despite all the signs I’ve been obsessing over like an obsessed person, doubt immediately floods through me. Because Mason doesn’t feel that way about me. He’sneverfelt that way about me.
I’m just John’s kid sister to him and—
Mason shifts closer. His brown eyes drop to my lips.
To. My. Lips. Mason is sitting so close our thighs are touching and he’s LOOKING AT MY LIPS.
My brain feverishly tries to catalog the available information, scanning through available data points.
Sitting close: check. Eyes on mouth: check. Kiss imminent: check, check, check!
Mason’s voice is low and rough when he says, “You’ve got a little whipped cream on your lip.”
The chemistry continues crackling between us like a yule log soaked in gasoline.
I’ve seen this move a hundred times before in romcoms. It’s a classic. I’ve got whipped cream on my lip, and Mason is going to kiss it right off and I AM SO HERE FOR IT.
I suck in a breath and wait, feeling like a kid about to blow out her birthday candles and receive her biggest, wildest wish.
