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But my poorly timed shiver kind of killed the mood. Leave it to Mason to put my well-being ahead of making out.
Me? I’d have chosen making out.
“Sure,” I say. “Come in.”
Still, as the bathroom door opens and Mason backs in, covering his eyes in one hand and carrying a tray in the other, I will not complain.
He walks backwards all the way to the bath mat, still keeping his back turned and eyes covered. A total gentleman. Kind of a dorky gentleman. Which I happen to really, really like.
“I’m going to turn around and set the tray down, but I’ll keep my eyes closed,” he says.
“I’m mostly covered by bubbles anyway.”
He coughs, and the tray rattles. “Good to know. I have to turn around, but I’ll keep my eyes closed.”
Mason keeps his eyes squeezed shut as he turns. I can’t help but grin, not only at his face, but what he brought me.
The tray has a mug of hot cocoa (with homemade whipped cream and Mom’s marshmallows, of course), plus a plate of cookies. They’re the fancy ones I buy when I’m celebrating something or else have PMS, butonlythen, because they’re expensive.
“My favorite cookies!” I gasp. “How did you know?”
Mason smiles. “I make it my business to know.”
I try not to shiver with delight. Mason bought a box of cookies for me! The exact kind I really like! Maybe it’s a small thing, but isn’t that exactly what Sam said to look for? Little signs? There are a LOT of little signs, and they’re all adding up.
So long as he doesn’t pull back again—two steps forward, ten steps back. Maybe this time, if he tries to back up, I’ll grab him by the shirt collar and pull him closer instead.
Mason sets the tray on the edge of the tub, his eyes still squeezed closed. I keep all my important bits submerged below the bubbles as I lean forward to snag a cookie.
He backs away, using his hand to feel for the counter.
“Thank you,” I say. “Thisalmostmakes up for having a fish get frisky with me. Almost. Do you take baths often?”
“Every day since I moved in.”
“This tub is big, but I can’t picture you fitting in here. I mean, not that I’m picturing you in here. I’m just talking purely about size. Gah! Ignore me. I’m not talking about anything.”
I stuff a cookie in my mouth so I don’t say anything else or anything worse. Mason chuckles and hoists his tall body up on the counter one-handed (because the goof is still covering his eyes) and settles in.
“Can I ask you something?” Mason says.
“Anything,” I say.
There’s a long pause, and because he’s got his eyes covered, I get to study his handsome face.
“Why did you tell John yes?” Mason asks. “To these dates, I mean.”
I do NOT love this question.
I take a sip of cocoa while I formulate an answer. One which doesn’t involve me confessing I wanted to make Mason jealous. Or that the only man I’m interested in dating is the one making me bubble baths and covering his eyes to be polite.
“That’s a hard one to answer. Part of it is that I have trouble saying no to my brother, even from Spain. But I also promised without knowing what I was promising. A mistake I won’t make again,” I say. “Though I did negotiate it down to three dates.”
“He does have a way of taking over. For both of us,” Mason says. “Maybe that’s something we can change.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe it’s time you and I both stop doing what John wants when it’s not what we want.”
