“What? You do? Really?”
“Yeah.” Grinning, I grab the phone and set it on my chest. I lift my hair up and let the cool comforter chill the back of my neck. “I really, really love him. I think I just got butterflies from saying it. So apparently those are real.”
“Brooke, that’s wonderful.” Her voice grows exceedingly quiet.
I listen to her soft sniffles. My sister, ever the emotional wreck when it comes to anything even slightly romantic.
“Oh, my God. I was not expecting you to say that. Does he know?”
“I told him last night, right after I figured it out.” I pinch my thighs together. “Then we had wild, shameless sex into the wee hours.”
Juls shrieks. “I’m so happy for you! On both counts, obviously. And I know he loves you too. God, I saw it that night at The Tavern. The way he spoke about you while you were in the bathroom. He was so in love then.”
“What?” I scoff. “No, he wasn’t. That was before we even knew each other at all.”
Is she insane? How he could he have loved me then? I met him two minutes before that night.
“So? I went out with Ian one time and I knew I was going to marry him. One date and that was it. Boom. Why should it take longer? Your soul is recognizing who it belongs to. Knowing should be immediate. It’s like seeing a familiar face in a crowd.”
I press my lips together, holding in my programmed skeptical remark.
Hmm. Maybe Juls is right? Maybe it isn’t entirely strange for it to happen in an instant for some people. I remember what she was like after meeting Ian. Lord, she never shut up about the guy.
And now I never shut up about the guy.
“Maybe,” I quietly reply, thinking back to that night at the bar.
Mason’s face when he walked over. His engaging stare. The way he cared more about hearing me than staying and having a few drinks.
Did he love me then? God, that seems completely senseless.
“Is this like, it for you? Is he the one?”
“Jesus, Juls.” I sit up and hold my phone out. “Would you get out of wedding planner mode please? I told you I loved him. I didn’t ask your opinion on venues or centerpieces.”
Now I know she’s taking notes. I’m sure she has her planner open and is looking at potential dates. So typical.
“Did I ask about venues and centerpieces? No, I asked if you thought Mason was the one. A completely logical question considering your feelings for him.”
“Crazy about Dylan being on bed rest, huh? Can you believe it?”
“Brooke,” Juls snaps. “Don’t change the subject.”
I exhale a slow breath, leaning on my knees and running my thumb over my toenail polish. “The one,” I repeat quietly, contemplating this foreign idea of forever with the same person. A concept I’ve never considered.
But I also never gave a second thought to loving someone. I never imagined any of this happening.
Mason is my wild card. He’s that unexpected storm that hits when you’re outside on a beautiful day, and at first you don’t want it. You were enjoying the sun and the heat on your skin. That’s what makes you happy. Then the sky darkens and the temperature drops a little, and you think ‘okay, this breeze is nice’. You wait it out, thinking it’ll pass, but the rain starts to fall. The first drop hits your shoulder. Another soaks into your hair. It startles you, but it feels good. You were too hot anyway. Then before you know it, it’s pouring, saturating your clothes and pooling on the earth. A giggle bubbles in your throat. Where is this coming from? It’s so sudden and surprising, and in a matter of seconds, you’re drenched from head to toe. Your beautiful day is ruined, and you can’t stop laughing.
You can’t stop laughing.
The sun is overrated anyway. Give me a sweet storm when I least expect it.
Juls hums impatiently in my ear as I smile against my fingers.
“I . . .”
A knock on the door interrupts me. My heart thumps against my ribs.
Mason.
I leap off the bed and breeze through the condo. “Juls, hey, I gotta go. Mason is here.”
“What? No! Yes or no. Yes or no. Give me something.”
“I have to go,” I laugh, stepping up to the door and peering through the peep-hole, grinning at the gorgeous sight of the man on the other side.
Mason looks so damn good in a gray dress shirt, the button undone at the collar, revealing his tanned neck and the thick protuberance of his Adam’s apple.
Fuck, I want to lick him there.
He stares straight ahead, straight at me, as if he knows I’m looking at him. Admiring. A smirk playing on his lips and his blue eyes bright.
“Brooke,” Juls says in my ear, her voice insistent.
I feel a surge of heat blossom in my chest. My toes curl on the carpet.
“Yes.” I disconnect the call, cutting off her exuberant reply. I wrench the door open and hurl myself into Mason’s arms.
I cling to him, kissing his jaw and inhaling his warm skin.