Lying in bed, I find myself staring up at the ceiling for a good hour, trying to rid myself of the ache that comes with thinking about Jared and what I saw in the paintball hut. But there was a part of today—a few hours, out in the grove with Ben—when I felt steady, like I’d stepped off of this emotional roller coaster I’ve been riding. There’s magic in the air up there, in the walls of that big, old house. I can feel it. The kind of magic that has protected generations of life from its precious beginning until its fragile end; has watched love blossom and then die, has listened to the sobs of a broken heart and the eventual laughter again. And much like the people within it, though slightly run down, it still stands proud, welcoming new people into its life.
Between the silent strength and comfort of the house and the expanse of the grove, I found myself able to take deep, lung-filling inhales of fresh air, after months of only shallow draws of something stale and altogether unsatisfying.
Or maybe it wasn’t the magic or the fresh air at all. Maybe it was the company.
On impulse, I grab my phone and scan through my speed dial.
“You missed me that much already?” a very groggy Ben answers.
I feel my mouth pull into a smile of its own accord. “How was your shower?”
He heaves a sigh. “Quick and productive. I was almost asleep.” I’m immediately hit with an image of him stretched out in his bed. Naked. This isn’t good. Those kinds of fantasies were always reserved for one guy and one guy only. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just . . .” I hesitate. “Thanks for today.”
“You already said that.” There’s a smile in his voice.
“Right, I did.” He’s going to think I’m an idiot.
A slightly awkward pause hangs over our conversation and then Ben asks, “What are you wearing?”
I roll my eyes. It’s such a cheesy line, but it makes me want to laugh because Ben is saying it. “Nothing at all. Good night.” I click “end” before he has a chance to respond.
A giant Starbucks coffee—still hot—and an orange await me on my desk on Monday morning with a note:
Black tar for a black heart.
I smile.
I’m still smiling as a knock on my door has me turning.
And staring, wide-eyed.
It’s Mason. But not Mason. Because Mason is a geeky buttoned-up, skinny-tie-wearing, thick-glasses, boring-hair kind of guy. The guy in front of me has transformed into something one may call, at minimum, cute. His unruly curls are tamed and styled and the trendy new collared shirt and pants make him look not quite so wiry. And those glasses are gone, revealing large olive-green eyes. I’ve never seen him without his big, thick glasses.
“How was the rest of your day? Besides the alien abduction, of course,” I ask, savoring the rich, dark flavor of my coffee as I eye him suspiciously.
Mason’s cheeks redden. “It was fine. Can I talk to you for a second?”
Mason has always been only too happy to abide by my “stay the hell away from me in the morning” rule. “This must be important. Take a seat. Tell me what you’ve done with my loving stepbrother.”
He pushes the door shut and strolls over, inspecting the chair before sitting in it, folding his hands in his lap nervously. His eyes roam my desk. “You must have half the firm’s caseload sitting on your desk.”
“That’s what I get for being smart and efficient. Out with it. Between you and Ben, everyone’s going to start thinking my mornings are open season.” I’ve already seen the law bot pass by twice, her head bobbing like a pigeon this way and that, trying to get a good angle on which case file I might be working on.
“Jack asked me what was going on between you and Ben.”
Unease twists my stomach. If Mason ever wanted to get even with me, now would be the time. “What’d you say?”
He shrugs. “I told him that you guys were just friends.”
“Huh. Good.”
“I’m assuming that’s a lie?”
“No, we are just friends.” Friends that may fool around a bit, but . . . Jack didn’t ask for specifics.
The small frown tells me he doesn’t believe me. “Okay, good, because Ben’s not the kind of guy you want to get hung up on. I like him. I mean, he’s a good friend, but he’s not one to commit and I wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt.”
“Anyone . . . meaning me?” Does Mason actually care?
Mason squirms in his seat, his hands automatically reaching for his glasses, which aren’t there. “I know you’ve had it rough with all . . . that.”
As awkward as he is, I have to admit, this new alien-abducted version of Mason is kind of nice. I nod once but keep my mouth shut for fear of saying something to ruin the Twilight Zone moment.
“So . . .” He pauses, strumming his fingers on the chair arm.
I should have known he was being nice to me for a reason. “What do you want, Mason?”
Clearing his throat, he finally gets to the point. “Hey, what does Lina really like to do? You know, to have fun.”
“Why don’t you just ask her? I mean, you’ve been together for, what, almost three months?”
He shrugs. “Because I want to surprise her. So . . . Help me out here.”
“You could go to Vegas and get married. That’d be a surprise.”
He groans with annoyance, but then I see a flash of something else as his eyes settle on me once again. Sadness, pity—I’m not sure. I purse my lips. And decide that if Lina is somehow happy with him, then, well, I need to start being a better friend about this. “She loves planes. Take her to that airplane museum.”
He nods slowly. “Cool.” A pause, and then his eyes narrow. “Hey, you’re not lying to me, right? Because if I find out that the sight of planes causes her spontaneous seizures, that won’t be funny.”
I snort. “No, if I were screwing with you, I’d tell you to take her to a butterfly museum.”
His brow puckers up. “Butterflies? I thought everyone liked butterflies.”
“Not Lina. Their little bodies freak her out.”
“Oh.” He snorts. “Okay, thanks.” He moves to stand but stalls, clearing his throat. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for calling you a demon spawn when Jack and your mom split up.”
It clicks. Lina has got to him. That’s what this is all about. It must be. Standing, he makes his way to the door. “Oh, and that red substance you used to write ‘Redrum’ on my computer screen is . . .?”
“Raspberry jam.”
“Right.” A slow, thoughtful smile stretches across his face. “I love raspberry jam.”
“I know.” On impulse, I reach into my drawer and pull out a jar. Tossing it to him, I watch as he fumbles once, twice, three times, just barely securing it in his non-athletic grasp before it smashes against the ground.
With a sheepish grin, he holds it up with a crooked, “Hey, I actually caught it!” smile.
“Oh, and Ben’s the one moving your stuff around in your office. It’s not me.”
He rolls his eyes, a very non-Mason thing to do. “Thanks.”
The second he steps out of my office, I dial Lina’s number. “Are you and Mason plotting to kill me or are you just that good in bed?”
“The latter, though if you don’t start being nice to him, I will give him enough ammunition to take you down permanently,” comes her deadpan response without a moment’s hesitation, as if she were ready for my call.
“That’s highly prejudicial.”
“It goes both ways. I told him that I’m not going to be the buffer between you two, so you need to start acting like normal siblings.”
“Says the only child.” A knock on the glass distracts me. Ben standing at the window, pointing at the red golf shift he’s wearing, that appealing broad smile on his face. I grab the orange and toss it at the glass where his head is. Mouthing, “Good aim,” he winks and strolls away, that smile so infuriating and yet sparking within me the need to giggle.
I’m still giggling to myself when Natasha pokes her head in.