“This isn’t exactly a special occasion.” Her negativity was starting to get on his nerves, and he gritted his teeth before responding.
“Allow me to decide for myself which occasions I think are special,” he just barely refrained from snapping at her, and she was silent for so long, he wondered if some of the impatience he was feeling had managed to creep into his voice after all.
“Are we going to MJ’s?” she asked, and he gave her a quick look, trying to read her expression in the dim light.
“Yep.”
“You don’t need a reservation for MJ’s.”
Aaahh. Mason felt his lips stretch into a grin.
“I was wondering when you’d pick up on that.”
“Why’d you say you had reservations?”
“I’m hungry and wasn’t in the mood to stand there having yet another ridiculous discussion with you about whether we’re doing this or not.”
Daisy didn’t respond to that, averting her gaze out of the passenger window instead. The roads and sidewalks gleamed wetly beneath the pale streetlights as rain continued to torrent down. She tried not to think about how good Mason smelled, how she was completely enveloped by his scent, how she wanted to lean closer and just inhale him all in. Okay . . . so maybe that last one was a little creepy, but heck, the guy smelled amazing. And he looked absolutely breathtaking too. He was wearing faded jeans and a gray Henley under an open black, waist-length down coat, with a furred hood. He wore his clothes with an ease that Daisy kind of envied. He gave ordinary clothes a sexy, chic masculine appeal that she hadn’t ever seen any other man achieve. She felt positively frumpy next to his splendor.
He parked as close to MJ’s as he could on a Saturday night, which, despite the wet weather, was still about five doors away. He reached for the umbrella and told her to wait, while he leaped out of the car and dashed around to her side to open the door for her.
Daisy wasn’t used to such chivalry from the opposite sex. They usually dove to assist her sisters, leaving Daisy to open her own doors and carry her own shopping. This was a complete novelty. He raised the umbrella above her head and made sure she received the lion’s share of the protection it offered. The left side of his body was wet when they reached the restaurant entrance. He held the door open for her with one hand while he shook the umbrella vigorously with the other.
MJ’s was jam-packed as usual, and Daisy’s wet glasses fogged up the second the hot air hit them, making it hard for her to see. She reached up to remove them, while Mason took a light hold of her elbow and followed one of the staff who led them to an empty table in the middle of the floor and informed them that their waitress would be right with them.
He dragged a chair out for Daisy, and feeling both self-conscious and flattered, she slid into it. She wiped her glasses, and by the time she had them back on, he was already seated opposite her. A quick glance around the room confirmed that there were a lot familiar faces around and that some of them were quite openly staring at her and Mason.
“Man, I haven’t been to MJ’s in years,” Mason was saying. “I think the last time I set foot in this place was as a dishwasher.”
Mason used to bus and wash dishes here. He must have been close to eighteen at the time. And while she would never admit to it now, a fourteen-year-old Daisy used to come to MJ’s hoping to catch a glimpse of him. He hadn’t noticed her, though. In fact, he hadn’t really paid attention to any of the girls who had tried to flirt with him back then.
“It hasn’t changed at all,” he said, shaking his head ruefully. “It’s like it’s still stuck in the early twenty-ohs.”
“Nothing much changes in Riversend,” Daisy said, and his eyes smiled into hers, sending her tummy aflutter again.
“Yeah, I noticed. I was gone, what? Twelve, thirteen, years? And everything is exactly the same. I mean Mr. Kane is still the principal of the high school, for God’s sake.”
“How do you even know that?” she asked.
“Spencer. He’s often invited to give motivational talks to the kids. Can you believe that? Old Man Kane hated us, and now he’s asking Spencer to talk to the students? Apparently he wants me to speak to them too.”
“And will you?”
“I don’t know. It’s not my scene. What do I have to say to a bunch of teens?” He looked uncomfortable and more than a little embarrassed at the thought.
“You’ve done really well for yourself, Mason,” she said. “And you came from such humble beginnings. A lot of the students come from similar backgrounds. You and your brother could inspire them to do more with their lives.”
“It wasn’t anything special. We worked hard. I had three jobs, and I saved every cent I earned so that I could afford the airfare out of here. That meant no dates, no social life during my entire adolescence . . . no kid wants to hear that.”
“They might not want to hear it, but it’s exactly what some of them need to hear.”
He cleared his throat and fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers, before reaching for the menu.
Their young waitress drifted over to their table.
“Oh, hey, Dr. Daisy,” she greeted when she saw Daisy and then stared at Mason with open curiosity. “Do you want your usual drink?”
“Hello, Thandiwe,” Daisy greeted the teenager with a friendly smile. “I think I’ll have a glass of your house red tonight.”
“Make that a bottle of your best Pinotage,” Mason said, and the girl nodded, her riot of beaded braids bouncing pertly. She was a pretty girl, with a warm smile, and one of those troubled teens Daisy had just been talking about.
“Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes with your wine and to take your order,” Thandiwe said, and Daisy nodded.
“So what’s your ‘usual’ drink?”
“I’d rather not say; it’s embarrassing.”
“As embarrassing as the chicken dance?”
She snorted and shook her head. “Nowhere near as bad as that.”