Page 49 of I Choose You

“Yes,” I say without a second thought.

“Then why question it? If you want to stop, we will. I won’t pressure you, but I’m not going to lie and say I don’t like what’s happening here. It’s good, Kenz. Really fucking good. We deserve to feel this. You deserve it more than anything.” He pauses briefly, moving his hands from me, but it doesn’t help me think any clearer. He’s muddied my mind enough that he’s all I can think about. The logical part of me isn’t entirely convinced this is the smartest thing for us, but my heart tells me there’s no other way.

And damn it, I want to listen to it for once.

22

Mackenzie

Things changed. The energy between Mason and me shifted.

The kiss kick-started it, but those few moments in the bathroom further solidified it, wrote it in stone. We haven’t kissed again, but our friendly banter undertones with something more. We stare when the other walks into the room. We find ways to be closer. The subtlety of our actions is louder than words we could ever speak.

Three mornings ago, he brushed his hand along my waist to reach for a mug at the coffeemaker. The following afternoon, he texted me privately—not through our group chat. Today, he went as far as promising to be home early to eat dinner with me. Though I’m not sure if that’s because he wants to spend time with me before he moves—a worry I have barred myself from thinking about since our bathroom incident—or if it’s coming from a different place.

This chain of events isn’t stirring my nerves like I expected they would. Rather than wanting to run at the first sign of something real, I feel…refreshed, which is odd since I should be running for the hills right about now.

I’m home long before he or Luke and get to work on a home-cooked meal. My go-to is quick and easy when it’s me, but I want to have a hearty meal cooked for Mason, so I’m making his favorite.

Sauce bubbles in the pot before me, and I grab my favorite bamboo spoon, dipping it into the pot and stirring. It coats the wooden utensil a barn red, and it drips when I bring it to my nose for a sniff. I notice the seasonings I add before I turn the burner on and smile. A sense of accomplishment hits me when I compare it to what it smelled like when I helped my mom make it as a little girl.

Twisting the knob, I turn the burner down to a simmer and grab another pot to fill with water. I place it on the stove, sprinkling in a pinch of salt, then wait for a rolling boil. I move a loaf of Italian bread from a brown bag I grabbed on the way home from work, make one-inch cuts, coat them with a seasoned oil, sprinkle them with cheese, and slide them into the oven.

I’m so in the zone, whipping together a meal we’ll both enjoy, that my nerves don’t even get to me. I don’t consider the what-ifs or the downfall that could ensue. Instead, I let go, and it’s liberating.

Noodles go into the pot of water, and I give them a stir to prevent sticking. If my timing is right, Mason will be home as the cheese finishes melting on the bread. The idea of being near him makes me giddy with excitement. I enjoy our time together even more now. I can’t get enough of his stares. The silent promises that line his irises start fires in my belly that I don’t wish to put out. This new direction of our friendship is foreign, but it’s like it existed forever under the surface.

Now that I’m more aware of where Mason’s head is, maybe I was too blind to see it?

I pull my phone from my pocket and monitor the noodles. I pull up the Fish4U app, knowing deep in my heart it’s time to go. As much as I wanted to find someone to distract me from Mason, it’s just not going to happen. I could never feel for another man the way I do for him. We have too much history. Nothing compares, and I wouldn’t want it to.

It’s almost sort of dumb that I used Fish4U now. I’m quick to find the “deactivate account” option when I open the app. Then, with a tap of my finger, I choose to uninstall it. Just like that, it’s in the past.

Besides, who am I kidding? Blind dating is not for me. It was rose-colored glasses over an issue I could never get away from. My heart threw me a curve ball recently, making me yearn for my best friend. It may not be ideal, but it’s a truth I can’t continue to ignore and am finally ready to navigate.

“I’m starving, and that smells awesome.”

I whip around and find Mason walking past the threshold of the kitchen, a hand on my chest and my heartbeat pulsing as my phone fumbles to the floor. “Jeez. I didn’t hear you come in.”

A beautiful smile lines his handsome face as he tosses his work bag onto an island chair. My breathing evens out but remains on high alert as I watch him round the counter because checking him out and wondering what his next move will be is apparently something I do now. He zeroes in on the stove, ready to get a peek at what we’ll be eating. His presence is so much more noticeable than it used to be. He could stare at the wall, his face in the corner, and my skin would sear as if it were under a heated light.

“Your mom’s homemade spaghetti?” He groans in delight, and I imagine him closing his eyes when he does it. He lifts the lid from the sauce pot, a cloud of steam puffing out, and sniffs. “Smells so damn good.” He swipes his finger over the coated bamboo spoon when he sets the lid back down and runs it across his tongue.

“Hey!”

He turns and smirks. “What? I can’t get a taste?”

“It’s not ready yet. Hands off.”

He reaches for me and slides a hand against the hip furthest from him. In a snap, he pulls at it, causing my body to twist in his direction. My hands flatten on his chest. Butterflies flutter through my stomach, migrating south. I swear my heart does a double beat multiple times over, and it makes me lightheaded.

“How was your day?”

He stares down at me like it’s the last thing he wants to discuss. Only his one hand continues to touch me, and though it’s featherlight, it takes on the hotness of a thousand suns. “Work was work. Two projects left.”

Tilting my head back, I gaze at him. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes flick back and forth between mine, down to my lips, and back up. “It didn’t help that I was distracted.”

---