Page 156 of Promise Me Not

His gaze moves between my eyes, the smile that curves his lips sending a sliver of pain through my chest. Not because it’s tense or forced but the opposite. It’s real, raw. It’s promising and accepting, and because of this, it’s a bit startling.

My thoughts must show, because Mason’s eyes soften, and he reaches up, running his hand through the tangle of my hair, gently tucking it behind my ear.

“Pretty Little, there’s nothing to be sad about.”

“You’re being so good about this.”

“I only had hope before, wishing one day you could really be mine, but now I know you will be. Maybe not tomorrow or the next, but one day.”

Trying not to cry, I press my lips to his wrist just as his phone chimes behind him.

“That’s him.” He rolls over, picking up the phone and frowning at the screen. “He’s on his way from Ari’s dorm.”

I push up, accepting the sweater he passes me, and tug it over my body, slipping into a pair of sweats. “I should have gotten up sooner so Deaton doesn’t have to get in his car seat right after waking.”

“He’s been up for a little over an hour now.”

My head snaps up, and Mason shrugs.

“I wanted to play with him for a bit before you had to go.”

My insides melt, and I nod. “How much did he eat?”

“Little over half the big jar, but I didn’t give him a bottle yet. Figured maybe that would help him fall asleep again on the drive.”

“That’s perfect.”

Mason turns away. “I’ll…um…get him buckled in his seat and take the playpen down to the porch.”

“K” I whisper, and with every step, I remind myself this is right. I need to do this.

As I move through the motions of the morning, I do my best not to think. I focus on my toothbrush and the taste of the mint toothpaste. I note the bristles of the hair brush with each swipe through the crazy curls my braids left behind. I count the seconds it takes me to slip my socks and shoes on, and when I walk into the living space, Mason is on his butt in front of the car seat playing peekaboo, and the sadness I was expecting doesn’t come. Instead, gratitude is what winds through me.

Silently, we make our way outside. Only once we’re alone on the porch, the rest of the house still asleep this early on a Sunday morning, does Mason allow me to take the car seat from his hand.

I don’t want him to walk us to the car. It will feel too final.

“You can still change your mind, you know. I won’t be upset.”

“Oh no?” He tries to tease.

I shake my head. “You’re a handsome man in college.”

“Don’t forget the quarterback part,” he whispers.

A low chuckle leaves me, and we stare at each other for a long, heavy moment.

“You’ll text me when you get home?” he asks, and I hate the hesitance in his tone, but I understand it.

“I will.”

“And I’ll see you when I come to Oceanside next week?”

“Of course,” I breathe.

Finally, Mason sighs. When he steps forward, his right hand gently brushes along Deaton’s curls while his left cups my neck, drawing my forehead to his.

“I love you, Pretty Little.”

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