Page 77 of What are the Chances

We scale the metal steps on the side of the bakery and come to a stop outside my bright blue door. There are hanging plants hung around the entry way to hide my door. Mrs. O’Hair, the bakery owner, thought it might give me some privacy. I just like how pretty it makes my space.

“Here we are,” I say, swinging my door open and taking a few steps into the small living area.

Mason looks around, not focusing too hard on anything in particular. I have a small loveseat, an accent chair, two bookshelves, a coffee table, and exactly two counter tops in the kitchen. It’s small and cramped, but it’s mine and smells like fresh bread.

“No television?” Mason asks, sauntering over to the bookshelves.

“It’s in my room… did you want to…?” I’m stammering now, feeling awkward. Mason turns his head quickly in my direction.

“Yes, let’s watch something.” He heads down my small hall and turns into my bedroom without waiting for me. I cross the room and quickly catch up with him.

“Here, let me just fix the bed a bit.” I lay my coat and purse down, kick off my boots, and take a few books and my laptop off the quilt.

Mason continues looking around, touching small photo frames of me graduating college and high school, one of me and my mom. Thankfully, he doesn’t grab my phone. If he did, he’d see the background is still of the two of us kissing.

My hands are working on their own like two warriors gone rogue, building a fortified wall of pillows to keep Mason from hurting me again.

“What are you doing?” Mason jokes.

I shrug, finalizing my creation. “Just so things go slow… you know, for the sake of our friendship.” My face is blazing. I have no idea what we’re doing, but this pillow wall isn’t coming down.

“Whatever you say, Char.” He plops down on his side with a large bounce, moving at least three of my accent pillows. I carefully tuck them back into place and crawl onto my side. Grabbing the remote, I start Netflix, praying my plan of protection will keep me from getting hurt.

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