Page 46 of Writing Mr. Wrong

When Mason pulled off on an interior road, disappointment pinged through her. He didn’t go far—just expertly wove along narrow roads until he reached a tiny cabin on a secondary highway. A coffee shop, she realized. The parking lot was empty and the patio furniture wrapped, but a light burned inside, and a neon steaming cup proclaimed it was indeed open.

Mason parked and got off the bike, popping his face shield and then rubbing his gloved hands together. “Up for a hot drink?”

“Definitely.”

“We can grab sandwiches, if you’re hungry.”

“You can, but I’ve been dreaming of those pastries and cookies we packed from breakfast.”

He grinned. “Works for me.”

He held the shop door open for her, and a wave of delicious heat hit. The place was tiny, with only a couple of tables, but a fireplace blasted away the dampness. While that made it tempting to sink into one of the plush chairs, Gemma had a feeling the heat would be a bit much for how warmly she’d dressed, with leggings under her jeans and thick socks in her hiking boots.

There was no one at the counter until Mason stepped up. Then a barista appeared. They were in their midtwenties, with spiky platinum hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Seeing Mason, their face broke into a grin.

“It’s the Mace!” they said and then waved around the shop. “For once, there’s no one to hear me say that, so you can’t give me shit.”

The barista went still and turned, as if just noticing Gemma, who was checking out the secondhand book selection.

“She’s with me,” Mason said, and as she walked over, his arm went loosely around her shoulders. “Cal, this is Gemma. Gemma, Cal, brewer of the best cup of coffee for ten miles.”

“Theonlycup of coffee for ten miles,” Cal said with a glare at Mason. “Ignore him. He doesn’t ride all the way up here for mediocre coffee.”

“Nope, it’s the ocean view,” Mason said. “It’s worth mediocre coffee.”

Cal tapped gorgeously painted nails on the counter. “You know, the other day I was thinking I hadn’t seen you in a while, Mason, and I felt like my days here were missing something. Now I know what it is. Your charm.” They turned to Gemma. “There’s a back door if you need an escape. Just blink twice.”

“The coffee is excellent,” Mason said to Gemma. “Cal knows I’m kidding.”

“More like being an—” Cal coughed and looked at Gemma again. “Ignore us. Mason has been coming here for a very long time, and the fact he keeps coming back tells me everything I need to know about my coffee. Now, what can I get you?”

Mason started to answer but Cal lifted a hand.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Hockey Guy. Ladies first. Gentlemen second. That meansyou’llbe waiting awhile.”

“While I’m sure the coffee is great,” Gemma said, “I’d really love a hot chocolate, if that’s okay.”

Cal smiled. “I make an even better hot chocolate. Milk or dark?”

“Dark please.”

“Same,” Mason said. “In those travel cups, as usual.”

Cal reached for the travel cups, which were fancy vacuum-sealed ones with the shop logo. “You could save some money by bringing back the old ones for a refill.”

“Too much work. I leave them in the locker room and pretend I don’t notice that someone always walks off with them. By this point, half the Growlers are drinking coffee out of cups with your logo.”

Cal’s smile grew. “If you really want to make up for razzing me, I’ll take a social media–suitable photo of them drinking from my cups.”

Cal went still, one hand on the milk aerator, and slowly turned to Gemma. “Wait. Social media. Are you the romance author?”

Gemma tried not to cringe. She knew what would come next. What would always come next. The romance author who used Mason Moretti as the model for her hero.

“Guilty,” she said, trying for a smile.

“Iheardabout that. Some chick you two went to school with tried to say you wrote your book about Mason because the guy on the cover kinda looks like him.” He looked at Mason. “If you squint. A lot. Also, the cover model had all his teeth.”

Mason’s look of outrage made Gemma bite the inside of her cheek.

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