Page 17 of Tides of Redemption
But now all I wanted was to find a way to stay in this small coastal town, in the cramped apartment above a bookstore, near the man who still held my heart after eleven years.
But without confirmation that Mary Anne was truly retiring, how could I stay? What would I do in Seacliff Cove without the gallery? How would I support myself? What other job could possibly suit my specialized expertise? Questions spiraled through my mind, each without an answer.
But one question burned brighter than the rest: Why had Mason pulled away? Had I said something wrong? Done something to hurt him?
I needed answers, starting with that one.
Before I could reconsider, I locked the gallery and walked toward downtown. At the diner, I ordered Mason’s usual: a bacon cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate shake. I remembered ordering it for him during college all-nighters, loving how his face would light up at the first bite.
While I waited for our food, Landon slid onto the stool next to me at the counter. “How’s it going, darling?” he asked, breaking me out of my daydream.
“Can’t complain,” I replied. “Just picking up some lunch for Mason. The store’s been keeping him really busy lately.”
“Yeah, but I’m glad it’s doing well. He’s been happier the past few weeks than I’ve seen him in a while.”
Happier? My skin tingled at the thought that I had anything to do with that. But then why was he pulling away?
Declan came out from the kitchen and slid my takeout across the counter. “Hey, Caleb, order up. Your usual, Landon?”
I thanked him and said, “Catch you guys later,” before Landon could even nod.
The fragrant bag felt heavy in my hands as I climbed the staircase to Mason’s apartment. My heart pounded harder with each step. What if he refused to see me? What if this made things worse? I paused at his door.
I knocked before I could change my mind.
When the door opened, Mason looked genuinely surprised. He wore a faded UCSF sweatshirt and jeans, his hair slightly disheveled. The sight of him, handsome but guarded, made my heart ache.
“Lunch?” I held up the takeout bag like an offering. “Please. We need to talk.”
Emotions flickered across his face—wariness, longing, pain—before he stepped aside wordlessly.
The apartment was tidy as always, but I noticed small signs of distress—an abandoned book upside down on the coffee table, breaking the spine. A dirty mug in the sink. A blanket twisted on the couch. Alarmed, I recognized his coping mechanisms. Mason always read when upset, always left dishes unwashed when distracted, always wrapped himself in blankets when seeking comfort.
We unpacked the food in awkward silence. I’d chosen comfort food deliberately, hoping to pierce the armor he’d constructed. For several minutes, we ate without speaking, the only sounds the crinkle of wrapping paper and the soft hum of the refrigerator.
Finally, I set down my barely touched sandwich. “What happened, Mason?” My voice cracked slightly. “One day we were…and then suddenly, you pulled away. Did I do something wrong?”
He avoided my eyes, focusing intently on his food. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” I leaned forward, fighting the impulse to reach for his hand. “Please, tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”
The plea in my voice seemed to reach him. He set down his burger and finally met my gaze, pain clear in his brown eyes. “I heard your phone call,” he mumbled. “Last Wednesday. I heard enough to know it was a job offer. And I heard that you didn’t say no.”
My stomach dropped. The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity. Of course—it explained everything.
“Mason—”
“No, it’s okay,” he interrupted, his voice carefully controlled. “You don’t owe me an explanation. We haven’t made any promises to each other. But I didn’t hear you say no. I just… I can’t do this again, Caleb. I can’t let myself fall for you and then watch you leave. Not twice.”
I reached across the table, desperate to connect, but he pulled his hand back. The rejection stung like a physical blow.
The words rushed out. “I don’t want to go back to Paris.”
“Then why didn’t you say no?” The hurt in his voice was unbearable.
“In France, immediately declining is unprofessional, even rude. It’s expected that you’ll take time to consider, even if you know you’ll decline.”
“So, you’re going to say no?” Hope flickered briefly in his eyes.
