Page 25 of The Sweet Part
After we finish, I stand to clear the dishes, and Mason helps.
When we reach the sink, he says under his breath, “She’s a talker.”
“Oh yeah.”
Sophie appears next to Mason and looks up at him with big puppy-dog eyes. “Can I please watch you makeHot Finds?”
“We don’t film until spring.”
“He told you that already,” I say. “Don’t keep asking.”
Sophie’s shoulders fall, her expression collapsing into total devastation until she looks up again with hopeful puppy-dog eyes. “Can I see the cars onHot Finds?”
I take out the tiramisu I bought for dessert. “Sophie, you see them on TV. I’m sure Mason is very busy at work.” I glance at Mason. “Don’t feel obligated.”
He lifts his palms. “Far be it from me to turn away someone who loves cars.”
“Does that mean yes?” Sophie asks.
He looks to me. “If it’s okay with your mom.”
Sophie gives me her best puppy-eyed look. I can’t think of one good reason why we can’t look at cars. It’s a place of business. No big deal.
“Sure,” I say. “Thank you for the invitation.”
Sophie claps, then turns to me. “I’d like an extra-big piece of tiramisu, please.”
“Me too,” Mason says, high-fiving her.
They turn to me with matching hopeful expressions. He fits with us. What would it hurt to let him in just a little?
“You can have seconds if you’re still hungry,” I say.
Mason and Sophie exchange a smile, and my heart squeezes. It’s easy to forget my worries about Mason when Sophie’s so happy.
6
Mason
Tonight’s my third and final home-cooked dinner at May’s place. Everything she makes is amazing and more than suffices as a thank you. At my place, I usually get by cooking one night and eating leftovers for three days. Nothing fancy—burgers, steak, baked salmon.
I’m getting used to the high-speed-talking Sophie. Though I confess I don’t listen too carefully. I’ll never remember all the details she tells me about her favorite shows, school, and friends. It’s like she’s in a rush to tell me her life story.
May’s careful not to share too much. Is it because Sophie’s there? Maybe we could meet up just the two of us to talk and stuff. As friends. As long as I don’t cross the line, it could work. The alternative, never spending time with her again, feels too damn hard.
After we finish an incredible chicken dish with roasted peppers and rice, I help clear the table. Sophie runs from the room, probably to watch TV. May lets her when she’s busy.
“Another great dinner,” I say. “You could run a five-star restaurant. Maybe that could be an add-on to the inn.”
She shakes her head with a smile. “I’m providing breakfast and afternoon cookies, but beyond that is more than I can take on. I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’ll walk you out.”
Right. No need to linger. May was clear she wasn’t looking for anything more than repairs from me. No matter how warm and friendly she’s been. She’s probably like that with everyone. That’s why she’s opening an inn.
We walk to the front door.
She smiles, but something about it seems forced. “Thanks again for all your hard work. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” I hesitate, not ready to say goodbye forever. “So I guess I’ll go now.”
