Page 58 of The Young & the Sinner

Resigned, I grabbed the tube and threw it in the trash bin, closing my eyes and sitting down on the corner of the sink counter.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there. But then my phone chimed with an incoming text telling me Mason was here and my time was up. I couldn’t put on any makeup now even if I wanted to. And based on my stupid reaction to the lipstick, I knew couldn’t even if I tried.

I checked myself in the mirror one last time to make sure my eyes were no longer red, and walked out of there. Grabbing the painting, I made my way downstairs.

Rain splattered on the roof. I wasn’t even sure when it started raining, but it was getting even worse out than I expected.

When I opened the front door, Mason was standing there, the hard rainfall making quite a backdrop. I indicated with my head for him to come in. When he made his way past me, I closed the door and locked it behind him.

We were standing by the threshold of the front door, and something about going further into the house with him felt dangerous. Mason must have felt the same, because he remained standing where he was.

“Hey,” I said, almost shyly. I wondered when I would ever be able to get rid of the shyness I always felt with him around.

“Hey,” he answered back, his voice gruff. His blue eyes took me in, and I bit my lip, trying to stay as still as possible. He was in casual wear today, with dark jean that fitted him well, and a dark blue t-shirt that really brought out his tan skin. His dark hair was damp and messy from the rain, and I couldn’t stop staring. A strange craving stirred low in my belly, and I had the sudden desire to run my fingers through each strand of his hair.

Would it be as soft as it looked? My fingers twitched.

“What’s that?” He indicated toward the painting with his head.

My smile widened. “It’s actually for you.”

“Me?” He seemed surprised. I lifted the small painting, and he took it out of my hand. I was brimming with nerves. I shifted on my feet while he tore at the wrapping paper. When the painting came into view, the result was even more breathtaking in real life.

“Wow,” I said. Mason shot me a weird look. I blushed and looked away. “Sorry, it’s just I hadn’t even looked at it yet. I left it unopened until now.”

“I can see that. This is beautiful, Olivia. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I wanted you to have some art in your apartment. I know you just got new furniture, and I wasn’t sure if you had any decorative pieces.” I shrugged, feeling my cheeks getting warm. “I bought this for you. K.H. Knight is actually my favorite local artist.”

“Oh yeah? He’s pretty talented.”

“Oh, we don’t know the artist’s gender. He could be a she.”

Mason shrugged. “Well, whoever this is, they sure know their way around a brush.”

“Do you really like it?”

“Yes, I do, sweetheart. It’s beautiful. It’s the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me.”

“Really?” He nodded, and I smiled wide, showing teeth and all. “I’m glad you like it.”

Mason carefully placed the painting down on the leather recliner nearby and motioned with his head toward the kitchen. “Tea?”

“Yeah. Tea sounds good.” Ever since that time he caught me outside Max’s door and made me tea, I couldn’t stop thinking about him whenever I made a cup.

Mason led the way and I followed behind him. He stopped when he reached the kitchen, and I was too busy avoiding that one particular spot where Lorenzo had held me down on our way to notice.

I bumped into his back.

Mason turned to grab me before I could fall and I cringed, closing my eyes. “Sorry.”

His smile was gentle when he said, “It’s alright. Come sit on the barstool. I’ll have the hot tea brewing in no time.”

“Oh, okay.” I realized too late that it should be me making the tea, not him. I was the one who invited him over in the first place. And yet he was acting like the host. I sat there awkwardly for a second or two, debating on whether or not I should fight him for the kettle, then decided it would make the situation even more awkward than it was and relaxed a little back into my chair.

Mason grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and placed the tea bags in them. He poured hot water in each cup, and I watched the swirl of smoke come out of them before he placed one mug in front of me. He took a seat next to me, bringing with him that unique scent of his, made even more noticeable because of the rainwater that still clung to him.

“Thank you,” I said silently.

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