Page 71 of All Your Reasons Why

“Do we sense a little tension there between you?” a male reporter asks. My heart stutters in my chest. No, no, no ... Mason can’t be so obvious. I stand there with a frozen smile on my face, looking like a dork. A dork who’s just been shot with a freeze ray.

“I’m just here for the kids, and happy to wear whatever costume makes them laugh. Today, it is a padded pinata, and every time they whack me, I throw candy,” Mason says, and that seems to satisfy the crowd. Whew. That was way too close.

He proceeds to demonstrate as the kids line up to take their turns. His hands are full of bags of candy. They hit him with a soft padded bat, shrieking with glee. He throws candy everywhere. I dive in and give him more candy in between strikes.

In the background, Kidz Bop music plays on the speakers. Parents and kids collect Rovers swag and enjoy the lavish buffet the Rovers team sponsored. There’s face painting and a craft station. I put temporary tattoos on several kids, with their parents’ permission. Then I let kids put Rovers temporary tattoos on my arm. Great, now I have a Mason tattoo, and I am never going to hear the end of it.

“You guys are awesome,” Harrison tells me happily. “Even if he sucks at Uno.”

“Yep, Uno definitely is not his strength,” I agree. “So, I hear you’re going home soon.”

He nods, and his mother hugs him to her. “He’s in remission. Thank you so much for everything that you’ve done for him.”

“Oh, it’s all Mason.”

She shakes her head. “A lot of it is you. I can see the passion you have for this cause, and I really appreciate it. This has been a terrible time in our life, but you’ve managed to bring some lightness and fun into it.”

She turns away to admire Harrison’s candy haul, and I blink really hard because, uh, I have something in my eye. Yeah, that’s the reason.

“More candy. More candy. More candy,” the children chant.

Mason tosses another bag towards the kids. It hits me right in the face, and the kids howl with laughter. I stagger back, clutching my chest. “He got me. I’m going down,” I cry.

They’re shrieking with merriment now.

I fall to my knees. “The candy got me. Oh noooo ...”

“Here you go. This will make you better.” A little girl gives me one of her lollipops. She’s bald, her head shaved, wearing a pink turban. I unwrap the lollipop, suck on it, and break into a huge smile.

“I am cured,” I cry out, and all of the kids cheer at the top of their lungs. There’s so much enthusiasm, so much childlike joy here. Being part of it really makes my life better in ways that I can’t even articulate.

I climb to my feet and brush off my knees. I bend down and give the little girl a gentle hug. “Thank you so much,” I say to her.

“You’re very welcome. I’ll send you my doctor bill,” she says in a serious tone, and her parents burst into laughter.

Mason is done with the bags of candy, and I don’t need to help him anymore. I carefully move away from him, angling my body away, and I don’t look in his direction at all as he circulates through the room. Then I worry that maybe I’m ignoring him too hard?

Damn, this is complicated.

A female reporter walks up to me. Her frosted hair is swept up into a flattering chignon, and her red dress fits her like it’s painted on. “What’s it like working with Mason Raker?” she asks. She glances his way. “Is he single?”

“Uh, as far as I know. He is really just focused on playing his best,” I tell her.

“Hmm.” There’s a speculative look on her face. “Maybe I should give him my number.” Then she gives me a conniving look. “Unless that would be a problem for you.”

I will cut you.

“For me?” I echo. “Goodness, not in the slightest. He’s a big boy; he makes his own decisions as to who he wants to spend time with.”

And when I cut you it will be with a very rusty knife.

“Because it seems like there’s a little something there.” She’s watching me with greedy eyes, eager for a scoop. For a scandal.

“Oh, we’re work buddies, that’s all,” I assure her, putting on my professional publicist smile. And that’s true, isn’t it?

I mean, we’re buddies with benefits. Well, with benefit, singular. It happened once, won’t necessarily happen ever again.

“Well, then.” She marches over to Mason and starts chatting with him. I move around the buffet table, picking up empty cups and plates. I glance at one of the windows, and in the reflection I can see her looking my way, checking for a reaction.

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