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“You like the ones of mountains best,” Addison said as he stopped before yet another such painting.
“The mountains out here are so different from back home. The mountains around the Manor are over a hundred million years old, but these...” He trailed off, studying the stark, jagged lines. “These mountains are so young. So new.”
Taking his hand, she leaned her head against his arm. “The purples and blues in this one would look amazing over your bed. I noticed you haven’t hung anything there yet.”
His chest ached again, but in a different way than he was used to. Almost like he was so happy it became painful, which made zero sense. “I’ve been waiting to find the right piece,” he told her. “Looks like I finally did.”
Grinning, Addison sauntered over to the counter, introducing herself to the man there, who turned out to be the gallery owner. They discussed the prices on the two pieces—Mason’s mountains and her cactus at sunset. Because they planned to buy both, she managed to get a minor discount, and even free shipping back to Vermont.
Not bad. He probably would’ve been able to talk the man down even more, especially if he offered to pay cash. But she seemed so proud of herself that he didn’t say a word.
Finally joining her at the counter, he pulled his wallet out of his pocket, reaching for his AmEx.
“Absolutely not,” Addison said, pushing his hand away. “I’m buying these.”
He gave her one of his sterner looks. “There’s no way I’m letting you pay for art for my house.”
No sign of her submissive nature in sight, she planted her hands on her hips and glared up at him. “This is a gift, Mason. To thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Everything you’re still doing for me, in fact. Please let me do this for you.”
He wanted to argue. To insist on paying for it himself. It’s not like he needed anyone to buy him anything. Not at this stage in his life.
Mason couldn’t help wondering if that instinct had something to do with the years of shitty birthdays and Christmases he had growing up. The pain and confusion associated with the receiving of presents year after year after year.
It occurred to him that he couldn’t remember a time in his adult life when he’d accepted a gift graciously. He always either insisted he didn’t deserve it, or assumed the other person gave it with ulterior motives.
Perhaps it was finally time to change that.
“Thank you,” he said, forcing himself to step back. “That’s incredibly kind of you.”
Grinning at her triumph, Addison pulled her own wallet out of her little purse and handed her card to the gallery owner with an excited flourish. He watched her joke around with the man as she paid, his heart feeling fuller than ever before.
No matter where things went with Addison, he’d cherish this painting for the rest of his damn life.
CHAPTER 17
Addison
Their trip to the art gallery boosted Addison’s mood for most of the day. Seeing Mason’s joy as he took in all the paintings, the softness and gratitude filling his eyes when he let her buy his favorite for him...that was a high she thought she’d be able to ride forever.
As evening inevitably drew closer, panic crept back into her chest and chilled her to her bones.
This was it. Her last chance. She and Mason would leave New Mexico first thing tomorrow morning, starting their three-day drive back to Fairford Manor.
She supposed it would be easier to wait until she got home, have the ancestry site notify Steve that he had a new blood relative, and message him.
Remember that blonde in your bar who acted really fucking weird for three days before disappearing? That’s me—the daughter you never knew you had. Surprise!
That felt so profoundly wrong to her. He deserved to learn of her existence face-to-face. Even though the idea scared the shit out of her.
“You’re in complete control of this process,” Mason said as they approached the door to the bar side by side. “If it doesn’t feel right, don’t force it. We can figure out a new plan together.”
Some of the tension eased out of her shoulders. “Thank you.” She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. “I appreciate you being here with me.”
He squeezed her hand, then pushed open the door for her.
Their footsteps echoed in the empty room as they slowly walked toward the bar. Addison looked around, taking in the chairs flipped upside down on top of tables, the silent jukebox in the corner.
When the place had been full of people, she hadn’t noticed the large photograph hanging to one side of the bar. Walking over, she examined the grainy picture of what was obviously Frank Redford and a nine- or ten-year-old Steve. Her dad sat on the corner of the bar, his short legs dangling, hands folded properly in his lap. Frank, her great grandfather, leaned against the bar, one leg crossed over the other at the ankles, his shoulder touching his grandson’s.
