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He swaggered up to my desk with the goofiest grin, like he was completely aware of what this adorable display was doing to me. He wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about it—in fact, he looked quite the opposite. Proud. Smug. And then, eyeing my costume, he pulled off his snorkeling gear and said, “Oh no.”
“What?” Every year, I went for a costume inspired by a book character my students would recognize. This year, I opted for the mouse from If You Give a Mouse a Cookie—and I was wearing mouse ears and overalls over a white t-shirt. An oversized chocolate chip cookie made out of cardboard hung from my neck, and I’d even taken the time to draw a little mouse nose and whiskers on my face that morning.
“What happens if you give a mouse a caramel macchiato?” Mason asked, setting my drink down on my desk.
“She might ask you to help her assemble twenty-five Halloween treat bags.”
I winced up at him, expecting him to jokingly turn around and walk away. But he removed the rest of his costume and, after setting it on the floor beside my desk, said, “Okay.” No silly argument or negotiation tactic this time.
I put the treat bags on the round table and handed Mason a sack of plastic spider rings. “Why don’t we go around the table in a circle with each of the items?” I asked him before opening a bag of witch fingers with my teeth.
“Yes ma’am,” he said, looking down at the rings. And we got to work, making our way around the table to pass out each of the Halloween party favors. Rings, witch fingers, bubbles, Skittles, and little containers of slime. I used my left hand to distribute the witch fingers, making my charm bracelet jingle with every movement. Mason was quieter than normal, making a few comments about the party favors here and there, but otherwise holding back from flirting with me. I understood his reasoning, but it still made my heart sink.
“Hey,” I said after a couple of minutes. “I wanted to let you know—you don’t have to keep bringing me coffee every day.”
He touched his chest in mock surprise. “Wait, you thought I was doing that for you? I’m just trying to support a local business.”
“Right,” I said, rolling my eyes at him with a smile.
“And the barista said Owen and I tie for her favorite customer, so I can’t let her down.”
“Oh, that’s right—you met with him the other day, didn’t you? What was that all about?”
He inhaled, reaching down to open the bag of Halloween-themed bubbles. “I, uh, asked him for a job, actually.”
“A job?” I stopped.
“Yeah, I told him to add me to his team. Full time. He hasn’t given me an answer yet, but we’ll see.”
I couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been for him to approach Owen with that, given that he was obviously jealous of the man and made no attempt to hide it. And it was probably just as hard for him to admit to me that he’d asked my ex for a job.
His poor ego.
“He’d be stupid not to hire you.”
“You think so?” he asked, dropping a ring into a treat bag.
“Of course. But does this mean I’m going to lose you as a volunteer?”
He stared at my face for a moment, like he didn’t want to give me the answer. “I’m sure he’d be flexible with me on that,” he finally said.
“Good.” I turned back to the treat bags, struggling to remember where I’d left off. Someone might end up with an extra witch finger, and I hoped it wouldn’t cause drama.
Mason hesitated for a moment before he, too, returned to the job at hand. When he jumped back in, he took a deep breath and said, “Question.”
“What?” I turned to him.
“Do you ever take that bracelet off?”
I laughed, shaking my wrist in his direction to make the charms jangle a few extra times before I opened the bag of slime containers. “Only when I sleep and shower,” I answered. “My sister and I got matching charm bracelets in Gatlinburg when we were little, and even though I’ve replaced just about every charm and even the bracelet itself, I’ve worn it ever since even though technically it’s not even the same bracelet anymore and wow—I am rambling.” I laughed and covered my face.
Mason grinned like he wanted to laugh at me, too, but he held back. “You’re fine. I’m guessing all the charms mean something special to you?”
“Would it make me sound incredibly lame if I admitted they’re mostly meaningless?”
He sidled up beside me with that warm smile of his that had become so familiar to me—the one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle—and he lifted my wrist to get a better look at the charms. “You’re going to tell me—” He squinted to get a better look. “Pizza’s meaningless?”
“I would never. Pizza’s my favorite food.”
