She leans in, her eyes twinkling, mischief shining through like it did when she terrorized my teenage years. "Because, honey, if that's not what it looks like, then you two have some seriously messy hobbies. And I raised you better than to let a bear rug witness them."
Mason clears his throat. He even manages a small, awkward bow that somehow makes him look both dignified and ridiculous. "Good morning, Mrs…”
"Oh, I think we're past formalities," my mother cuts in, her tone breezy and delighted. "Call me Gloria." Her eyes light up like someone handed her a winning lottery ticket. "Mason! So you're the one. My Maddy talks about you, though never quite like this." She gestures around the loft with an amused sweep of her hand that somehow manages to encompass every piece of scattered clothing and the thoroughly disheveled bear rug.
Then, her smile broadens to dangerous proportions. "A Kincaid, you say? And a lawyer! Oh, this is perfect! I've always been so keen on having a lawyer in the family. So much more practical than, you know, an artist!" She gives me a pointed look that could cut glass. "Does this mean there's a wedding in our future? Because I have a Pinterest board set to go."
"Mom!" I wail, burying my face in my hands. "We've ... we just..."
My mother nods, her eyes still twinkling with unholy glee. “I can see what youjust. Believe me, your mother knows a thing or two aboutjust. Which reminds me," she looks directly at Mason, her expression suddenly serious though her lips are still twitching at the corners, "I do hope you used protection, young man. I'm keen on a grandson first, then a granddaughter, but perhaps not quite yet. We still have a festival to get through, and I'm particular about my grand-baby showers having a cohesive theme."
Mason, who has been trying desperately to maintain a stoic facade through my mother's initial reaction, breaks at last. A strangled sound escapes him, somewhere between a laugh and a choke. He covers his mouth with one hand, shoulders shaking uncontrollably, his face turning a dangerous shade of purple.
"Mason! Don't you dare laugh!" I elbow him hard in the ribs, mortified. This was not how I'd imagined my mother meeting the man I was falling in love with. This is worse than any nightmare. This is worse than the time she showed up to my college graduation with a megaphone and a banner that read "THAT'S MY BABY" in glitter letters.
"He's laughing?!" my mother chuckles, now truly delighted. "Oh, he's a good sport, Maddy. I like him. He understands the gravity of a truly embarrassing parental moment." She pauses, surveying the messy scene with a gleam in her eye. "And don't worry about the coffee, darling. We'll call it rustic patina for the barn. I'm sure it adds character! Delightfully shabby chic."
She walks over to examine the bear rug more closely, and I want to disappear into the floor. "Is that ... is that a paw print on Mason's back? No, wait, that's a wrinkle in his shirt. My mistake."
Two new voices echo from the base of the stairs, impossibly cheerful and oblivious. "Maddy? Are you up there? Your mom called! Said there's a situation and that it better not involve emergency glitter clean-up again!"
"Oh no, no, no," I mutter, watching in horror as Savvy and Henry's heads pop up over the top step. Savvy is clutching two boxes of donuts and Henry is carrying a precarious stack of design mood boards.
Savvy takes one look at the scene—me, beet-red and half-wrangled into my sweater; Mason, shaking with suppressed laughter and missing a sock. My mother, now beaming, is thrilled by the awkwardness, and her eyes widen to comical proportions.
"Oh. My. God," Savvy breathes, taking in the scene with dawning realization. "Did you two...?" Her grip loosens on the donut boxes.
Donuts escape and tumble to the floor, bouncing once before rolling merrily across the barn wood, leaving sticky glazed trails. Some head straight for the coffee puddle, creating what could be described as a breakfast disaster zone.
"It did involve glitter, didn't it?" she continues, with a knowing grin. "Metaphorical glitter? Mason, you're looking ... thoroughly disheveled. Did you two have a productive brainstorming session?" She winks at me with all the subtlety of a neon sign, then her gaze drifts to the bear rug, the crumpled clothes, and her jaw drops even further than my mother's did.
"Wait a minute. Is this ... is this why you didn't answer my 4 AM texts about the font choices for the festival banners? Because you were conducting ... market research?"
Henry, ever the pragmatist, steps around the donut carnage and the expanding coffee spill. "Savvy, I think the glitter might be the least of our concerns here." He squints at a spot near the vintage typewriter I'd moved up here weeks ago. "Is that ... Mr. Kincaid's..." He points delicately with one of his mood boards. "Are those gentlemen's unmentionables next to the Remington?"
"I was burning the midnight oil!" I shriek, my voice cracking like a thirteen-year-old boy's. "A different oil!"
"UNDERWEAR?!" my mother gasps, then lets out a sound somewhere between a delighted giggle and a knowing cackle. "Oh, Madeline Rose! This is certainly a ... a memorable morning! I always said you had a creative spark, but I never imagined it extended to your ... your gentlemen callers!"
Mason loses it, shoulders shaking as he tries to compose himself. "Gloria, I'm both terrified and intrigued by whatever Pinterest boards you're about to send me."
"Don't encourage her!" I say to Mason, feeling utterly betrayed by his obvious amusement at my mortification.
My mother, positively glowing with pride and general delight at the morning's entertainment, claps her hands together. "Oh, he's definitely husband material! Look at that sense of humor! That's what we need in the family tree, strong bone structure and an ability to survive emotionally volatile brunches!"
Savvy, meanwhile, jumps in, her enthusiasm dialed to full throttle, like someone who lives for this brand of drama. "Oh my goodness, Maddy! I am so proud of you! Breaking out of your shell! Getting a little frisky with the corporate type!" She whips out her phone fast enough to impress a gunslinger. "Does this mean the festival will have a romance theme now? Because I have ideas for a Loft Love scavenger hunt! And I have to snap a picture of this for the festival's Behind the Scenes social media campaign!"
"NO PICTURES!" I lunge for her phone, but she dances away.
"Come on, one! You both look so authentically rumpled!"
Henry claps Mason on the shoulder, narrowly missing a fresh coffee-donut collision. "Well done, my friend. It’s a bit unconventional for a morning meeting, but effective. My money was on the coffee shop barista, not our ambitious event planner. Now I owe Ivy twenty dollars."
"You were taking bets?!" I whirl on Henry, who has the grace to look sheepish.
"Only friendly wagers about the inevitable romantic developments. Ivy said she saw sparks between you two at our wedding and put her money on you and Maddy. I thought you'd choose someone like the coffee shop barista. Savvy bet on the festival planner from Albany, but that was always a long shot."
"We're not having a Loft Love scavenger hunt!" I say, my voice reaching frequencies that are startling dogs in the next county. "And Henry, whose side are you even on?!"
