Chapter Seventeen
Mason scrambled tohis feet, leading her to the same side of the barn as Santa’s meditation stall. “I didn’t put you right next to Stan because I imagine you’d want a little privacy if you both happen to be nap—uh, meditating at the same time.”
Stalls, in general, weren’t very big. There wasn’t a whole lot a person could do with one. The normal dimensions were about four feet wide by nine feet long. Stan squeezing a small chaise and end table meant he was pushing the limits of a stall’s capabilities. But if tiny homes could be a thing, why not tiny meditation stalls? The only thing missing was a glowing endorsement from Gwyneth Paltrow.
He really liked Natalie though, so he assigned her the largest stall they had, which had been used for a mothering cow and calf. It still wasn’t very big, and Mason didn’t have many resources to improve it, but he tried to get creative. Like Stan’s stall, a makeshift curtain had been tacked around it.
He stopped her before she could peek inside. “Wait here a moment. I have to check on something.” He slipped in, careful to hide the surprise until he was ready.
“Are you making sure there’s no cow shit lying around?” she called from the other side of the curtain.
“Yup, just hiding it under a pile of some old moldy straw.” He finished his setup. “Okay, close your eyes. Are they closed?”
“Yes.”
Through the curtain, he grabbed her hand, guiding her inside. “Okay, you can open them.”
She opened one eye first, taking a test peek, before opening both of them. “Oh my God.”
On the floor was an old horse blanket being used as a makeshift rug. He’d also stacked hay and tucked a couple large sheets over them, making it appear like a haystack sofa. With permission (because he knew better) the couch was decorated with one of his mom’s knitted blankets and a couple handmade throw pillows. An upside-down half wine barrel was used as a makeshift coffee table. On top, he’d decorated with potted poinsettias, a dish of peppermint candies, and battery-operated candles that he turned on before she entered. He also took Stan’s idea and strung more twinkle lights. Mason didn’t consider himself to be an interior decorator, but he’d seen what Lana had done for previous events held in the barn and used it for inspiration. In the end, he was quite proud of what he’d accomplished.
Natalie sank onto the haystack couch, one hand running a finger along the blanket draped over the back with the other hand pressed to her mouth. There was no way to know if she was happy or sad. Instead, she appeared dazed.
“Do you like it?” he asked. “I know it’s a little colder back here, but I can move one of the small heaters to this area if you want. In fact, let me go get—”
The hand across her mouth finally moved as she latched on to his arm. “No, wait. You don’t… You don’t have to do that. It’s not very cold. This is already way too much for what was actually just a joke. I didn’t expect—You know that I don’t really get much of a break when I work the truck, right? It’s not like I can actually come in here and take a nap. My five-minute break is definitely not worth all this.”
Mason took a seat on the hay-couch beside her. She watched him with wide eyes, her hand once again covering her mouth almost as if she was nervous. Of him? He knew his size could sometimes intimidate people simply by doing nothing more than existing. He scooted back so as not to encroach on her space. He leaned his elbows against his knees, rubbing his hands together before glancing at her. “You’re really concerned about my amount of effort in things.”
“It’s just that this is a lot of work and I know you’re busy and I’m certainly not worth all—”
“Natalie, I just want to make one thing very clear: you don’t get to dictate how much effort I’m willing to put into something. Only I get to determine that. And I don’t know who convinced you that you’re not worth a lot of effort.” He lifted his head, looking her dead in the eye. “They were wrong.”
“Well,” she said. “Shit.”
And then she was closing the space between them, grabbing his face, and pressing a kiss to his lips. His own hands slid along her back and, in spite of what she was doing, there was a slight tremble along her spine. That’s when he got it. She wasn’t scared of him but more of what all of this implied. She was scared of relationships.
She was making more sense to him. And after his own experiences, he understood it. Being vulnerable with someone wasn’t easy when they could use it against you. He should have been terrified at this moment, but he wasn’t. All that existed was this aching need for her and a desire to do whatever he could to make her feel good.
“I’m starting to think the bees might be on to something with all that vibrating they do,” she said low, on a breath, pushing her way to straddling his lap.
“While I’m all for it,” Mason replied, amazed he was able to get any words in a coherent sentence. “I just want to put it out there that I’m not expecting anything. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“God, Mase, stop. You’ve already done enough to make me want you.”
Unrequited love sucks, but he was quickly discovering how amazing it was to have someone who yearned for him as much as he did for them. All his previous relationships now appeared to be nothing more than him wasting time, trying to force a fire to light when this one had ignited easily.
Her fingers were already in the process of unbuttoning his shirt. She tilted her head to press kisses on his neck before moving to his chest as more of it was being revealed. His brain was rushing to catch up as everything was moving at light speed. He struggled to come up with something clever but all that he could manage was, “I like your sweater.” This had to be the dorkiest compliment he’d ever given a person, but he actually did like the sweater with the skeleton wearing a Santa hat. It was all Natalie and, therefore, he couldn’t help but like it.
“It’s very versatile,” she responded. “It can also be worn like this.” In a single graceful swoop, she pulled the sweater over her head, depositing it on the hay-couch. The moment froze between them. Natalie nervously adjusted the strap of her purple bra. It wasn’t lacy or in any way fancy. I n fact it was very simple in design, but she was beautiful in it all the same. She reached behind her as if to unclasp it, but he stopped her.
“Can I?” His voice was gruff as though he was parched, and perhaps he was.
She nodded, but her gaze dropped. His hands glided slowly along her skin until his fingers found the clasp. He brought them together to undo the hooks. With it released, his hands traveled to her shoulders and slid the bra away. His eyes had something new to focus on. Her breasts were small and pert, and he covered one with his hand, massaging it as he pressed his face against her collarbone, breathing her in and pressing his mouth there. Everything about her was lovely.
She released a soft sigh, her fingers gently scraping through his hair. “No one is suddenly going to appear in the barn, are they? Stan isn’t going to pull a late meditation session or something?”
Mason chuckled. “No.”
