Chapter Thirty-Nine
Standing outside my apartment, I feel like I’m waiting for a first date with a stranger. My palms are clammy despite the chill in the air, my heart drumming way too fast for something as simple as dinner.
It’s been a week since Mason and I agreed to call each other boyfriends. Every day since, we’ve texted and video chatted late into the night, sometimes falling asleep with our phones still propped against our pillows. Yesterday, he surprised me by saying he wanted to drive back up to Shelby Harbor to take me out on our first real date.
Logically, I shouldn’t be nervous. Mason and I have known each other for months. We’ve kissed, had sex, shared secrets we’ve never told anyone else. But the “boyfriend” label makes everything feel sharper, more fragile. Like one wrong step could shatter it.
Part of me still worries he might change his mind—that he’ll realize I’m not worth the trouble and disappear, the way he once did before. I tell myself I forgave him, but it still feels like our relationship is skating on thin ice.
The choking rumble of a familiar pickup pulls me from my spiral. Mason’s truck turns onto my street, headlights sweeping across the pavement. He eases to the curb, kills the engine, and hops out without hesitation. A moment later, I’m wrapped up in his arms, his hold so tight it knocks the breath from me.
“Hi, baby,” he murmurs against my ear. “How are you?”
I smile against his shoulder. “I’m fine. How was work today?”
“Exhausting,” he sighs, pulling back to scrub a hand over his jaw. “I’ve been picking up extra shifts. Rent in Shelby Harbor is brutal, and tuition isn’t going to pay itself.”
A frown tugs on my lips. “I can’t believe you drove all the way here after work. You must be really tired.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”
My cheeks feel warm despite the cool September breeze. “Me too.”
He grins, stepping back to swing open the passenger door. “Your chariot awaits.”
I laugh under my breath and climb inside.
The truck hums softly as we pull away from my building. Mason doesn’t tell me where we’re going. He said he wanted it to be a surprise.
We pass through the bustle of downtown Shelby Harbor, the bars and nightclubs glowing with neon and lamplight. Then Mason steers us toward the outskirts, where the streets thin out and the buildings shrink. Vineyards and orchards flank the roads, the scent of ripe concord grapes wafting through the cracked windows.
His hand rests easy on my thigh, his thumb brushing slow, absent-minded strokes that set my nerves sparking. “You look beautiful, by the way,” he says suddenly.
A nervous laugh slips out of me. “Thanks. I just… I hope I’m not overdressed.” I glance down at myself—baby blue button-up, nails painted to match, dark pants, black loafers. It felt right when I put it on, but now I’m second-guessing.
Mason squeezes my thigh, eyes flicking toward me before returning to the road. “No way. You look perfect.”
I bite back another laugh and shift my gaze to him instead. “You look nice, too.”
He’s in black pants and a deep green collared shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The color makes his eyes look like they’re glowing in the dim cab light. His forearms flex as he shifts gears, tendons moving beneath golden skin.
God, my boyfriend is sexy.
He smirks, catching the way I’m staring.
“That shirt should come with a warning label,” I grumble, warmth creeping up my neck.
He chuckles, the sound low and pleased, and his hand slides just a little higher on my thigh as the dark road unspools ahead of us.
The truck veers off the main road, turning onto a long gravel driveway. My brows knit together as we wind past rows of grapevines, their leaves vibrant green in the fading daylight.
When the weathered sign comes into view, I stop breathing for a second.Brackett Hill Vineyards.
Mason glances at me, grinning. “One of the first times I came over to your place in Claremont Shores, you poured us some wine. I remember you said this winery was your favorite. I did some digging, and turns out they do private dinners and tastings. So…” He shrugs, a little sheepish. “I booked us a table.”
For a moment I just stare at him. His heart is too big for his own good. “Mason, that’s… God, that’s perfect.”
He parks near the entrance, then hops out and circles the truck to open my door like we’re in some old-fashioned romance movie. I roll my eyes but can’t stop smiling as I take his hand.
