He nods.
"When you said things get loud—what did you mean?"
"I've always had... a lot of energy. Protective instinct, whatever you want to call it. But it's not always useful. Sometimes it's just—" He exhales. "Since Jessica left, all that energy has lacked places to land. It's been curling up inside."
He looks at me directly, his eyes entirely bare. "This is one of the only places that makes it quiet."
I set my cup down, my heart performing a painful little twist in my ribs.
"I get that," I say quietly. "The having-something-inside-with-nowhere-to-go part."
His eyes stay on mine.
"I know I kind of touched on this the other night," I continue, "but when Grant left... I had this entire life built up. All these plans, a completely mapped-out future. And then it just vanished overnight. It left me with all this forward momentum, and absolutely nowhere to go."
I take a breath.
"Grant is an idiot," he says, his voice dropping to a gravelly rumble.
"You mentioned that before," I say.
"Because it's true." He picks up his cup, his knuckles briefly turning white. "You moved here for him and he—"
He stops. Shakes his head.
"I could go all day," he says. "But this place doesn't bring that out in me. So I'll leave it there."
"Noted. Twice," I say, keeping my voice easy even though my stomach does a slow, traitorous flip at the protectiveness in his tone.
We sit with that for a moment, then I reach for the teapot and pour myself another cup.
"Does Meika do the full tea ceremony here?" I ask, nodding toward the counter where she's arranging a bamboo whisk and a row of small ceramic bowls.
"She does. Private sessions, usually." He watches me watch the bowls. "I thought I'd ease you in first, though. Start you on the basics before I throw you into the advanced stuff."
I look at him. "Did you just imply I couldn't handle a tea ceremony?"
"I implied I was being considerate." His mouth tugs sideways.
We spend the next hour exactly like that. He tells me about the carpentry jobs he's managed to take on since the altercation at the engagement party, restoring old furniture, building bookshelves for the Lakeview library. I tell him about the flower shop, the chaos of wedding season, the specific joy of watching a bride's face when she sees the bouquet for the first time.
At some point, Meika brings a second pot of tea, something darker this time, with a smoky edge, and a plate of dusted mochi. I helplessly track the movement of Mason’s jaw as he chews. He catches my stare, pausing as he swipes a thumb over his bottom lip to catch a stray dusting of sugar. For a second, that spark of want that’s been humming in my chest since the clearing suddenly flares up. I catch myself staring at his mouth, wishing he’d use it on me.
I force my eyes away, desperately trying to arrange my face into an expression that doesn't screamhorny.
The afternoon light has shifted by the time we leave. The shadows are longer, the air cooler. I swap the bamboo slippers for my shoes, regaining my inch and a half. Mason slides the door for me, and I step out into the quiet of the garden path.
He falls into step beside me, our shoulders brushing and neither of us moving away.
"Thank you," I say. "For bringing me here."
He stops walking. I stop too, turning to face him.
"Beth," he says.
"Yeah?"
He doesn't say anything else. The wind rustles the oak canopy above us, casting moving shadows across his face as he just holds my gaze.
